The Anonymous Client

28

Dirkson led off next morning with Detective Wallace of the Crime Scene Unit, who introduced a series of photographs he had taken of the apartment. Dirkson then called Detective Franciosa, who testified as to having developed and lifted latent fingerprints from the apartment. Referring to the photographs, he pointed out the various places the fingerprints had been found. There were none on the murder weapon.

Dirkson next called Phillip Riker, a fingerprint expert in the police crime lab.

“Mr. Riker,” Dirkson said, “directing your attention to People’s exhibits 2A-2CC in evidence, the fingerprint lifts taken by Detective Franciosa, I ask you if you have had occasion to compare those prints with the known prints of any person?”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“And could you tell us whose prints that would be?”

“Yes, sir. I compared the prints in question with the known prints taken from the defendant, Marilyn Harding.”

“And that were the results of that comparison?”

“I found four instances where the prints matched.”

“And could you point them out to us, please?”

“Certainly. If I could refer to my notes.”

“Please do.”

Riker flipped open his notebook, and began to compare the lifts.

“The print on 2D is Marilyn Harding’s right thumb. The print of 2L is Marilyn Harding’s right index finger. The print on 2P is again Marilyn Harding’s right thumb. The print on 2T is Marilyn Harding’s right ring finger.”

“And where were those prints found?”

“2D was found on the inside doorknob. 2L and 2T were found on the coffee table. 2P was found on the wooden arm of a chair.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Fitzpatrick rose to his feet. “Mr. Riker, you were asked if you compared the prints on those lifts with those of any known person, and you responded, yes, to those of Marilyn Harding, is that correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you compare the prints on those lifts with those of any other known person?”

“Yes.”

“And who was that?”

“The decedent, Donald Blake.”

“And were any of the prints his?”

“Yes. Several.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“If I could consult my notes.”

“Certainly.”

Riker looked in the notebook. “Yes. Seven of the prints matched those of the decedent.”

“How many prints were there in all?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“And four of them were Marilyn Harding’s, and seven of them were Donald Blake’s?”

“That’s right.”

“Aside from the defendant and the decedent, did you compare those prints with those of any other known person?”

“No, I did not.”

Fitzpatrick raised his eyebrows. “You did not?”

“No, I did not.”

“Mr. Riker, you stated that four prints proved to be those of the defendant, and seven proved to be those of the decedent. Yet there were twenty-nine prints in all. Now, if my elementary school math serves me, that leaves eighteen prints that you didn’t identify. Is that right?”

“That is correct.”

“Mr. Riker, are you prejudiced against the defendant?”

“Certainly not.”

“And yet, aside from the decedent, she happens to be the only person in the whole world whose prints you compared with the prints lifted from the apartment.”

Riker smiled. “That’s hardly a coincidence, counselor. She happens to be the person charged with the murder.”

That sally was greeted with an appreciative murmur. Dirkson grinned broadly.

Fitzpatrick frowned. “Tell me this. Had she been charged with the murder when you did your fingerprint comparison?”

“As to that, I’m not sure.”

“Oh no? Is it not a fact that Miss Harding was indicted for the murder several days after you did your fingerprint comparison?”

“That may be.”

“Well, you testified before the grand jury, didn’t you? Is it not a fact that your fingerprint comparison was part of the grounds on which the prosecution based the indictment of Marilyn Harding?”

“Yes. It was.”

“So when you say flippantly, she’s the one charged with the murder, isn’t that utter hogwash? Isn’t that you trading words with me and making a smart remark that does not answer my question and has no basis in fact, seeing as how Marilyn Harding had not been charged with the murder when you did your comparison and, therefore, that was not the reason you singled her out as the only person whose prints to compare?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Counsel is badgering the witness. It’s argumentative. It’s also incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.”

“It shows bias, Your Honor,” Fitzpatrick said.

“The objection is sustained as to form. You may rephrase your question if you like.”

“I will withdraw it, Your Honor. Then let me ask you this, Mr. Riker: Aside from the decedent, the only person whose fingerprints you compared with those in question was Marilyn Harding?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you compare the fingerprints found in the apartment with the known prints of a Mr. Steve Winslow?”

“I did not.”

“You did not? Even though Steve Winslow was found in the murdered man’s apartment?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“You found no prints on the murder weapon?”

“That’s right.”

“The prints you found of Marilyn Harding indicate merely that she was in that apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“The prints that you made no attempt to identify indicate that at least one other person was in that apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“And yet you made no attempt to match those prints with those of any other known person?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, thank you for such a fair and impartial evaluation of the evidence.”

“Objection, Your Honor. I characterize that remark as misconduct.”

