The office of the Fremantle constabulary was across town but the two men
disdained a carriage, preferring to walk. They passed wagons and cabs
bogged down in the congested streets of the business district. Daytime
shoppers crowded the sidewalks but were more easily maneuvered out of the
way.
"You can be frank now, Melvin. Tell me what the problem is." Marston jumped into the road to avoid a woman heavily burdened with parcels who insisted on walking down the middle of the sidewalk.
"Well, I'm not sure that I - Oomph!" Collins clutched his ribs. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you swing that parcel. My fault entirely. - I'm not sure that I understand it myself. But the constable was quite insistent that you come in to answer more questions."
"Ches Watters was an insignificant thug." Marston frowned. "Did he have important friends who owed him favors?"
"I'd never heard of him. But I'm just a shy company lawyer," Collins ignored his client's snort of derision. "And I don't move in exalted circles where important friends gather."
The police office took up an entire city block, mostly to accommodate the jail cells in the back half of the building. Marston and Collins walked through the heavy barred doors and introduced themselves to the officer at the front desk. He ran a thick stubby finger down a penciled list in front of him and nodded. A junior officer came forward to escort them down the hall to the chief constable's office.
The room was not crowded: the chief constable sat behind his desk and a prosperous-looking man in a fashionable suit occupied an upholstered leather chair for visitors. Pushed against the wall under the windows was an old table that served as working desk and file cabinet for the senior officers of the force.
The office's owner looked up. "Hello, Mr. Marston. We're grateful that you could come." He looked around his guests at their escort. "Higgins, get Mr. Marston a chair. Many congratulations on your nuptials, sir."
The officer brought forward a hard wooden chair and bowed himself out of the room. Marston sat down. Collins perched on the windowsill behind him. "Thank you, sir. You can appreciate my wish to get this interview over with."
The chief constable coughed apologetically. "Well, Mr. Marston, as far as the force is concerned, you've answered all our questions just fine. But Mr. Buttershaw here, well, maybe I better let him tell it."
Marston stared. "Buttershaw?"
"Accept my sincere congratulations on this happy day, Mr. Marston." The prosperous-looking man nodded and held out his hand. "Robert Buttershaw, sir, of Wilson, Tait and Buttershaw. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
Marston shook hands with the lawyer who was known throughout the entire state for his political ambitions, his wealth and his high social standing. Buttershaw's smile didn't reach his eyes. "My client is very interested in knowing more about this unfortunate incident."
"What unfortunate incident?" Marston asked.
"The death of Ches Watters, sir." Buttershaw responded, his smile disappearing.
"Interesting description." Marston reached into his coat for a cigar and bit off the end. "I'm intrigued, Mr. Buttershaw. Who is your client?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." Buttershaw turned to the chief constable. "Very well, George, you can get out now."
"Well, Mr. Buttershaw, you see, it's my office and I really should - I mean it is still a police matter." The chief constable's voice trailed off unhappily under the lawyer's stare. "Call me if you need me." He stood up, grabbed an armful of paper and skittered out the door.
Buttershaw leaned back in his chair. "Now we can talk."
Marston and Collins exchanged looks. "About what?" Marston asked
"About the death of Ches Watters and your incredible story to the police." Buttershaw put his hands behind his head and chuckled. "Impressing the little woman, were you?"
Marston took a deep pull on his cigar. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your contention that Mr. Watters seized your fiancee's brother and attempted to abduct him is clearly fantastic, Mr. Marston. I have several witnesses who can attest to Mr. Watters's conduct yesterday." Buttershaw was smiling again. "I'm afraid their version differs significantly from yours."
"The stablehands who were present can verify," Collins stepped away from the windowsill. "That Mr. Marston was defending himself. Mr. Watters drew first."
"I'm afraid, sir, you are incorrect. The witnesses say Mr. Watters never had a chance to pull his gun out. They also say that he never laid a hand on the boy." Buttershaw reached down beside his chair and lifted a leather case to his lap. After a moment's search, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Yes, here we are. You can see for yourself." He offered the papers to Collins.
The younger lawyer sifted through them and handed them to his client. "Why do you have these papers, Mr. Buttershaw? Are they not police documents?"
Marston paused in his perusal and waited for the answer.
"Mr. Collins, I am well known here in the police offices as a - friend, shall we say? - of justice. I assure you I can be trusted with sensitive documents." Buttershaw seemed highly amused.
"Mr. Buttershaw. I am a newly married man. I have left my wedding luncheon to come here." Marston leaned forward. "I would like to get out of here before my first anniversary comes up. What do you want?"
"I do like working with businessmen, Mr. Marston. They know how to get to the point." Buttershaw hitched his chair ahead and mimicked Marston's stance. "Very well. I want you to retract your story. You drew first in the honestly mistaken belief that you were in danger. You will not be charged with murder. I guarantee it."
Marston stared. "Go to hell."
"Not during office hours. It wouldn't be billable." Buttershaw sighed. "Look, Marston, you're not the only one who has better things to do with his time today. Let's call George back in here, get your statement down on paper and we can both get on with our lives."
"I will not change my statement. Watters tried to abduct my wife's brother, he drew first and I reacted." Marston tossed his cigar butt away. His voice was chilled steel.
