The Anonymous Client

18

Mark Taylor, showing the ill effects of a sleepless night, slouched in Steve Winslow’s clients’ chair and folded open his notebook.

“O.K., Steve, here’s the pitch. The police are still holding Marilyn Harding. She won’t talk, but her lawyer’s talking plenty. He’s filing a writ of habeas corpus, and demanding they either charge her or release her. So far they haven’t done either, but talk is they’ll charge her by this afternoon. Rumor has it the only reason Dirkson’s hanging back is he can’t decide which case he’d rather try her on first.”

“It’ll be the Bradshaw case,” Steve said.

“How do you know that?”

“Because that way he can drag in the Harding murder to prove motive. If he tried her on the Harding murder first, he’d have a devil of a time trying to tie the Bradshaw murder in with it. The minute he mentioned Bradshaw, Fitzpatrick would start screaming prejudicial misconduct, and Dirkson would find himself in a nasty predicament. Fitzpatrick might even get a mistrial out of it. But by trying her for the Bradshaw murder, Dirkson can prejudice the jury by dragging in the Harding business. And to top it off, he doesn’t even have to get a second-degree murder verdict. If he can convict her of anything at all, even manslaughter or criminally negligent homicide, he’s home free. ’Cause then he’ll turn around and try her for the murder of her father, and when he does, he can impeach her testimony by showing she’s been convicted of a felony. After that she won’t stand a chance. The jury will decide she’s a habitual killer, and they’ll return a guilty verdict without even thinking. Dirkson’s smart enough to realize that, so that’s what he’ll do.”

Taylor shrugged. “Well, either way the case sure looks black for her. The money they found on Bradshaw’s body turned out to be hers.”

“You sure?”

“Got it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Shit. That doesn’t look too good, does it?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Miltner’s men have spilled everything. I don’t know what they said, and I don’t know what time Marilyn called on Bradshaw last night, but from the way the cops are acting, you can bet it was right around 5:30.”

Steve frowned. “Did the autopsy surgeon fix the time of death?”

“Sure. Between 5:15 and 5:45.”

Steve whistled. “That’s sticking his neck out.”

“Sure is. Fitzpatrick should have a field day getting him to admit that he’s basing his testimony on non-medical factors.”

“Sure,” Steve said. “That’ll make Fitzpatrick look good, but in the long run all it will serve to do is to point up to the jury how conclusive those non-medical factors are.”

Mark shrugged. “Well, that’s your department.”

“Wrong. That’s Mr. Fitzpatrick’s department. I have nothing to do with the case.”

“I wish you’d told me that before I stayed up all night getting you this information.”

“It’s good practice for you, Mark. Keeps you on your toes. So what else? What about the murder weapon?”

“Apparently it was Bradshaw’s. It’s a large carving knife from a set of six. The other five are in a drawer in Bradshaw’s kitchen. Dirkson isn’t too happy about that.”

“Why not?”

“The way I get it, he figures it’ll be hard to prove premeditation if Marilyn killed him with his own knife.”

Steve frowned. He thought that over. “No, that’s not right. If she killed him in cold blood, it doesn’t matter when she decided to do it. See, most people think premeditation means the crime was thought out and planned well in advance. It doesn’t. All it means is that the crime was committed deliberately and not in the heat of passion. If Marilyn went into the kitchen to make a drink, opened the drawer, saw those knives, and couldn’t resist the temptation to use one, that’s still premeditated murder, and Dirkson can get her on it.”

“In that case, I can’t see what Dirkson is so worried about.”

“Neither can I. Especially since all he really needs to do is convict her of manslaughter.”

“Then how do you account for it?”

Steve thought a moment. He smiled. “I have one theory that you probably won’t care for.”

“What’s that?”

“That Dirkson isn’t worried at all. That he deduced from our finding Tracy Garvin in his office last night that there must be a leak at headquarters, and therefore he’s handing out this crock of shit so your man won’t find out what he’s really up to.”

Taylor made a face. “You’re right.”

“About my theory?”

“About my not caring for it. I’ve been up all night listening to this crock of shit.” Taylor’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Steve, do you suppose the bit about the bills being traced to Marilyn is phony too?”

“I would tend to doubt it,” Steve said. “Since it’s on the front page of the Daily News.”

Taylor shook his head. “Aw, fuck. Not only do I stay up all night listening to the shit put out by the D.A.’s office, but the only real information I come up with I could have got by buying the morning paper.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t pay you overtime to buy the morning paper.”

“Hell, I’m not doing this for the money. I’m doing this so you’ll keep me out of jail.”

“You’re not in there yet.”

“Right. Thanks to my lucky stars and ten serial numbers that conveniently failed to match. You didn’t by any chance switch those numbers around, did you Steve?”

“If I had, would you want to know?”

“Fuck no!” Taylor said. “Never mind. I withdraw the question.”

Steve grinned. “It’s all right. Just for your peace of mind, I didn’t tamper with the list.”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course not. You saw the list yourself.”

