The Anonymous Client

39

Dirkson put his elbows on his desk, tapped his fingers together, and surveyed Steve Winslow.

“I should tell you before we start,” Dirkson said, “I am not particularly inclined to plea bargain.”

“Neither am I,” Steve said.

“Then why are you here?”

“I thought we might talk over the case.”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to talk about.”

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“You listened to me once, Dirkson. You didn’t come out of that one so bad.”

“Neither did you. You got your client released.”

“Which she would have been anyway, Dirkson. You know that.”

“Yes, but not as quickly. You got her out a day or two earlier than it would have taken with all due process. I don’t know why those two days were important to you, but they were.”

“I was looking after my client’s best interests.”

Dirkson snorted. “Sure. You gained some advantage, but you’re not going to let me know what it was. So stop talking cooperation and what a good turn you did me when I listened to you before. We’re dealing at arms-length here, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”

“Don’t I know it,” Steve said. “I heard your opening remark, Dirkson. You’re not inclined to plea bargain. What a crock of shit. You know damn well I’m not here to plea bargain. But you know and I know if I were, you’d jump at it. Because you don’t really care what charge you convict Marilyn on in this case as long as you convict her. ’Cause as soon as you do, you’re going to turn around and try her for murdering her father. And if you get a conviction here, you’re damn sure to get a conviction there. So let’s cut the shit about who’s diddling who. Let’s get down to brass tacks here.”

“Such as what? You going to tell me who killed Donald Blake?”

Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t want to talk about the murder of Donald Blake.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I want to talk about the murder of Phillip Harding.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.”

“O.K., talk.”

Steve leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I notice you haven’t indicted Marilyn for the murder of her father.”

“No,” Dirkson said.

“But as soon as you get a conviction in the Bradshaw case, you will.”

Dirkson said nothing.

Steve looked at him. “Will you concede the possibility?”

Dirkson shrugged. “It’s your party, Winslow.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “It’s my party. Let’s concede for the sake of argument that you intend to charge Marilyn Harding with that crime. Now let’s look at the evidence. Phillip Harding dies. The doctor pronounces the cause of death to be coronary thrombosis. Phillip Harding is buried. His will is sent in for probate. All well and good.

“Then what happens? A month later the police exhume the body and find out he died from arsenic poisoning. Suddenly it’s a murder case, and his daughter, the principal heir, is the prime murder suspect.”

Winslow stopped and looked at Dirkson.

“So,” Dirkson said.

“So,” Steve said, “a little too pat, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” Dirkson said. “That’s your argument? Marilyn’s the most likely person to have done it, so therefore she must be innocent? Little convoluted, wouldn’t you say? This is not some paperback thriller. In real life the most likely person usually did it.”

“Yeah, but is she the most likely?” Steve said. “You see, the facts have to make sense. And what are the facts here? Phillip Harding dies, no one suspects anything, and a month later the body’s exhumed and arsenic’s found. The question is, why did the cops exhume the body?”

Dirkson said nothing.

“I know, I know,” Steve said. “You’re not going to tell me. So I’ll tell you. There’s only one reason that makes sense. The cops got a tip. I know you don’t want to admit that, but we’re talking informally here, so say the cops got a tip. They dig up the body and, sure enough, there’s the arsenic.” Steve shook his head. “Well, we got a big problem there. And the problem is, where did the cops get the tip? I know you’re not going to tell me, ’cause you’re not even going to concede that the cops got a tip. But ten to one it was an anonymous tip. The way I figure it, it would have to be. The question is, who gave ’em the tip? If Marilyn Harding killed her father, it sure wasn’t her. And if she killed her father, who else would have known?”

Steve looked at Dirkson. “Any comments?”

Dirkson shrugged. “You’re talking, Winslow. I’m listening. That’s all.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “You listen. The way I see it, if Marilyn Harding killed him, it doesn’t make any sense. She had the most to gain, she had the opportunity, she fed him the lunch that killed him. For Christ’s sake, if you want a suspect, she’s it.

“Now, let’s assume she didn’t kill him. In that case, she’s been beautifully framed. The murderer set her up. Arsenic’s introduced into the sugar, Marilyn is the one to serve it to him, she’s the one who gained. All well and good.

“Except for one thing. The doctor botches the diagnosis. He puts the cause of death down as coronary thrombosis. A natural death. Bad luck for the murderer. Here’s a perfect frame-up, only no one knows it’s murder.

