The Anonymous Client

34

Marilyn Harding had been crying. This time, she had done nothing to conceal the fact, not that it would have done her any good. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were caked with tears.

She was sitting in a chair in Fitzpatrick’s office. Fitzpatrick had lead her in and sat her down. She had come docilely, mechanically, without life or spirit. Now she sat, staring blankly ahead of her, as if she’d lost all will of her own, as if she were an automaton, just waiting to be told what to do next.

“Marilyn,” Fitzpatrick said. “This is Steve Winslow. Douglas Kemper’s lawyer. The lawyer who spoke with you at your house. I’ve just had a long talk with him, and I think he can help us. Frankly, we need help.”

Marilyn gave no sign of comprehension.

Fitzpatrick leaned forward. “Do you hear what I’m saying? Do you understand?”

Marilyn’s head nodded slightly. She said, softly, “Yes.”

“Good,” Fitzpatrick said. “Mr. Winslow has just had a talk with Douglas Kemper. Now he needs to have a talk with you. I’m going to leave the two of you alone now. I want you to listen to him carefully and hear what he has to say.”

Fitzpatrick didn’t push it by waiting for another response. He just nodded to Steve Winslow and eased himself out the door.

Steve stood looking down at Marilyn Harding. This was it. This was his shot. He had to get her talking now, if he was going to do any good at all.

The prospects didn’t look good. Despite Marilyn’s outward appearance of defeat, her jawline was still set firmly, her face was still hard, stubborn, defiant. Steve Winslow read it all in that set jaw. How could he get her talking? What could he say?

Steve Winslow pulled up a chair, sat down, stretched, yawned, crossed his legs, leaned back, and said, “Douglas Kemper’s a jerk.”

Marilyn Harding’s head snapped up. She stared at him, defiantly.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “I shouldn’t be saying things like that about my own client. But what the hell. You gotta call a spade a spade. The man’s a complete jerk. You know what he’s done?”

Marilyn Harding just glared at him.

Steve Winslow sat calmly and waited.

Finally, Marilyn said, “What?”

Bingo, Steve thought. He’d done it. He got her to say one word. Not a particularly illuminating one by any stretch of the imagination, but still a word. The next ones would come easier.

“He’s talked,” Steve said. “He’s told his story. Don’t worry. Not to the press, not to the public. Just to me. Believe me, it’s going no further. I promise you that. There isn’t a lawyer alive that would let that story go any further.”

There was another pause, then Marilyn said, “Why?”

“If you heard it, you’d know. But you haven’t heard it, have you? No. Douglas hasn’t had a chance to lay that one on you. No, he’s had his own problems. Right now he’s facing a charge of perjury, but that’s the least of it. When I left him a little while ago, back in the lockup, his wife Phyllis was there posting his bail. Some woman, huh? Cold, practical, determined. Gonna get her husband out of the cooler. Stand by her man.” Winslow shook his head. “Poor Douglas. If I were him, I’d rather stay in jail. The talk I had with him was nothing. Imagine the interrogation he’s going through now.”

Marilyn’s lower lip trembled. She controlled it.

Steve Winslow sat, said nothing.

Marilyn looked at him. “His story.”

“What?” Steve said.

“His story. He told you his story.”

Steve shook his head. “Yeah. Bad news.”

Marilyn glared at him. “Damn it, what’s his story?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Well, first of all, you have to remind yourself none of this is getting out. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth saying again, because I don’t want to have to scrape you off the ceiling. None of this is getting out. This is just what the young man has admitted to me, his lawyer, in a confidential communication. All right?”

“Yes, yes,” Marilyn said, impatiently. “What is it?”

“Well, he admits the affair. Blames no one, has no regrets. You two were victims of fate, etc., etc. Says Bradshaw made a blackmail approach to you, you paid him off, he found out, was horrified, and bought the bills back for twelve grand. Only Bradshaw switched bills on him, which is why the bills found on the body turned out to be yours.” Winslow shrugged. “No big deal. You knew all that. The cops don’t, but they can make a lot of inferences. Fortunately, inferences don’t stand up in court.

“Now, here’s the bad part. Day of the murder. You called Kemper at work, hysterical, ’cause Bradshaw made another blackmail demand. He’s to meet you at the coffee shop at four o’clock. He doesn’t show. You leave without him.

