Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine Presents Fifty Years of Crime and Suspense by Linda Landrigan Read Free Book Online

requesting poses.
    Once, all this would have been enough for Warren Selvey. This moment, and these admiring men. But now there was Doreen, too, and the thought of her made him eager to leave the arena of his victory for a quieter, more satisfying reward.
    But he didn’t make good his escape. Garson caught his arm and steered him into the gray car that waited at the curb.
    â€œHow’s it feel?” Garson grinned, thumping Selvey’s knee as they drove off.
    â€œFeels pretty good,” Selvey said mildly, trying for the appearance of modesty. “But, hell, I can’t take all the glory, Gar. Your boys made the conviction.”
    â€œYou don’t really mean that.” Garson’s eyes twinkled. “I watched you through the trial, Warren. You were tasting blood. You were an avenging sword. You put him on the waiting list for the chair, not me.”
    â€œDon’t say that!” Selvey said sharply. “He was guilty as sin, and you know it. Why, the evidence was clear-cut. The jury did the only thing it could.”
    â€œThat’s right. The way you handled things, they did the only thing they could. But let’s face it, Warren. With another prosecutor, maybe they would have done something else. Credit where credit’s due, Warren.”
    Selvey couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. It illumined his long, sharp-chinned face, and he felt the relief of having it relax his features. He leaned back against the thick cushion of the car.
    â€œMaybe so,” he said. “But I thought he was guilty, and I tried to convince everybody else. It’s not just A-B-C evidence that counts, Gar. That’s law school sophistry, you know that. Sometimes you just feel …”
    â€œSure.” The DA looked out of the window. “How’s the bride, Warren?”
    â€œOh, Doreen’s fine.”
    â€œGlad to hear it. Lovely woman, Doreen.”
    S HE WAS LYING on the couch when he entered the apartment. He hadn’t imagined this detail of his triumphant homecoming.
    He came over to her and shifted slightly on the couch to let his arms surround her.
    He said: “Did you hear, Doreen? Did you hear what happened?”
    â€œI heard it on the radio.”
    â€œWell? Don’t you know what it means? I’ve got my conviction. My first conviction, and a big one. I’m no junior anymore, Doreen.”
    â€œWhat will they do to that man?”
    He blinked at her, tried to determine what her mood might be. “I asked for the death penalty,” he said. “He killed his wife in cold blood. Why should he get anything else?”
    â€œI just asked, Warren.” She put her cheek against his shoulder.
    â€œDeath is part of the job,” he said. “You know that as well as I do, Doreen. You’re not holding that against me?”
    She pushed him away for a moment, appeared to be deciding whether to be angry or not. Then she drew him quickly to her, her breath hot and rapid in his ear.
    They embarked on a week of celebration. Quiet, intimate celebration, in dim supper clubs and with close acquaintances. It wouldn’t do for Selvey to appear publicly gay under the circumstances.
    On the evening of the day the convicted Murray Rodman was sentenced to death, they stayed at home and drank hand-warmed brandy from big glasses. Doreen got drunk and playfully passionate, and Selvey thought he could never be happier. He had parlayed a mediocre law school record and an appointment as a third-class member of the state legal department into a position of importance and respect. He had married a beautiful, pampered woman and could make her whimper in his arms. He was proud of himself. He was grateful for the opportunity Murray Rodman had given him.
    It was on the day of Rodman’s scheduled execution that Selvey was approached by the stooped, gray-haired man with the grease-spotted hat.
    He stepped out of the doorway of a drug store, his hands