"Marston, I'm really sorry to hear you say that." Buttershaw's expression did not change. "And you will be, too; that I can promise you."
"You can be frank now, Melvin. Tell me what the problem is." Marston jumped into the road to avoid a woman heavily burdened with parcels who insisted on walking down the middle of the sidewalk.
"Well, I'm not sure that I - Oomph!" Collins clutched his ribs. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't see you swing that parcel. My fault entirely. - I'm not sure that I understand it myself. But the constable was quite insistent that you come in to answer more questions."
"Ches Watters was an insignificant thug." Marston frowned. "Did he have important friends who owed him favors?"
"I'd never heard of him. But I'm just a shy company lawyer," Collins ignored his client's snort of derision. "And I don't move in exalted circles where important friends gather."
The police office took up an entire city block, mostly to accommodate the jail cells in the back half of the building. Marston and Collins walked through the heavy barred doors and introduced themselves to the officer at the front desk. He ran a thick stubby finger down a penciled list in front of him and nodded. A junior officer came forward to escort them down the hall to the chief constable's office.
The room was not crowded: the chief constable sat behind his desk and a prosperous-looking man in a fashionable suit occupied an upholstered leather chair for visitors. Pushed against the wall under the windows was an old table that served as working desk and file cabinet for the senior officers of the force.
The office's owner looked up. "Hello, Mr. Marston. We're grateful that you could come." He looked around his guests at their escort. "Higgins, get Mr. Marston a chair. Many congratulations on your nuptials, sir."
The officer brought forward a hard wooden chair and bowed himself out of the room. Marston sat down. Collins perched on the windowsill behind him. "Thank you, sir. You can appreciate my wish to get this interview over with."
The chief constable coughed apologetically. "Well, Mr. Marston, as far as the force is concerned, you've answered all our questions just fine. But Mr. Buttershaw here, well, maybe I better let him tell it."
Marston stared. "Buttershaw?"
"Accept my sincere congratulations on this happy day, Mr. Marston." The prosperous-looking man nodded and held out his hand. "Robert Buttershaw, sir, of Wilson, Tait and Buttershaw. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
Marston shook hands with the lawyer who was known throughout the entire state for his political ambitions, his wealth and his high social standing. Buttershaw's smile didn't reach his eyes. "My client is very interested in knowing more about this unfortunate incident."
"What unfortunate incident?" Marston asked.
"The death of Ches Watters, sir." Buttershaw responded, his smile disappearing.
"Interesting description." Marston reached into his coat for a cigar and bit off the end. "I'm intrigued, Mr. Buttershaw. Who is your client?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." Buttershaw turned to the chief constable. "Very well, George, you can get out now."
"Well, Mr. Buttershaw, you see, it's my office and I really should - I mean it is still a police matter." The chief constable's voice trailed off unhappily under the lawyer's stare. "Call me if you need me." He stood up, grabbed an armful of paper and skittered out the door.
Buttershaw leaned back in his chair. "Now we can talk."
Marston and Collins exchanged looks. "About what?" Marston asked
"About the death of Ches Watters and your incredible story to the police." Buttershaw put his hands behind his head and chuckled. "Impressing the little woman, were you?"
Marston took a deep pull on his cigar. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your contention that Mr. Watters seized your fiancee's brother and attempted to abduct him is clearly fantastic, Mr. Marston. I have several witnesses who can attest to Mr. Watters's conduct yesterday." Buttershaw was smiling again. "I'm afraid their version differs significantly from yours."
"The stablehands who were present can verify," Collins stepped away from the windowsill. "That Mr. Marston was defending himself. Mr. Watters drew first."
"I'm afraid, sir, you are incorrect. The witnesses say Mr. Watters never had a chance to pull his gun out. They also say that he never laid a hand on the boy." Buttershaw reached down beside his chair and lifted a leather case to his lap. After a moment's search, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Yes, here we are. You can see for yourself." He offered the papers to Collins.
The younger lawyer sifted through them and handed them to his client. "Why do you have these papers, Mr. Buttershaw? Are they not police documents?"
Marston paused in his perusal and waited for the answer.
"Mr. Collins, I am well known here in the police offices as a - friend, shall we say? - of justice. I assure you I can be trusted with sensitive documents." Buttershaw seemed highly amused.
"Mr. Buttershaw. I am a newly married man. I have left my wedding luncheon to come here." Marston leaned forward. "I would like to get out of here before my first anniversary comes up. What do you want?"
"I do like working with businessmen, Mr. Marston. They know how to get to the point." Buttershaw hitched his chair ahead and mimicked Marston's stance. "Very well. I want you to retract your story. You drew first in the honestly mistaken belief that you were in danger. You will not be charged with murder. I guarantee it."
Marston stared. "Go to hell."
"Not during office hours. It wouldn't be billable." Buttershaw sighed. "Look, Marston, you're not the only one who has better things to do with his time today. Let's call George back in here, get your statement down on paper and we can both get on with our lives."
"I will not change my statement. Watters tried to abduct my wife's brother, he drew first and I reacted." Marston tossed his cigar butt away. His voice was chilled steel.
"Marston, I'm really sorry to hear you say that." Buttershaw's expression did not change. "And you will be, too; that I can promise you."