Judge Graves banged the gavel. “Mr. Fitzpatrick,” he said, sternly. “Such remarks are uncalled for.”

“I apologize, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any further questions of the witness?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“Call your next witness.”

“Call Jason Fisher,” Dirkson said.

In the back of the courtroom, Tracy Garvin grabbed Steve’s arm. “Look,” she said, pointing to the man making his way to the witness stand. “Isn’t that one of the detectives?”

Steve looked. It was indeed one of the men they had observed that night on the Binghamton.

“Sure is,” Steve said. “This is going to be fun.”

After the witness had been sworn in, Dirkson said, “Your name is Jason Fisher?”

“That’s right.”

“What is your occupation?”

“I’m a private detective.”

“For what agency?”

“The Miltner Detective Agency.”

“Directing your attention to the ninth of this month, were you employed on that day?”

“Yes, I was.”

“What were you employed to do?”

“My instructions were to keep Marilyn Harding under surveillance.”

There was a gasp of surprise from the courtroom. Judge Graves banged the gavel.

“What time did your surveillance start?”

“I picked her up at four o’clock that afternoon.”

“Were you alone?”

“No. I was with my partner, Michael Reed.”

“You picked her up at four o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

“Why four o’clock?”

“That’s when our shift began. We took over from two detectives who’d had her under surveillance earlier in the day.”

“I see. And where did you pick her up?”

“At a coffee shop on Lexington Avenue and 46th Street.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“Yes, sir. We took up positions on the street from which we could watch through the window and observe the defendant in the coffee shop.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was sitting at a table having coffee and a roll.”

“Was anyone with her?”

“No. She was alone.”

“And what did she do?”

“Well, evidently she was waiting for someone, because-”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“That’s a conclusion on your part, Mr. Fisher. Don’t tell us what you thought, just tell us what you saw. What did you observe her do?”

“She sat at the table. She sipped her coffee. She seemed-”

Dirkson held up his hand. “Uh uh. Just what she did.”

“Yes, sir. She looked at her watch several times. She kept looking at the door. She looked out the window toward the street. I know that particularly, because my partner and I had to keep ducking back out of the way so she wouldn’t spot us.”

“How long did she remain in the coffee shop?”

“Until five o’clock.”

“A whole hour after you took over?”

“That’s right.”

“Did anyone join her in that time?”

“No, sir.”

“And in that whole time, the only thing she did was to consume a cup of coffee and a roll?”

“Yes, sir. Actually, I believe the waiter freshened her coffee once, but that was it.”

“She left the restaurant at five o’clock?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did she go?”

“She went down the street to a garage and got her car.”

“You followed her?”

“Yes we did.”

“How?”

“In our car.

“There’s no parking in that area, is there? So where was your car?”

“In another garage.”

“How did you manage to get to your car and still keep the suspect under surveillance?”

“Well, we knew she was parked in a garage, so-”

Dirkson held up his hand again. “Uh uh. Please, Mr. Fisher. You only know that because of what someone else told you, right? The other detectives. And you can’t testify to that. Just tell us what you did.”

“Yes, sir. When she left the coffee shop, my partner ran to get our car, while I tailed the defendant.” Fisher looked at Dirkson. “Am I allowed to say why?”

“As long as you just describe the procedure and don’t give us your conclusions and tell us what you suspected.”

“Yes, sir. Well, the procedure was I would tail the woman on foot while my partner got the car. That way, in case we had to follow her by car we’d be prepared. In the event she took off by car or taxi before my partner could bring the car around, then I would tail her alone in a taxi, and phone in her location at the first opportunity. My partner, not finding me, would call the office, get the location, and meet me there.”

“Did that happen in this case?”

“No, sir. The defendant went straight to a garage and handed in her claim ticket. My partner drove up in our car before she went out.”

“What happened then?”

“She got in her car and drove downtown.”

“To where?”

“East 3rd Street.”

“What happened then?”

“She drove around until she found a parking space.”

“Did she find one right away?”

“Actually, it took a little time. We went around the block a few times and made a few loops.”

“But eventually she found one?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And what time was that?”

“Approximately five twenty-five.”

“What happened then?”

“She parked the car, got out, walked directly to 249 East 3rd Street, and went inside.”

“Did you follow her inside?”

“No, sir, we did not. We set up surveillance outside the building to pick her up again when she came out.”

“And did she come out?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And when was that?”

“Approximately five minutes later.”

“What happened when she came out?”

“She seemed terribly agitated.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“Never mind what you thought. What did she do?”

“She came out the front door. She looked up and down the street. Very quickly, you know. Then she came down the front steps fast, turned, and headed toward her car.”

“At what speed was she walking?”

“Fast. Very fast. She was practically running.”

