Free (1969) The Seven Minutes by Irving Wallace Page A

prefer to have Mr Rodriguez sit in …’
    “That won’t be necessary,’ said Barrett.
    Quickly Rodriguez took leave of them. Duncan gestured toward two leather chairs facing the desk. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’
    Barrett went to one of the leather chairs and pulled it away from the shelves of law books and closer to the desk. Duncan had gone . behind the glass-topped desk and lowered himself into the leather swivel chair. He indicated a pitcher of water, but Barrett shook his head. Duncan offered a pack of cigarettes. ‘I’ll stay with my pipe, if you don’t mind,’ said Barrett.
    Duncan lit his cigarette, while Barrett busied himself filling his English shell briar and then applying a match to the tobacco.
    ‘I guess this is the first time I’ve seen you outside Willard Osborn’s little palace,’ Duncan said. ‘How is Willard these days? I don’t have time for television, but everyone else seems to watch it, so I suppose he’s doing tolerably well.’
    Barrett smiled. ‘I’d say he has no problems beyond Internal Revenue.’
    ‘I wish that were my only problem,’ said Duncan cheerfully. ‘You know, Willard Osborn’s one of the few wealthy men I’ve met whom I’d like even if he were poor. He’s very clever and entertaining.’
    Barrett agreed. He was tempted to let the District Attorney know that he would shortly be a vice-president in the Osborn Enterprises, to impress him even more. But, as Duncan went on, Barrett
    saw that it was not necessary to identify himself further with Osborn. Elmo Duncan was doing it for him. The District Attorney was recalling several of the Osborn dinner partiesat which Barrett had been present, and he was saying complimentary things about Faye, and then he was digressing into a long anecdote about a lawsuit in which Osborn had been involved and which was a perfect example of Osborn’s shrewdness.
    Time was passing, and abruptly Elmo Duncan stopped, lit a fresh cigarette off the stub of the old one, rolled his swivel chair in tight to the desk, and said, ‘Enough of that. I’m sure you want to get down to business. What can I do for you, Mr Barrett?’
    Barrett took the pipe from his mouth, emptied it into the ashtray on the desk. ‘You can do me a favor,’ he said.
    ‘You name it. Anything - within reason.’
    ‘I’m not here for Willard Osborn. I’m here representing another client, an old friend of mine in New York. Philip Sanford, the head of Sanford House, publisher of The Seven Minutes, that book -‘
    ‘I know. The Ben Fremont matter.’
    ‘Exactly.’ Barrett studied the handsome blond behind the desk. ‘Mr Duncan, may 1 ask, have you read the book?’
    ‘To be quite frank about it - no.’
    ‘Neither have I,’ said Barrett. ‘But a number of important critics and professors have read it and had written about it long before its first publication in the United States, and they have found considerable merit in it. This is not some piece of hard-core pornography created for commercial profit and dumped into drugstores and bookshops by some sleazy printer of filth out in Reseda or Van Nuys. This is the life’s work of a legendary figure of the thirties, and it is being published by one of the most renowned and prestigious firms in the book trade. This little action by the police this morning has caused my client some embarrassment and may cause him considerable financial hardship. So I thought it made sense to come up here and - ’
    ‘Let me see,’ said Elmo Duncan as he lifted a pile of manila folders from the edge of the desk. ‘Let me see what this is all about.’ He was checking the folder taps. ‘Here it is, “Fremont, Ben. Section 311.”’
    He extracted the folder and set the others aside. Before opening it he said, ‘Of course, I’m sure you understand, we don’t make these arrests casually. They are always preceded by a careful investigation. I do know that after the complaint was received, Rodriguez and his aide -