The Last Innocent Man

The house was dark inside and Gault turned on a few lights. He left David in a small study and went for the coffee. The oak woodwork and floors gave the room a Gothic quality that unsettled David. A grotesque mask, which Gault had collected in Africa, hung from the wall across from him, and a gray stone fireplace sat in the shadows to his rear.

“What’s new with Larry Stafford’s case?” Gault asked innocently the moment he entered the room. David felt his heart skip.

“I don’t know,” David answered. “Jerry Bloch is handling the appeal.”

“That was a tough break for you,” Gault said as he sat down across from David. “I thought you had that one, then that pimp testified.”

Gault paused; then a small smile turned up the corners of his lips.

“Just between us boys, Dave, did he do it?”

“I can’t talk about that, Tom,” David said, hoping Gault would change the subject. “That’s privileged information.”

“Sure, I forgot. Say, what would happen if someone popped up and confessed? You know, said he did it. Would that guy get off because Stafford’s been found guilty?”

“Not if the person who confessed was the killer. They’d let Stafford out and put the real murderer on trial.”

“That makes sense.”

For a moment Gault appeared to be deep in thought. David was very tired and he wanted to get on with Gault’s problem. He was about to speak when Gault said, “I’ve got one for you, old buddy. What if some guy came to you as a client and told you he did it, but he says he doesn’t want you to tell anyone. What happens then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t repeat anything a client tells you, right? I mean, there’s that privilege, right?”

“I see what you’re getting at. I’d have to do some research, but I guess I couldn’t tell anyone about the confession.”

A wry smile played on Gault’s lips.

“And an innocent man would stay in prison.”

There was a wistfulness in Gault’s tone that alarmed David.

“Yes,” he answered uneasily.

“That would put you in a tough position, wouldn’t it, old buddy?”

“Look, Tom, I really am tired. What’s this legal problem that’s so urgent?”

“Don’t want to discuss the murder of that police lady, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t you want to know who did it?” Gault asked in a voice so low that David wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.

“Got your interest now, don’t I? But, hell, if you’re really tired, we can talk some other time.”

David didn’t move and he didn’t answer. He was suddenly very aware of how isolated Gault’s house was. The writer’s eyes twinkled, giving a devilish cast to his handsome features.

“You know, I really felt bad when Larry was convicted. I thought for sure you’d get him off. And there’s another thing. I don’t think it’s fair, his getting all the credit when I did all the work. It’s sort of like someone getting a Pulitzer for a book I ghosted.”

“Are you telling me that you killed Darlene Hersch?”

“That’s right, old buddy. I did it.”

“If this is another joke like that confession to Julie’s murder, it’s in bad taste.”

Gault’s smile widened.

“I killed Julie, too. I want you to know that. And there have been others.”

“Ortiz said the killer had curly blond hair,” David said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“He did.”

Gault stood up and walked over to a desk near the doorway. He pulled a blond wig from the bottom drawer and showed it to David.

“I was so damn famous after that trial, I had to disguise myself every time I wanted a little action.

“You know, Dave, there are some girls that like to get laid by the criminal element, but you’d be surprised at the number that are turned off by the prospect of winding up the evening dead. Actually, I don’t look half-bad as a blond.”

“Why did you kill Darlene Hersch?”

“I’m a little ashamed about that. The truth is, I panicked. I’d been out at a few bars and couldn’t score. Then, what do I behold, but a vision of loveliness standing on the corner.”

Gault shook his head sadly at the memory.

“I had terrific plans for Darlene, but she went ahead and spoiled everything by trying to arrest me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, I panicked. Hit her quick. Then I realized I’d have to finish her. I’d had enough of the law after my murder trial, and I didn’t relish another trial for assaulting a police officer.”

“And the others you mentioned?”

A wistful expression replaced Gault’s smile.

“You know, you’d think I would have been happiest after I made all that money from the books and the movies, but the years as a mercenary were the best times. I felt alive then.

“Life is dull, Dave, deadly dull. One boring, repetitive act after another, until you die. But a creative person can create experiences. Being rich was an experience. And marrying that bitch movie star. It’s something most people only read about, but I made it happen. Only that gets boring, too, so you have to move on.

“All experiences become boring after a while, Dave, except one. Killing never gets boring.”

“Why are you telling me this?” David asked.