“Did she do anything else?”

“Yes, sir. She kept looking back over her shoulder.”

“What did she do then?”

“She got in her car and drove back to her house in Glen Cove.”

“What time did she get there?”

“About seven o’clock.”

“What did you do then?”

“We stayed and kept the house under surveillance.”

“Until what time?”

“A little after nine.”

“Was that the end of your shift?”

“No.”

“Then why did you break off surveillance at that time?”

“At nine o’clock I called in to report. I was instructed to cease the surveillance and-”

“Objecton to what he was instructed to do,” Fitzpatrick said. Then, noting the look on Judge Graves’s face, he said, “Never mind. Let’s hear it, Your Honor.”

“Go ahead,” Dirkson said.

“Yes, sir. I was told to break off surveillance and to report directly to the office.”

“And prior to that time had you called the office to report that Marilyn Harding had entered the decedent’s building at approximately five-thirty that afternoon?”

“Yes, I had.”

“What happened when you got back to your office?”

“Charles Miltner was there.”

“That’s your boss?”

“Yes, sir. He runs the detective agency.”

“Was it normal for him to be there at that time of night?”

“No, sir, it wasn’t.”

“Did he give you any instructions at that time?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“And after he gave you those instructions, what did you do?”

“I typed up my reports on the surveillance of Marilyn Harding and delivered them to the police.”

“Thank you. That’s all.”

Fitzpatrick stood up and approached the witness. His manner was grim.

“Who hired you?” he demanded.

The witness smiled. “Charles Miltner.”

Fitzpatrick frowned. “You know what I mean. Who hired you to shadow Miss Harding?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, sir. I was instructed to place Miss Harding under surveillance. I was not told who the client was in the case.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t you turn in time sheets to get paid?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And when you put in for work, don’t you have to designate on your time sheets what case the hours were for?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So what name did you designate those hours to on your time sheet?”

“Marilyn Harding.”

“Really? I thought the time sheets usually bore the name of the client who was to be billed.”

“They usually do.”

“But in this case the name on your time sheet was Marilyn Harding?”

“That’s right.”

Fitzpatrick frowned and thought a moment. “You had Marilyn Harding under surveillance on the afternoon of Wednesday the ninth?”

“That’s right.”

“Was that the only time you’d had Marilyn Harding under surveillance?”

“No, sir.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, sir.”

“When was the first time?”

“The afternoon of Tuesday the eighth.”

“From when till when?”

“From four in the afternoon till midnight.”

Fitzpatrick hesitated, wondering if he wanted to open up that can of worms. On reflection, he considered there was nothing the witness could say that could damage his client any more than he already had. So he decided to go for it.

“Could you tell us what happened on that occasion?”

“Yes, sir. We picked up the witness in midtown Manhattan, followed her while she went out to dinner in New Jersey, and then followed her home.”

“She didn’t go near the decedent’s apartment?”

“Not while we were on duty, no.”

“You reported this surveillance to the police?”

“That’s right.”

“Yet there’s nothing in the report of that day’s surveillance that you considered significant?”

The witness hesitated. “Actually, there was.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“At the time, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, was also being followed by detectives from another agency.”

Fitzpatrick stared at him. “What?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know who those detectives were?”

“Yes, sir. They were operatives from the Taylor Detective Agency.”

“And they tailed Miss Harding for how long?”

“As long as we did.”

“All the way back to Glen Cove?”

“That is correct.”

“Anything else that you considered significant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is that?”

“The defendant had dinner on the Binghamton. That’s an old ferry boat that’s been converted into a restaurant located in New Jersey. She ate dinner with her stepsister and her stepsister’s husband. During the course of dinner I also noted the presence of Mark Taylor, the head of the Taylor Detective Agency.”

“Is that right? He joined his operatives there?”

“He didn’t actually join them. I believe he spoke to one of them at one point. He arrived with another man and had dinner.”

“Is that so? And did you learn the identity of the other man?”

“Not at the time.”

“But subsequently, you learned it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And who was he?”

“An attorney by the name of Steve Winslow.”

A grin slowly spread over Fitzpatrick’s face. “Did you say Steve Winslow?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s the man who came to the restaurant in the company of Mark Taylor, the head of the Taylor Detective Agency, the agency whose operatives were keeping my client under surveillance?”

“That’s right.”

“Taylor and Steve Winslow dined there together at the same time as my client?”

“That’s right.”

“And is this the same Steve Winslow who was discovered by the police in the apartment of the victim, Donald Blake?”

“Objection,” Dirkson said.

“Sustained.”

Fitzpatrick was grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you very much,” he said. “No further questions.”

In the back of the courtroom, Steve Winslow nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I knew that was gonna be fun.”