“Sure. Just like a volunteer from the audience sees the magician’s ordinary deck of cards.”

“The bank teller can vouch for the list, Mark. By now even the cops will have to admit it’s genuine. What Dirkson’s going to accuse me of is switching the money.”

“You mean taking ten thousand dollars of Marilyn Harding’s money and planting it on the corpse in place of Bradshaw’s ten grand?”

“That’s right.”

“Shit, Steve, what the hell could you expect to gain by that?”

“Fortunately, I don’t have to answer that question. Dirkson does, and that undoubtedly is one of the things he’s really worried about.”

“Gonna sit back and make him prove you guilty beyond a reasonable doubt?”

“No joke. That’s exactly what I may wind up doing.” Steve rubbed his head. “All right. What about the witness?”

“What witness?”

“The woman who called the police.”

“Oh. Margaret Millburn. Well, there you know as much as anyone. She heard an altercation and called the cops.”

“What kind of altercation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Physical or verbal?”

“I gather both.”

“Then she must have heard the assailant’s voice.”

“That’s right, but not well enough to identify it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the police haven’t arranged for her to hear Marilyn’s voice.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. The police finished with the Millburn woman and put her back in circulation before Marilyn Harding was picked up. She hasn’t been near the police station since. That confirms my report that Miss Millburn didn’t actually see Marilyn Harding, and indicates she didn’t hear the argument distinctly enough to recognize voices.”

“Could she hear them well enough to tell if the other party was a man or a woman?”

“If the cops know, they’re not letting on.”

“What about Miss Millburn?”

“What about her?”

“You said the cops put her back in circulation?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s to stop you from having a little chat with her?”

“Just one thing, Steve. You’re forgetting she lives next door to Bradshaw’s apartment. I wouldn’t go near the place right now if my life depended on it.”

“Right,” Steve said. “They’d figure you were after the evidence I ditched.”

“I got the dope on her anyway,” Taylor said. He referred to his notebook. “She’s twenty-eight and she’s a divorcee. Millburn is her maiden name. She was married to a used car salesman named Buckley. Apparently he tried to trade her in on a new model, so she went to Reno, established a six months’ residence, and got a divorce. That was three years ago. She moved here three months ago. She does nothing in the line of work, and seems to be living off her alimony.”

“And how the hell did you get all that?”

“From the landlady, who, I’ll save you the trouble of asking, was out shopping at the time of the murder and didn’t see or hear a thing.”

Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his head. “See, Mark, your evening wasn’t wasted after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“None of that stuff was in the morning paper.”

There was a knock on the door and Tracy Garvin slipped in, closing the door behind her. She seemed excited and her actions were furtive.

“What is it?” Steve said.

She practically put her finger to her lips. “There’s a man in the outer office,” she hissed.

“So?”

“I’m not sure, but he looks like a process server.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t tell him you were here,” Tracy said. “You want to duck out the back?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not ducking service. Show the gentleman in.”

Tracy obviously didn’t agree, but she nodded and went out.

“Maybe I should get out of here,” Taylor said.

“No. Stick around, Mark. I want to see if he serves you too.”

Tracy returned with a rather apologetic looking individual with a briefcase.”

“Mr. Winslow?” he said.

“I’m Winslow. This is Mark Taylor.”

The man handed Steve a paper. “Mr. Winslow, there is a subpoena to appear before the grand jury at two this afternoon and to answer questions arising from the death of one David C. Bradshaw. I’m sorry to trouble you. Please understand, I mean no offense. I’m merely doing my job.”

The process server bowed himself out of the door.

Steve eyed the subpoena thoughtfully.

“Well, that’s quick work,” Taylor said.

“Yes it is,” Steve said. He looked up from the subpoena. “All right, Mark. At least they don’t want you. Get out of here and get some sleep.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. There’s nothing much you can do now. Put a man on the phones and go home.”

Taylor heaved himself out of the chair. “That’s a break,” he said. He nodded to Tracy and went out.

The minute he was gone, Tracy turned on Steve. Her eyes were flashing.

“All right,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”

Steve held up his hand. “Whoa. Back up. What do you mean, you had enough?”

“You can’t do this. It’s not right.”

“What?”

Tracy was going for righteous indignation, but she was bordering dangerously on schoolgirl pout. “You know what. I’m supposed to be your confidential secretary. That’s what you told the D.A. That’s why I’m not answering questions for the police. All right. Your detective just gave you a rundown on the case. Did you have me sit in and take notes? No. You kept me in the outer office and wouldn’t let me hear a thing.”

Steve rubbed his head. “Right. And that isn’t fair, is that it? Well, I’m sorry. But I told you. We have a delicate situation here. You’re my secretary, but you’re also a participant. The D.A. may come after you. In fact, you can consider it a lucky break that process server wasn’t after you.”

“You said they couldn’t make me testify.”

“I said it was a fine line. And it is. Maybe they can, maybe they can’t. But they can damn well try.”

“So?”