“So, what happens? The murderer sweats it out, hoping the cops will get wise. When they don’t, as a last resort, we get the anonymous tip.”

Steve paused. Dirkson still said nothing.

“Now,” Steve said, “you’re not going to tell me anything. But assuming we got so far as to go to court-on the Phillip Harding murder, I mean-well, I’m going to be calling witnesses and cross-examining yours. And the thing I’m going to be bearing down on is that anonymous tip. And if there was one, I’m going to bring it out. And when I do, if it was a phone tip, the first thing I’m going to bring out is whether the tip was from a man or a woman. And when I do, I’ll bet you a nickel it was from a woman. That’s assuming, of course, it wasn’t a disguised voice.

“Then I’ll bring out my theory of the case. Wanna hear it? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. It’s an old story, really. An old fairy tale. Perhaps you’ll recognize it. Once upon a time, there was this sweet, beautiful, young girl. But she had this wicked stepsister. Recognize the story? Now the stepsister wasn’t as pretty, or as rich, or as young, or anything. Basically, she had only one thing going for her. And you know what that was? Prince Charming. Slight variation on the old theme. The wicked stepsister had Prince Charming. But then she started to lose him too. And to her worst rival, her beautiful stepsister. So this cold, repressed, unhappy woman plotted her revenge. She’d kill her stepfather, and set it up so her dear stepsister took the blame.”

Dirkson made his first comment. “Bullshit.”

“Oh is it?” Steve said. “Who do you think hired Miltner? Who do you think was keeping tabs on Marilyn Harding? I mean, come on. If she and Kemper were having an affair, who the hell do you think was keeping tabs on them?”

“You can’t prove that.”

“No, I can’t. We’re playing what-if here. And the what-if is, what if Marilyn Harding gets acquitted of killing Donald Blake?”

“That’s highly unlikely.”

“Is it? All right, let’s look at the Donald Blake case for a bit.”

Dirkson smiled. “I was wondering when you’d get around to that.”

“For the purpose of our discussion it’s somewhat incidental, but let’s look at it. Say Phyllis Kemper hired Miltner. She’s framed Marilyn for one murder, but it hasn’t come off. Now she tries to go for two.”

“Now you’re really stretching,” Dirkson said.

“Maybe, but let’s play with it a bit. Phyllis Kemper puts a tail on Marilyn. What she’s hoping to come up with is some hard evidence of the affair.”

“Stop right there,” Dirkson said. “If that was the objective, why not tail her husband.”

Steve shrugged. “We’re playing with theories here. I can give you two reasons, though. One, she didn’t want the detectives to know who was hiring them. If the detectives put a tail on her husband, the obvious person to be doing it would be the wife. She went to great lengths to disguise her voice, so it’s clear she didn’t want to be known. So she put a tail on Marilyn instead, which would work just as well, since all she’s interested in is her husband’s rendezvous with her. Second reason. Douglas Kemper’s a real estate salesman. It would be a large pain in the ass to have detectives tail him around all day as he drove clients from one property to another. With that many trips, and having to stake out the real estate office all the time, there’d be a good chance the detectives would be spotted. She also wouldn’t be too keen on having private detectives following her and her husband when the two of them went out for dinner. Under those circumstances, even the coolest person couldn’t help looking around a bit wondering where the detectives were.”

“That’s pretty thin,’ Dirkson said.

“As I said, they’re just theories. I don’t really want to argue. We’re playing what-if. What if Phyllis Kemper put a tail on Marilyn? Well, she’s expecting to have Marilyn rendezvous with her husband. But it doesn’t happen. Something else does. What? Marilyn calls on someone at a not too affluent address, not the type of place Marilyn would normally go. Very interesting. When Phyllis gets the report from the detective agency the next day, she investigates. Finds Marilyn has called on a David C. Bradshaw. Now things are popping real nice for Phyllis. She’s already called in a tip to the cops on Phillip Harding being poisoned, and that morning they act on it. The body’s exhumed, arsenic’s found. Marilyn has a tough morning with the cops. When they finally leave, Marilyn gets a phone call. Phyllis, thinking it’s a rendezvous call from Doug, listens in. But it’s not Doug, it’s Bradshaw. With a blackmail demand. Jackpot! Phyllis keeps listening. Better and better. Marilyn had already paid blackmail money. The detectives can swear Marilyn called upon Bradshaw. And Marilyn makes another appointment to see him. And Phyllis knows detectives will follow Marilyn there again.

