Brandon followed him to the door. “The trouble with this community is it’s getting too damn citified. First we get a shyster lawyer, and then we get a crooked publisher.”
Paden said, “Those words are libelous and my attorney...” He turned, saw the look in Sheriff Brandon’s eyes, hesitated a moment, then hurried out into the corridor.
Brandon, following him, said, “That’s what I said. A crooked newspaper publisher, and a shyster lawyer.”
“Come on, Paden,” Carr said suavely. “You can answer him in the columns of your paper. I can afford to ignore it.”
They walked rapidly toward the stairs.
Brandon kicked the door shut, his face white with fury. “Damn them,” he said. “They haven’t guts enough to turn around and make a fair fight of it. They keep sniping away in that dirty newspaper. Hang it, that man Carr! He would have to turn out to be a connoisseur of antique jewelry.”
“Doug,” Sylvia said, “did you get that from Bodega’s collection?”
Selby nodded. “I was trying to lay a trap for Moana. I wanted to get her in here and... well, that’s what happened. How in the world would anyone from the Lennox family ever get teamed up with A. B. Carr?”
Sylvia said, “Oh Doug, I’m afraid you walked right into a trap. Didn’t you ever hear about Stacy Bodega’s son? He was arrested for drunken driving while he was in college. He hit a woman and injured her quite seriously.
“Bodega got old A. B. C., and Carr fixed everything up very hush-hush. Now you can see what must have happened. Stacy Bodega must have been passing the time of day with Carr and undoubtedly mentioned that you’d gone over his collection to try and match the Lennox pieces.”
Selby’s face darkened. “And that’s why Carr brought Paden along with him... Still Carr must have had some connection with the Lennox family — with Moana, anyway. What do you say, Rex?”
Brandon said, “What I want to say can’t be said in front of Sylvia. Damn them!”
Selby turned to a thoroughly miserable Sylvia Martin. “Here’s a tip, Sylvia. Charter an airplane. Fly up to Santa Barbara and talk with Constance Kerry, and I mean talk with her. If there’s anything fishy about this thing, and I think there is, I want you to find out about it. Telephone just as soon as you get a lead.”
He walked to the door with her.
Suddenly she turned, drew his head over and kissed his cheek.
“Remember, Doug, there are thousands of people in this county who believe in you, who trust you — who love you.”
He patted her shoulder.
“And now,” she said, “wipe the lipstick off your cheek. Let’s have at them.”
“Hip and thigh,” he agreed laughingly. “We’ll smite them... Sylvia...?”
“Yes.”
“You said there were thousands who loved me?”
She nodded.
“That’s more than I need, Sylvia. It’s nine hundred and ninety-nine more than I need.”
“You’ll need every one before you’re through with this case,” she told him, and slipped quietly through the door into the corridor.
21
Selby sat in Rex Brandon’s office. The door was locked. A copy of the evening Blade, still damp from the press, was spread out on Brandon’s desk.
Brandon said, “That other stuff was vicious, Doug. This attack is really deadly. It’s going to hurt. This is the stuff voters read, believe and fall for.”
Headlines streamed across the front page: SHERIFF AND D.A. FAKE RECOVERY OF JEWELRY TO HIDE INEFFICIENCY.
Brandon skimmed through the news account, turned to the editorial page, said, “Listen to this, Doug. Here’s the way Paden’s fighting now:
In a last desperate attempt to conceal their failure and presumably to try and detract from the credit due Otto Larkin for apprehending the Number One murder suspect in connection with the killing of Rose Furman, Doug Selby, the district attorney, and Rex Brandon, the sheriff, have perpetrated what is probably the greatest comic opera scheme of them all.
It has now been definitely established that these men went to a collector of antique jewelry and borrowed some pieces which would answer the description of the jewelry which was taken from the Lennox home in a burglary last Tuesday night.
They next sent for their staunch ally on The Clarion to be certain there would be plenty of favorable publicity, and then notified Moana Lennox that her jewelry had been recovered and asked her to come and identify it.
It happened that Moana Lennox, who had been prostrated by the shock of the burglary in addition to events indirectly connecting her family with the murder of Rose Furman, was unable to keep the appointment, but she knew that A. B. Carr, the distinguished lawyer who has seen fit to honor this city by making his home in our midst, was an expert on antique jewelry, an avid collector, and a shrewd appraiser.
It happened that Carr had seen Moana Lennox’s heirlooms and so she asked him to drop by the sheriff’s office and see if it would be possible to make an identification.
Not only did Carr fail to identify the jewelry as that of Moana Lennox, but to the discomfited surprise of the red-faced county officials, he made a positive identification of the jewelry as being a part of the collection of Stacy Bodega, the local jeweler who has for a long time made a hobby of collecting interesting bits of antique jewelry.
It was only the work of a few minutes to confirm the hoax which the officers had attempted to perpetrate in order to secure favorable publicity from a friendly newspaper. Stacy Bodega reluctantly admitted that the officials had borrowed this jewelry from him earlier in the day.
In the past, these officials have enjoyed the fawning support of a sycophant press, and favorable publicity has been lavished upon them in screaming headlines whenever they blundered upon any clues which automatically led to the solution of such crimes as they were investigating. One would have thought that these men were combinations of Sherlock Holmes and Solomon.
Then came the murder of Rose Furman, and the comedy of errors which resulted when the district attorney and the sheriff, starting out in their usual bungling way, attempted to muddle through.
Had the breaks been with them, it is probable that once more the subservient Clarion would have been screaming at the top of its vociferous lungs that the astute county officials once again had solved a murder which would have baffled any detectives other than those super-shrewd sleuths who are guarding over the destinies of Madison County.
As it was, Otto Larkin quietly, unostentatiously, and with no fanfare of trumpets, went out and solved that murder case. At least he has the prime Number One suspect in custody, and while it is not the policy of The Blade to attempt to try cases in the newspaper, or to anticipate what a jury may do, we will, nevertheless, state that the evidence which can be introduced, and which should be introduced by a special prosecutor appointed by the attorney general, will be damning.
Rex Brandon was probably a good cattleman. He should be back in the cattle business. There is some question as to whether Doug Selby possesses sufficient brains to make a living in private, competitive practice of law. Selby probably knows better than anyone else. And his own opinion is shown by his actions. Immediately on his return from the Army, he used the halo of his military service to plunge once more into the haven of a job where the taxpayers of this community would see that he enjoyed a fixed income.
It will be interesting to see what Doug Selby can actually do when he is retired to private life, because the chances that he will retain the office of the district attorney after the next election are figured by shrewd gamblers at about ten thousand to one.