Free Threepersons Hunt by Brian Garfield Page A

grated on Watchman.
    Kendrick sat back, crossed his legs at right angles and laced his hands together behind his head. “Look, I imagine legally he’s still my client. Certainly if he were to come to me I’d continue to act in his behalf—I’m not the kind to betray a man just because he’s in some kind of trouble. Now you’re supposed to be an officer of the law, you ought to know as well as I do that there’s a privileged relationship here. Even if I knew exactly where you could lay your hands on him, I’d be under no obligation to tell you.” Kendrick generally looked away at neutral objects while he was talking but at intervals his pale eyes would flash up to make sure he had been understood.
    â€œIf you knew where he was,” Watchman replied, “I hope you’d have the good sense to advise him to turn himself in.”
    â€œWhat for? Another dose of white justice?”
    â€œThe longer he stays loose the worse it’ll go for him.”
    â€œSuppose he stays loose forever?”
    â€œDo you think he’s smart enough?” Watchman said, and studied him for a response.
    Kendrick smiled a little as he might smile to a small child who had asked him a question about the universe, but Watchman got no audible answer to his question and so he tried another. “You’re supposed to be an officer of the court. You’re supposed to have some kind of duty to advise him to give himself up.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll admit I’ve been playing a little game. I don’t know where he is. I haven’t heard from him. It was all a harmless exercise to find out how tough you’d get about it. Frankly I find it rather rancid that they’d pick out their token red man to handle this assignment. It stinks of television politics to me. I don’t know why the hell you put up with it, if you’ve got any guts at all.”
    â€œMr. Kendrick, I’m a police officer, it’s my job to enforce the laws.”
    â€œI Would have assumed that with an assignment as delicate as this one they must have given you the option of turning it down.”
    â€œI didn’t see any reason to.” The interview was getting out of hand, the interrogator becoming the interrogated. He made an effort to get it back where it belonged. “It would help if you could tell me about him. Who his friends were, where he used to hang out.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Actually I never knew him all that well, he was only a client and I’d never met him prior to his arrest. But even if I could help you I’m not sure I would. Joe’s got enough cards stacked against him. I understand Charlie Rand’s been on the horn to Phoenix several times already, trying to get them to mobilize the National Guard to track him down or some such idiocy.”
    â€œYou know Rand, do you?”
    â€œWe’re eyeballing each other across a legal fence. I’m handling the tribe’s case against him.”
    â€œWhat’s it about?”
    â€œDon’t you read the newspapers?”
    â€œI’d just as soon hear it from you. I keep remembering Joe Threepersons used to work for Rand. It was Rand’s foreman who got killed.’
    â€œIt’s cheap pettifoggery, that’s all. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with Joe or that old murder.”
    â€œThe case was pending, even way back then. Wasn’t it?”
    â€œIt was. But Joe was only a cowhand.”
    â€œHe’s an Apache and he was working for a white man who seems to be regarded as the Apaches’ number-one enemy. I find that a little hard to understand for openers.”
    â€œQuite a few of his red brothers work for Rand. It’s not unusual. In a labor market like this one you go where the jobs are. Rand’s hiring and he doesn’t ask questions about your politics.”
    â€œIsn’t that a little risky—for him?”
    â€œHe’s