“Starving actor,” I said. Then something hit me. “When I spoke to Mrs. Green—his landlady—she told me she kept a gun around the house for protection. She also told me Muscadine took care of her dog when she was gone. Meaning he had access to her house. What if instead of buying a gun he decided to borrow one?”
“Borrowed it and put it back?”
“Why not? He wouldn’t want to alarm Mrs. Green. And I’ll bet she registered it, so even if it’s missing you could make a point for Muscadine being the only one with access. And ballistics might have something to say about the bullet pulled out of Locking’s head being compatible with that model. It wouldn’t convict him, but it might tenderize him a bit.”
“It is a long shot, but why not—Mrs. Green. Yeah, I’ve got her on my to-call list.”
It took fifteen minutes for him to phone back and this time there was melody in his voice.
“American Derringer, model one, takes .22 long-rifle ammo, which is exactly what was pulled out of Locking’s head. She hadn’t fired it since she took shooting lessons two years ago. And Muscadine did have a key to her house. She ran to look for the gun, found it in the kitchen drawer where she left it, but it looked cleaner than she remembered. Freaked her out. I told her not to touch it and she said she wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”
“He cleaned it,” I said. “Too smart for his own good.”
“Let’s not celebrate yet, but I’m going over in person to pick it up, take it to ballistics. Thank you, your excellency, salaam, salaam.”
“So what do I do about P.D. Oster?”
“Shine him on.”
Two hours later he said, “Ballistics match, and Deputy D.A. Schwartz would like to have a word with you.”
I knew Leah Schwartz from a previous case. Young and smart, with curly blond hair, huge blue eyes, and, sometimes, a sharp tongue. She came on the phone sounding ready to run a marathon.
“Hi, again. Thanks for the gun tip, I should put you on retainer.”
“Talk is cheap.”
She laughed. “So’s the city. In terms of Ronnie Oster, maybe you should talk to him. Especially now that we’ve got the .22.”
“Why?”
“Because up to now Muscadine’s refused to say a word about the crime. Maybe you can get him to spill.”
“If he does, it’s confidential.”
“Not if Oster uses you on the stand. Or even deposes you. Because discovery goes both ways, now, thanks to the voters, so once Oster opens up the door about Muscadine’s mental status, I can cross-examine you and get anything you learn out in the open.”
“And if Oster doesn’t put me on the stand?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because I’m no fan of diminished capacity and I won’t testify Muscadine was insane.”
“Oster knows that, that’s probably why he mentioned mental anguish, not dim cap. And I’ll grant Muscadine his anguish. The bastard was harvested. If you get up there and talk about mental anguish, we’ll have big fun on cross getting into all the details. Another thing you can do is write a report if Oster doesn’t have the smarts to specifically ask you not to. Do it the minute you have a chance because once it’s written down, it exists as discovery material. If Oster puts you on his witness list, or uses you in the preliminary hearing, let’s say to get special housing for Muscadine in the psych ward, your work product is probably fair game.”
“Probably?”
“We’ll squabble but I’ve got confidence.”
“I don’t know, Leah.”
“No one’s asking you to lie. The guy was anguished. But not enough to excuse four murders. And the way things are going, we can only present two of them—Devane and Locking—to the jury. I don’t know about you, but the thought of Mandy Wright and the DiNapoli woman never coming to light doesn’t do much for my appetite. You can make a difference here. Use your therapeutic skills, open Muscadine up. It’s not like you’d be forcing yourself on him, they invited you—hell, Oster pressured you. Open his client up wide enough, I can probably get a warrant to X-ray him.”