“Now, what he claims, and I stress the word claims, is he got to the coffee shop just after five and missed you, so he beat it down to Bradshaw’s, double parked, ran in, and found Bradshaw dead on the floor.”

Marilyn looked at him. She was a poker player, betraying nothing. “That’s it?”

“No, it’s worse. He came out the front door, got in his car, started to pull out, and just as he was turning the corner he saw you come down the street and enter the building. He beat it around the block to catch up with you, but got caught in traffic and got back just in time to see you leave the building, hop in a car and pull out. At which point he would have stopped you, had he not noticed you were being followed by detectives.”

Marilyn said nothing. She sat looking at him. Her face was white.

“You see why I can’t let him tell that story,” Steve said. “In the first place, no one on God’s green earth is going to believe it. It’s a lie, and a clumsy lie at that. He’s trying to protect you by proving that when you got to Bradshaw’s apartment, Bradshaw was already dead. Nice try, but it won’t work. It may be inadmissible in court, but the fact is, in the eyes of the jury, you and Douglas Kemper were lovers. That means any alibi he tries to give you isn’t worth a damn. He claims he got to Bradshaw’s first. Out of twelve jurors, we’d be damn lucky if half of them believed that. Of the few that did, none of them are going to believe that Bradshaw was already dead. Not with the next door neighbor testifying to an altercation. One doesn’t have an altercation with a dead man. Anyone who believes Kemper got there first is gonna believe he had a fight with Bradshaw and killed him. Which doesn’t help you in the least. Because of the theory that you and Douglas Kemper were lovers, you’re a coconspirator, which makes you equally guilty.”

Marilyn bit her lip.

“That’s the story, and I’m not going to let him tell it, and I guess you can see why.”

Marilyn said nothing.

“Now,” Steve said, “no one’s gonna let you tell your story either, Fitzpatrick or I, but we need to hear it.”

She still said nothing.

“Look,” Steve said. “There’s no reason for you not to talk now. The cat’s out of the bag. At least as far as we’re concerned. You can’t hurt Douglas, and you can’t hurt yourself. There’s no reason to sit on your hands. There are some things we gotta know. I happen to know Douglas Kemper’s story is bullshit. Now let’s talk about what really happened. You got there first, didn’t you?”

Marilyn set her jaw.

“Didn’t you?” Steve persisted.

“I’m not going to talk about it,” Marilyn said.

“All right, then I will,” Steve said. “If you got there first, there are only two possibilities: Bradshaw was already dead, or you killed him. I know that for a fact. How do I know that for a fact? I know that because Douglas Kemper arrived right after you, not before you like he said, but after. And he went in there and he found Bradshaw dead. And that’s why he’s in such a panic, and that’s why he’s telling this bullshit story. It’s a story no second grader would believe, but he has to say something, and you’ll forgive me but he’s not that bright.

“No, the way I see it, you got there first and Bradshaw was already dead. And the ironic thing is you. You buy Kemper’s story. You’re probably the only person in the world who’d buy it, but you do. The reason is, you got there and found Bradshaw dead, and you immediately figured Kemper killed him. That’s what you thought, and that’s what you still think, and that’s why you’re refusing to talk. You buy Kemper’s story that he got there first. You don’t buy the part that he found him dead. If you did there’d be no reason for you not to talk. You figure Kemper got there first and killed him. You’re taking the rap to protect him, just like he’s taking the rap to protect you. Very noble, very romantic, and very stupid. Kemper didn’t get there first. Unless you killed Bradshaw, there’s no reason for you to keep quiet.”

Marilyn still said nothing.

Steve sighed. Yeah. He’d really got her to open up, hadn’t he? “All right,” he said. “Here’s the situation. I’m joining the defense team. The only way for me to get Kemper out is to get the two of you out. So I’m hoppin’ on board. Fitzpatrick isn’t too happy about it, but he realizes he has little choice.

“You don’t have much choice either, but it’s still your decision. You have any objections to me working on your behalf?”

Marilyn looked at him a few moments. “No,” she said.

Steve nodded and stood up. “Fine,” he said. “See you in court.”