“So while you’re in the position of being a potential witness, there may be some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“Such as?”

Steve threw up his arms. “The hell of it is, I don’t know. Now I’ll tell you everything Mark told me. There was nothing you couldn’t hear. But I didn’t know that until I heard it. So I had to hear it first. See?”

“Yeah, I see. And I don’t like it at all.”

“You think I do?” Steve waved the subpoena. “You think this is my idea of a good time?” He sighed. “Well, at least now I know what we’re up against.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see this subpoena?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It’s just an ordinary subpoena.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything. I was expecting a subpoena duces tecum. You know what that is?”

“Isn’t that an order to produce a piece of evidence?”

“Right. I expected a subpoena ordering me to bring into court any or all bills in my possession bearing the serial numbers on the list I gave Stams. Since Dirkson suspects me of having taken the bills, it’s only logical for him to order me to produce them. But he didn’t do that.”

Tracy frowned. “Why not?”

“Only one reason I can think of.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s already got them. And if he has, it’s ten to one he found them in Bradshaw’s apartment.”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. What are you going to do?”

Steve shrugged. “That’s the thing. I really don’t know.”

“I see.”

“You do? Good. So get the chip off your shoulder and let me bring you up to date, and then with all due respect get the hell out of here ’cause I’ve got some thinking to do.”

After he’d told Tracy everything he felt she needed to know and she’d departed for the outer office, Steve leaned back in his chair, rubbed his forehead, and blew out a breath of air. Yeah, he had some thinking to do, but there was one thing he’d already thought out. One thing he knew he had to do. He just didn’t really want to do it.

Steve tipped the chair forward and picked up the phone. When he did so, the light on the receiver went on, to indicate that the line was in use. Steve frowned. He realized the light on Tracy’s phone would have gone on too. He didn’t like that. He wondered if Tracy would be curious enough to try to listen in on his calls. He wasn’t sure. But he figured if she picked up, he’d hear a click on the line.

Steve shook his head. Shit, what was he doing. Tracy wasn’t the problem. He was just thinking all that because he didn’t want to make the call. He leaned forward and punched in the number of Judy Meyers.

Steve Winslow and Judy Meyers had an off-again on-again relationship. Usually it was off-again, and usually, Steve realized, that was his fault. Steve shied away from close relationships, and had a paranoid fear of being tied down. For him, two dates in a row seemed something like a commitment. So his relationship with Judy Meyers could at best be described as arm’s length. For the present, to the best of his recollection, he hadn’t called her in over a month.

Which was why he felt like such a shit for calling her now.

“Hello?” Judy said.

“Judy. Steve.”

There was pause, then, “The man lives. How you doing?”

“Pretty good.”

“I’ll bet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Is this social, sexual, or business?”

Steve sighed. “I need a favor.”

“You in a jam?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Figures. What do you need?”

“Got a pencil and paper?”

“Always. You could have been my agent with an audition.”

“Fine. Take this down.”

Steve gave her Bradshaw’s address.

“O.K. What about it?”

“It’s an apartment building with a side alley. I’m interested in the side alley.”

“You want me to go prowling around in some alley?”

“Not at all. In fact, I don’t want you to go near the place.”

Judy laughed. “You’ll pardon me if I’m not quite following this.”

“Good. It’s better if you don’t.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“This is fascinating. So what am I supposed to do about this address that I’m not to go to?”

“I want you to go to the neighborhood. Maybe a block or so away. Just so you don’t go near the building.”

“Then what?”

“Then I want you to find a couple of young boys playing in the street.”

“Steve, have you been drinking?”

“No. Find some young boys. If you can’t find any, you may have to look around. But again, don’t go near the address.”

“How young would you like these boys?” Judy asked facetiously.

“Young enough they don’t rape you, but old enough you hold their interest.”

“Great. I love the buildup. Say I find these boys. Then what?”

“Then you ask them if they’d like to play a game.”

“Is there a point to all this? If so, I wish you’d tell me, ’cause I’d like to get on with my life.”

“O.K. Here’s the point. You tell ’em you’ll give the winner ten bucks and the loser five bucks. Tell ’em the game is a treasure hunt. Give ’em the address I gave you, and tell ’em the treasure is in the alley next to that building.”

“Son of a bitch,” Judy said. “Did you get another murder case?”

“I didn’t get it. It got me. I’m sorry to ask you, but I don’t know who else to trust, and I happen to be in a lot of trouble.”

“Shit. Don’t tell me. The treasure’s a bullet, right?”

“No.”

“Well, you gonna tell me what it is?”

“The treasure is a crumpled piece of paper with the words, ‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party,’ on it.”

There was a pause. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all.”

“There really is such a paper?”

“Yes.”

“And it really is important?”

“You wouldn’t believe. If you get it don’t let anyone, and I mean anyone, know you’ve got it. Just bring it to me.”

“And if I get the paper?”

“I’ll buy you dinner.”

“What a prince. And what if I don’t get the paper?”

“I’ll pay your bail.”