“Well, no reason for Phyllis to tag along too. If she tried to, the detectives might spot her. But she knows where Marilyn’s going. She gets out of there fast, goes to Manhattan, stakes out Bradshaw’s apartment from across the street. Waits for the scenario to unfold.

“What happens? Marilyn arrives, slightly late, since she was held up waiting for Doug. Of course, Phyllis doesn’t know Marilyn was going to meet Doug, since she split right after the Bradshaw call. Had she known that, it might have altered her plans. But she doesn’t know.

“So Marilyn arrives, goes in, and comes out five minutes later. The detectives are trailing along behind. Great. The stage is set. Phyllis goes up, rings the doorbell, gets buzzed into the apartment, talks to Bradshaw. I don’t know what line she pulled on Bradshaw, but knowing he was a blackmailer, thinking up one couldn’t have been that hard. At any rate, she kids him along, picks up a knife, and zaps him in the back. Voila! Perfect frame.”

Dirkson shook his head. “Full of holes.”

“Such as?”

“What about the ten thousand bucks hidden in the hallway?”

“Phyllis does that. She knows Marilyn came to pay him off. She searches the body for the ten grand. Finds it. She doesn’t want to leave that money on the body, because why would Marilyn pay him off and then kill him? On the other hand, she wants the money discovered ’cause it will point to Marilyn. So she takes it and hides it in the upstairs hallway. The theory: Marilyn killed Bradshaw, then, trapped in the apartment and afraid she would be discovered with the money on her, hid it and got out. Not a great theory, but the best she could do. The bills have to be discovered to point to Marilyn, and hiding them is slightly more credible than leaving them on the body.

“Only, what Phyllis doesn’t know is the bills she removed from the body aren’t Marilyn’s, they’re Bradshaw’s, and Marilyn’s ten grand is still left in the money belt. But Phyllis had no reason to suspect there was another ten grand involved.

“And,” Steve said, “if you want to talk about weak theories, you’re the one dealing with the contention that Marilyn would have paid Bradshaw off, killed him, and then left the money on the body. Frankly, I find that hard to swallow.”

Dirkson smiled. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem. You’re forgetting the time of death, Winslow. The altercation? The witness? The phone call to the cops? If Phyllis Kemper did what you describe-and I’m not saying she didn’t-by the time she got up the stairs, Donald Blake was dead.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Dirkson. You’re talking minutes here. No medical examiner can be that exact.”

“There’s the witness and the phone call.”

“Sure there is. But how exact is exact? Those detectives who logged the times Marilyn went in and out. You think they got it to the minute?”

“That’s their job.”

“Yeah. That’s their job, and I bet they’re aces at it. They probably log everything the instant it happens. Probably set their watches by Greenwich mean time every morning. Totally infallible, I’m sure.”

Dirkson waved his hand impatiently. “I don’t want to quibble. You save your arguments for the jury. I’m just telling you I don’t think they’re going to pull very much weight.”

“I don’t want to argue either. I told you, I didn’t come here to discuss the case.”

“You could have fooled me. I happen to be rather busy, Winslow. You got a point, make it. Otherwise, I got work to do.”

“All right, I’ll make it. If Marilyn’s found guilty on any count of the Bradshaw murder you’re going to turn around and try her for the murder of her father.”

“You keep saying me. Phillip Harding was killed in Nassau County. That’s outside my jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said. “But you know damn well you’ve got your hand in. If they haven’t indicted her for it, it’s ’cause they’re just waiting for your say so.”

Dirkson frowned. Said nothing.

“But that’s neither here nor there. The point I’m making is this. If she’s convicted of this crime, she’ll be charged with that one. You know it and I know it. But consider this. If she’s acquitted of this crime-the Bradshaw murder-then someone better take a long hard look before they charge her with the murder of Phillip Harding. ’Cause then you got no prior conviction to throw in her face. And when you think about it, that was really going to be the key evidence against her. Sure, you can show she had an opportunity to tamper with the sugar bowl. But so did her stepsister. And if Marilyn had poisoned her father, do you really think she’d be stupid enough to leave the sugar bowl full of arsenic around for a whole month until the cops thought to look for it? I’d like to see you try to argue that one. And if Phillip Harding’s body was exhumed because of an anonymous tip, think of the argument I’ll be able to make. Think of the doctrine of reasonable doubt. And then ask yourself what chance you’d have of getting a conviction.”

Dirkson met Steve’s eyes steadily. A good poker player, giving nothing away. “Is that it?” he asked.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, that’s it.” He got up, smiled. “See you in court.”