Ellery got into his car angrily and drove toward the main gate.
A line of cars waited to swing into Pelham Parkway. He crawled along, simmering as he stopped and started.
A park workman was busy at the gate, and because there was nothing else to do Ellery watched him. The workman was wielding a paint-brush on the faded lettering of the entranceway sign. NEW YORK ZOOLOGICAL-something, it said. The painter was working over the first L.
Ellery sat up. But then he slumped again.
He wondered what was holding up the line, and he stuck his head out. Two cars had locked bumpers.
He settled back for another wait, and his glance returned to the sign painter.
L. O...
The painter started on the G.
And there came a stroke, as of lightning, and the heavens proclaimed alarums and excursions, and the rains came...
The painter shook his head, gathered his buckets and his brushes, and went away.
Ellery became aware of a great honking and beeping behind him. He looked up, blankly. There was nothing before him. He drove into Pelham Parkway.
Lightning again. And sweet thunder.
He drove in a daze, circling until he approached the entrance again, and driving slowly past the unfinished sign to gaze with wonder at the running paint. And he drove back to the parking circle, and he got out, and he walked reverently in the pelting rain back to the entrance — back to stare up at the sign and admire how the heavens opened and emptied.
A sign, a sign.
Ellery came to at a tap on his arm.
“You the owner of that car in the parking circle?” It was a park attendant. “It’s past closing.”
Ellery looked at his watch. It was almost seven o’clock. He had been standing at the entrance in the rain for almost two hours.
“We’ve been laying bets on you, Mister,” said the attendant, matching strides with him. “Anybody stands in the rain like he was under a shower on a hot day is either waiting for a date or he’s doping the horses for tomorrow’s races. Or is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Something wrong?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s wrong and it’s right.”
The attendant shook his head. He said disconsolately, “Then I guess all bets are off,” and he stared after Ellery until Ellery got into his car and drove out of the park.
It was wrong and it was right.
Exactly.
Ellery drove by habit, unconscious of direction or destination. And as he drove he went over the ground for the tenth time, from the beginning.
Yes, it was right. It was wrong, too, but now the important thing was the rightness.
All I need now, he was thinking, is evidence. Evidence that will stand up in court. Evidence to satisfy the State’s Attorney and the judge and the jury.
If it exists.
If it can be found.
If it can be found in time.
He began to feel depressed again.
The fact that he now knew what Van Harrison had meant by his bloody printing no longer seemed important.
The important thing was: Could he prove it?
Z...
At a few minutes before ten on Monday morning, Ellery stood at bay in Judge Levy’s chambers off the courtroom. Before him sat the judge, the prosecutor, and Dirk’s attorney.
“I’m given to understand, Mr. Queen,” said Judge Levy, “that you have something of importance to impart before court convenes this morning.”
“What is it?” asked Darrell Irons coldly. He did not care for the introduction of something of importance at a time when he was expecting a quick wrap-up and a quicker favorable verdict.
The State merely looked receptive.
Ellery chose his words. “There is the possibility of new evidence in the case, Your Honor. If this new evidence can be found, it will have a significant bearing on the trial. Would it be possible for you to declare a recess of... say...” — he tried to read the judge’s expression, failed, and decided in favor of conservatism — “twenty-four hours?”
“New evidence?” frowned Irons. “Of what, Queen?”
“Yes, Mr. Queen,” asked the judge, “what is the nature of this evidence?”
“I’d prefer not to say.”
“My dear sir,” exclaimed Judge Levy, “you can’t expect me to recess a murder trial on your mere say-so.”
“I have no choice,” said Ellery quickly. “It’s the sort of thing no legal mind would swallow for a moment without the evidence to wash it down. I’m not even sure evidence sufficient to bring into court exists. I can only plead my qualifications and experience in these matters. I give you my word, Judge Levy, there is no trick involved, I have no ax to grind, I’m acting for no one, and I’m aiming toward nothing but simple justice. All I ask is one day.”
Irons shook his head, smiling, as if in all his years at the bar he had never heard such a childish request.
“Of course,” began the State, “Mr. Queen does have unique standing, Sam—”
The judge rose. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t delay the trial on any such basis. If you’re ready, gentlemen?”
Ellery touched the prosecutor’s sleeve and he lingered a moment.
“What the devil do you have, Queen?” he asked in a low voice.
Ellery shrugged. “Right now, nothing but a web spun in thin air. What are the chances of the trial’s going to the jury today?”
“Not very good, I should say. It depends principally on Irons at this point. He seems determined to convict Van Harrison of multiple adultery.”
Ellery looked relieved. “Then would you cooperate to this extent? I’d appreciate your doing two things for me: Have one of the exhibits in the case submitted to a lab for analysis, and lend me for a few hours’ study all the records of Harrison’s various bank accounts.”
“I suppose it could be done with the Court’s permission and under the proper supervision,” said the State doubtfully. “Which exhibit?”
Ellery told him.
The prosecutor looked puzzled. “Why that one?”
“I’d rather not say now. If what I suspect is demonstrably true, you’ll hear plenty before the day is out.”
“I’m being paged. I may not be able to get to Judge Levy on this before the noon recess... Coming!” He dashed into the courtroom.
But he spoke to the jurist immediately. Judge Levy conferred with Irons, who threw up his hands and glanced heavenward. Ellery hurried out after the exhibit.
An officer took him to an empty courtroom. Ellery spread out the records of Harrison’s bank accounts on the bench and set to work. The exhibit he had asked for was already on its way to the laboratory.
Forty-five minutes later he looked up. “Officer, do you know Miss Porter by sight — Nikki Porter, one of the witnesses in this case?”
“Redheaded babe? Yes, sir,” said the officer enthusiastically. Ellery scribbled on a scratch pad, tore off the sheet. “Would you take this note to her and ask her to write the answer below? She’s in the courtroom.”
“I’m not supposed to leave these things—”
“I’ll guard them with my life. I have a far greater interest in them just now than the State of Connecticut. Hurry, officer, will you?”
When the policeman returned, Ellery read Nikki’s scribble, and he nodded with satisfaction. “I’ll be right back, officer.”
He found a phone booth and put in a call to his father at New York Police Headquarters.
“Oh, Ellery. Is it all over?” asked the Inspector.
“Not yet. Look, Dad, can you arrange for permission to examine a certain account at the Equity Savings Bank, Fifth Avenue branch?”
“What’s up, son?”
“I haven’t time to explain. Can you do it yourself? I can leave here and meet you in two hours, with luck.”