Ehrengraf for the Defense Read Online Free

something
more far-reaching than the legal presumption of innocence.”
Ehrengraf drew himself up to his full height, such as it was, and
his back went ramrod straight. “I refer,” he said, “to the
Ehrengraf Presumption.”
    “The Ehrengraf Presumption?”
    “Any client of Martin H. Ehrengraf,” said
Martin Ehrengraf, “is presumed by Ehrengraf to be innocent, which
presumption is invariably confirmed in due course, the
preconceptions of the client himself notwithstanding.” The little
lawyer smiled with his lips. “Now,” he said, “shall we get down to
business?”
    * * *
    Half an hour later Alvin Gort was still
sitting on the edge of his cot. Martin Ehrengraf, however, was
pacing briskly in the manner of a caged lion. With the thumb and
forefinger of his right hand he smoothed the ends of his neat
mustache. His left hand was at his side, its thumb hooked into his
trouser pocket. He continued to pace while Gort smoked a cigarette
almost to the filter. Then, as Gort ground the butt under his heel,
Ehrengraf turned on his own heel and fixed his eyes on his
client.
    “The evidence is damning,” he conceded. “A
man of your description purchased dynamite and blasting caps from
Tattersall Demolition Supply just ten days before your wife’s
death. Your signature is on the purchase order. A clerk remembers
waiting on you and reports that you were nervous.”
    “Damn right I was nervous,” Gort said. “I
never killed anyone before.”
    “Please, Mr. Gort. If you must maintain the
facade of having committed murder, at least keep your illusion to
yourself. Don’t share it with me. At the moment I’m concerned with
evidence. We have your signature on the purchase order and we have
you identified by the clerk. The man even remembers what you were
wearing. Most customers come to Tattersall in work clothes, it
would seem, while you wore a rather distinctive burgundy blazer and
white flannel slacks. And tasseled loafers,” he added, clearly not
approving of them.
    “It’s hard to find casual loafers without
tassels or braid these days.”
    “Hard, yes. But scarcely impossible. Now you
say your wife had a lover, a Mr. Barry Lattimore.”
    “That toad Lattimore!”
    “You knew of this affair and
disapproved.”
    “Disapproved! I hated them. I wanted to
strangle both of them. I wanted—”
    “Please, Mr. Gort.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Ehrengraf sighed. “Now your wife seems to
have written a letter to her sister in New Mexico. She did in fact
have a sister in New Mexico?”
    “Her sister Grace. In Socorro.”
    “She posted the letter four days before her
death. In it she stated that you knew about her affair with
Lattimore.”
    “I’d known for weeks.”
    “She went on to say that she feared for her
life. ‘The situation is deteriorating and I don’t know what to do.
You know what a temper he has. I’m afraid he might be capable of
anything, anything at all. I’m defenseless and I don’t know what to
do.’”
    “Defenseless as a cobra,” Gort muttered.
    “No doubt. That was from memory but it’s a
fair approximation. Of course I’ll have to examine the original.
And I’ll want specimens of your wife’s handwriting.”
    “You can’t think the letter’s a forgery?”
    “We never know, do we? But I’m sure you can
tell me where I can get hold of samples. Now what other evidence do
we have to contend with? There was a neighbor who saw you doing
something under the hood of your wife’s car some four or five hours
before her death.”
    “Mrs. Boerland. Damned old crone. Vicious
gossiping busybody.”
    “You seem to have been in the garage shortly
before dawn. You had a light on and the garage door was open, and
you had the hood of the car up and were doing something.”
    “Damned right I was doing something. I
was—”
    “Please, Mr. Gort. Between tasseled loafers
and these constant interjections—”
    “Won’t happen again, Mr. Ehrengraf.”
    “Yes. Now just let me see. There were