Another cackle came from Anson. Baker disregarded it. “Would you recognize that man if you saw him again? The one who took the bag from the car?”
“Certainly. Didn’t I say I studied him?”
Frank Phelan broke in, “Why don’t you try him on it, Ed? I’d like to see it myself. We can line Rowley up with a dozen or so—”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll bet you’d like it, Frank.” The county attorney appeared to be talking through his teeth. He eyed the psychologist. “You say the second man was Pellett and he walked off carrying the bag. What did he do with it?”
“I don’t know. He went on down the sidewalk. A young woman came along, Mongoloid, with a typical—”
Quinby Pellett blurted, “I’ve told you what I did! First I went to the corner and had a beer—”
“I wasn’t asking you. I know what you told me.” To the witness: “Did anybody see you on Halley Street Tuesday afternoon? Did you see or speak to anyone you know?”
“Certainly. I spoke, intermittently, with my companion, Miss Griselda Ames, the daughter of a professor in the School of Mines.”
Baker gawked. “You mean she was with you all the time?”
“She was.”
“And she saw everything you saw?”
“She did.”
Baker flung up his hands. “In the name of God, why didn’t you say so?”
“I have said so.” The witness was unperturbed. “As a matter of fact, it was only at Miss Ames’s insistence that I replied to the advertisement. It seemed to me a bit quixotic. If you would like verification of my story, though it appears to me quite unnecessary, she would be glad to furnish it. Not that I regret having come.” His head slowly pivoted for an interested survey of the throng. “The faces of excited people, under a strain of one sort or another, are unusually revealing.”
Harvey Anson cackled again. The county attorney whirled on him and demanded, “Well?”
Anson shrugged. “Well, Baker, it looks as if the only question is whether you want me to go to the trouble of entering a writ. Fact is, I’ve got one in my pocket. I was going to argue it on the basis of Quin Pellett’s testimony and then this came along.”
“Yeah. And instead of letting me have this with decent professional courtesy, you have to grandstand it in front of a mass meeting!”
“That’s right. Lem Sammis and I didn’t much care for certain tendencies you seemed to be displaying. Shall I go on up to Judge Hamilton with the writ?”
“No,” Baker snapped. He turned to the sheriff. “Bill, go and get Delia Brand and bring her in here. I’m going upstairs and move to dismiss and get an order. Keep her here till I get back; it’ll only take a few minutes — you coming along, Anson?”
He strode out of the room, with Anson at his heels, and the sheriff bestirred himself and left by another door. Ken Chambers spat. A little involuntary cry came from Clara Brand’s lips, and Ty Dillon moved to pat her on the shoulder. “Ty!” she said, “they’re going to set her free! She’s free!” He growled, “You’re damn right she is,” and left her to walk to the psychologist and grab his hand. The student politely tolerated it. The Reverend Rufus Toale left his spot by the wall to approach Clara Brand, beam down at her and exhort: “Praise God, my child! Praise Him for this timely and blessed interposition of His divine will!” Without awaiting, or apparently expecting, acquiescence, he moved back to the wall. Quinby Pellett came to replace him in front of Clara, bending to squeeze her elbow and demanding, “How’s that for luck, Clara? Wonderful luck? That that fellow saw me getting the bag, that kind of a fellow, and the girl with him? How was that for luck?” With her eyes on the door instead of him, she agreed, “Wonderful, Uncle Quin, simply wonderful!” The door opened and her sister entered. The sheriff was right behind her.
Ty Dillon ran toward her three steps and then checked himself, looking foolish. Delia’s face was composed and was certainly not pallid or haggard; indeed, if the psychologist wanted to study strained countenances, she was about his least likely prospect in the room. She took in the crowd with a glance, spotted Clara, trotted across to her and threw her arms around her and kissed her. “Sis!” she cried, “what’s happened? Am I really — is it really all over?” They hugged each other. “What’s happened? It is? — And Ty, you here? All right, kiss me on the cheek. Go ahead! Look at you, you’re trembling all over— All right, Mr. Sammis, then you kiss me — you too, Uncle Quin, though I know you’re not very demonstrative—”
They were all around her and all talking at once, having for spectators Frank Phelan and the two cops wearing broad grins, the psychologist smiling tolerantly, Mr. Archer and the two boys staring sympathetically, Ken Chambers pretending it was none of his business, and the Reverend Rufus Toale moving his lips as if in silent prayer. That was still the scene when the door from the anteroom opened to admit Harvey Anson and Ed Baker.
Baker went across to the sheriff, handed him a paper and said, “There’s the order, Bill, give it to the warden.” Then he turned and called sharply, “Miss Delia Brand! Please!”
They all faced him. He was crisp. “Miss Brand, you are released from custody. I am sorry if you have been temporarily charged with a crime you didn’t commit; I offer no apology, because the charge was made in good faith, under the weight of circumstances which seemed all but conclusive. Your being released now does not prohibit a future renewal of the charge in case new evidence warrants it, though I admit that seems unlikely; I merely want to make your position clear to you.” His eyes moved to include them all. “There have been intimations that in holding Miss Brand I have been moved by considerations other than a desire to enforce the law. That is not true. If Miss Brand is innocent and I now believe she is, no one is happier than I am to see her free. But let me tell you this: I am more than ever determined to investigate fully the murder of Dan Jackson and find the guilty man and punish him. Or woman! I congratulate you, Mr. Anson, on obtaining the freedom of your client, but I remind you and everyone that the question still remains and I’m going to find the answer to it: who killed Dan Jackson?”
“Go to it, Ed.” It was Lem Sammis. “Go right ahead.”
“I’m going to, Lem. I’m going to follow this investigation wherever it leads. I’m just letting you know. And the first thing I want to do is ask some questions of Delia Brand. — Now wait a minute, please. You are aware, Anson, that I’ve had very little information from Miss Brand. From the time you got hold of her Tuesday night she has said nothing. But she was found in that office with Jackson shortly after he was killed and he was killed with a gun that had been in her possession, and that certainly makes her a material witness if there ever was one. It was perfectly proper for you to keep her sealed up as long as she was charged with murder, but not now. I want to ask her some things and I’m going to, and if I don’t get answers I’ll detain her as a material witness. I’m aware that I can’t force answers, but I can expect them and I do expect them.”
Anson said mildly, “You might let her have a night’s sleep in her own bed first.”
“No. I will if she insists on it, but I want to start this investigation now and with her. What about it, Miss Brand?”
Eyes turned to Delia. She hesitated. “Will I have to answer everything you ask me?”
“You won’t have to answer anything. But you will, if you’re a law-abiding citizen — anything that has a bearing on the crime.”
Anson said, “I want to be present. She is still my client.”
“No,” said Delia, “I am not.”
“What’s that? You’re not?”
“No.” She leveled unfriendly eyes at him. “You thought I was... you thought I had killed Jackson. Not only that, you thought I killed him because...” She flushed. “You know what you thought. So I don’t want to be your client and I’m not.”