Blunt Darts

question, got a negative shake of the head from the cop, and disgustedly waved him back to his chair. The DA spoke briefly to his assistant, and then they approached my bed.
    “Mr. Cuddy. I am Stanley—”
    “I know who you are, Mr. Brower. What’s this I hear about the Kinnington boy going home soon?” Brower waited for my interruption to cease. “Mr. Cuddy, you have the right to remain silent. If you speak, anything you say—”
    “...can and will be used, and I can have an attorney, or one will be appointed for me if I can’t afford one, thanks to Messrs. Miranda, Escobedo, and Gideon. Now why are you releasing the Kinnington boy?”
    Brower regarded me. “Why are you so interested in him?”
    “Mr. Brower, I will be happy to speak to you on a number of conditions. Condition number one is that Tommy Kramer be in the room with a stenographer of his choice. The other conditions will be explained to you when he arrives.”
    Brower thought it over. Kramer, the lawyer I had called about my Empire firing, was the most respected attorney in the city of Dedham, the Norfolk County seat. “Kramer doesn’t do criminal work, Mr. Cuddy.”
    “I know,” I replied. “No lawyer’s going to persuade you that I didn’t do whatever it is you think I did. I just want a fair witness present.”
    Brower spoke to his assistant. “Call Tom Kramer and see if he’ll come down.”
    “I want you here when he arrives,” I said. “Meanwhile, I’d like lunch. Or is it still breakfast?”
    “Early supper,” said Brower as the doctor hit the nurses’ call button at the side of my bed. “But I’m afraid you missed the July Fourth barbecue. You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half.”
    * * *
     
    Tommy Kramer came into the room with a young woman carrying a stenographer’s case. The cop relinquished his chair, and she set up. When she nodded to Tommy, he said, “Stan, I’d like to speak to Mr. Cuddy alone first.”
    “No,” I said. “I want everyone here to realize that I’m speaking without advice of counsel.”
    “John, I have to advise you—”
    “No, Tommy, I’m being set up, and not by Mr. Brower’s office. My only conditions beyond your presence and your stenographer’s taking notes are one, that nothing of what we say will be off this record, two, that I will be allowed to speak in a narrative style instead of answering questions, and three, that nothing we say will be communicated to any of the Kinnington family by anyone except you, Mr. Brower.”
    Kramer looked at Brower. Brower said, “Agreed.” Kramer looked at the young lawyer with the tape recorder. Kramer said, “Stan?”
    Brower sighed. He looked at the kid and said, “Doug, leave the room.”
    The young DA started to open his yap, then closed it. He handed the tape recorder to Brower.
    “You, too,” said Brower to the cop.
    “The chief told me—”
    “I said leave,” said Brower in the same tone.
    The cop and Doug left. Brower had each of us identify ourselves and our voices for the tape. He gave background on time, place, and purpose. It was the investigation into the deaths of Blakey and the judge.
    “I assume that you’ve spoken with Stephen, and he has told you that I killed Blakey or the judge.”
    Brower said, “The boy told us you killed both.”
    I drew a long breath. “Stephen is lying. Stephen is psychopathic. He was institutionalized in a sanatorium four years ago after he shot his mother to death. The judge covered it up to protect his own ambitions and got Blakey to help him in it. Stephen killed Blakey and the judge. Stephen’s insane, but has an incredible intellect, and he therefore must be examined by at least three of the smartest psychiatrists you can find, because I’m betting he’ll fool at least one. What I want to do now is tell you what really happened.”
    I then droned on for more than two hours, going through the entire chronology of the case, both before and after I entered it. When I wasn’t sure what really happened, I stated that I was assuming facts. The only parts I deleted were my meetings with Nancy DeMarco in the bar and with Thom Doucette in the park, and I also held back a few of Kim’s statements.
    “Therefore,” I concluded, “it is vital that you protect the following pieces of real evidence: Stephen’s fingerprints on the plastic phone jack in the judge’s library, his fingerprints on the wooden handle of my thirty-eight, the pistol-oil traces that have to be on the