The Anonymous Client

42

“Ask me questions.”

Steve Winslow was sprawled out in Mark Taylor’s overstuffed clients’ chair.

“What kind of questions?” Taylor said.

Taylor was seated at his desk.

Tracy Garvin was seated in a straight chair and was holding her shorthand notebook.

Steve Winslow had just finished going over the entire facts of the case as he knew them. He figured just talking it out would do some good. Mark and Tracy had listened without interruption while Steve rambled on. It was a confused stream of consciousness jumble of facts and theories, and when he finished, Steve Winslow was exhausted.

“Any questions. Anything you can think of. Anything you’d like to know, no matter how trivial. Just ask ’em.”

“Me too?” Tracy said.

“Damn right,” Steve said. “You think of something, fire away.”

“O.K.,” Tracy said. “Why didn’t Bradshaw want Pauline Keeling around?”

Steve chuckled. “Too easy. You didn’t meet the woman. You wouldn’t want her around, either.”

“Who killed Bradshaw?” Taylor said.

“Come on, Mark,” Steve said. “If we could answer that, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

“All right, then,” Taylor said, “who got there first, Marilyn or Kemper?”

“Gotta be Marilyn,” Steve said. “That’s the only way it makes any sense. Kemper missed her at the coffee shop. By the time he got downtown, Marilyn had been in and out.”

“But if that’s true,” Tracy said, “when Kemper got there he found Bradshaw dead.”

“Right,” Steve said.

“Then who was the man the witness heard arguing with Bradshaw?”

“That’s the key question,” Steve said. “Everything points to Kemper. Except he had to come second. Marilyn had already been in and out. Bradshaw was already dead. You can’t argue with a dead man.”

“What if there were two men?” Tracy said.

Steve frowned. “What?”

“Well, you say Bradshaw was already dead. The witness heard an argument. She couldn’t identify the voices. Everyone’s assuming one of them was Bradshaw, but what if it wasn’t? What if he’s already dead and the argument is between two other men?”

“One of whom is Kemper?”

“Not necessarily,” Tracy said.

Taylor grinned. “You pull this out of one of those mysteries you read?”

Tracy gave him a dirty look.

“No, no. Go on,” Steve said. “I like this. This is just what I need. Tell me about the two men.”

Tracy warmed right up to it. “The two men killed Bradshaw. I don’t know who, I don’t know why, but say they do. They just killed him, and they’re about to leave when Marilyn Harding arrives. They’re trapped in the apartment. They hide in the bedroom. The door is open. Marilyn Harding walks in and finds Bradshaw dead. As you say, she immediately assumes Kemper did it. She’s in an absolute panic, and she gets out of there.

“The two men come out of the bedroom and they have an argument. About what, I don’t know. Maybe one of them thought the girl saw them and he wanted to kill her too. The other one didn’t. Whatever. Anyway, they fight. At any rate, the witness hears the argument and calls the cops. While she’s calling them, the two men leave. Douglas Kemper arrives right on their heels, finds the dead body, assumes Marilyn killed him, and makes up the bullshit story he told you.”

Steve leaned back in the chair and frowned. “I like it. It takes everything into account and gets our clients off the hook-that’s mainly why I like it. But Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Tracy said.

“Well, look at the schedule. You got two unidentified men, Marilyn Harding, Douglas Kemper, me, and the cops all arriving at Bradshaw’s apartment in the space of about a half hour. I mean, hell, the schedule was damn tight without throwing in two unidentified men.”

“It’s damn tight, but it happened,” Tracy said.

“It did for a fact,” Steve said. He leaned back in the chair. “Go on. Ask me more questions.”

“What happened to the twelve grand?” Taylor said.

“Now there is a damn good question,” Steve said. “Ten grand found in the hallway. Ten grand found on the body. Twelve grand disappeared. So where the hell did it go? Obviously, someone took it. The question is who?”

“The two men who killed Bradshaw,” Tracy said, excitedly. “They killed him and took the money.”

“Then they’re mighty selective,” Steve said, “if they took that twelve grand and left the other twenty grand there.”

“Ten grand was in a money belt. They wouldn’t know he had it.”

“And the other ten grand. Who took it and hid it in the upstairs hallway? If you’re telling me they did that, then the question is why?”

“Yeah, but maybe they didn’t,” Tracy said. “Maybe someone else put the money there.”

“Who?”

Tracy shrugged. “Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Sure,” Tracy said. “He knew they were coming and he didn’t want to have the money on him.”

“But he didn’t care about the other money?” Steve said. “You see, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it does,” Mark Taylor said. “The ten grand hidden in the hallway was the ten grand stolen from you. Bradshaw had to know you had the numbers on those bills. He didn’t want to be found with them in his possession. So he hid ’em outside his apartment. The other ten grand’s in his money belt. He’s got it, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He particularly wants Marilyn to know it.”

“And Kemper’s twelve grand?”

“That was in small bills, wasn’t going to do Bradshaw any good, except as cash. So maybe he put it in the bank.”

Steve shook his head. “You checked out his bank account with the teller. If there’d been a twelve grand deposit, wouldn’t he have told you?”

“That’s right, he would,” Taylor said. “But that might not be his only account. Or he might have a safe deposit box somewhere.”

“That’s an idea,” Steve said. “And we can check into it. Make a note to see if David C. Bradshaw or Donald Blake had any other bank accounts or safe deposit boxes. O.K. More questions.”

“O.K.,” Tracy said. “Why did Bradshaw come to your office?”

“What?”

“Why did Bradshaw come to your office? That was the original question, right? Way back when we started. That was why you thought he had to be your client. Because as soon as he realized he was being followed, he came right to your office. You said the only way that made sense was if he’d sent the money.

“But he wasn’t your client. Douglas Kemper is. Douglas Kemper sent the money. So why did Bradshaw come to your office?”

“I know the answer,” Steve said. “Kemper told me. When he paid off Bradshaw, he threatened him with me. Told him I was his lawyer. That’s how Bradshaw knew.”

Tracy shook her head. “Not good enough.”

“Why not?”

“Come on,” Tracy said. “Bradshaw was a blackmailer. You know damn well Marilyn Harding wasn’t the only person in the world he was putting the bite on. Or Douglas Kemper for that matter. He was bound to have had lots of irons in the fire.

“So what happens? He walks out of his apartment. He sees he’s being followed. He immediately says, ‘Steve Winslow,’ and comes right to your office just because Kemper told him you’re his lawyer. I don’t care how smart Bradshaw is, that was a hell of a leap of logic, don’t you think?”

“It was, but it happened. The guy came here.”

“Yeah, but I still say why? I mean, look what happened. Marilyn Harding calls on Bradshaw. She leaves. Bradshaw leaves. He makes a phone call. He walks a block. He makes another phone call. Next thing you know, he’s ditched his shadows and he’s in your office demanding to know why you’re having him followed.”

Steve Winslow sat up straight in his chair. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “Son of a fucking bitch! Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“The phone calls.”

Mark Taylor looked at Steve in dismay. “Jesus, Steve, I can’t trace those calls. If I were the F.B.I., maybe, but you’re talking quarter calls from a public pay phone, and-”

“No, no,” Steve said. “I don’t expect you to trace them. But you got your operative’s notes there? I want to know where the calls were from.”

“From? They’re from pay phones. One was a pay phone on the corner, and one was in a drug store.”

“Right,” Steve said. “Where?”

“Hang on a minute. Let me dig it out,” Mark said. He went over to a cabinet, wrestled through some files, and pulled out a folder. “O.K., here we go. The first call was from a drug store on the corner of 3rd Street and Avenue C. The other call was from a pay phone on the corner of 3rd Street and Avenue B.”

“Those are the corners on Bradshaw’s block, right?”

“Right.”

“O.K. Good. Tracy, got your steno pad?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. We’re going to make a list.”

“What’s up, Steve?” Mark said.

“I’m not sure,” Steve said. “I want to try a little experiment.”

“To prove what?”

“That remains to be seen. I won’t know unless it happens. I haven’t figured it all out yet. But I just want to try something.”

Tracy had opened the steno pad. “All set,” she said.

“Good,” Steve said. “Now I want you to make a list.”

“A list of what?”

“Names. Names of people involved in the case. Start with David C. Bradshaw and Donald Blake.”

Tracy’s pencil flew over the pad. “Yeah?”

“Let’s see. Marilyn Harding, Douglas Kemper, and Phyllis Kemper.”

“You want them as a group?”

“No. It’s a list. One name to a line.”

“O.K.”

“Harry Dirkson.”

“What?” Taylor said.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Harry Dirkson. He’s involved in the case, isn’t he?”

Taylor shook his head. “I wish I knew what you were getting at.

“Probably better you don’t,” Steve said. “Put down Dirkson.”

“Got him. Who’s next?”

“Mark Taylor.”

“What?” Taylor said.

“Sure,” Steve said. “You’re involved in the case, aren’t you?”

“Steve, I don’t want my name on a list.”

“Relax. You feel picked on? O.K. After Mark Taylor, put down Steve Winslow and Tracy Garvin.”

Taylor stared at him. “Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m having fun. It happens to be the first time in this damn case I’ve had a chance to have fun, and you’re not going to spoil it for me. How many names is that?”

Tracy counted up. “That’s nine.”

“We need a few more. All right, Charles Miltner. And you got the names of his men in your notes?”

“Yeah.”

“O.K. Copy ’em in. There are four of ’em, right?”

“Right.”

Tracy looked up the names and copied them in.

“O.K.,” Steve said. “Read me back the list.”

“David C. Bradshaw. Donald Blake. Marilyn Harding. Douglas Kemper. Phyllis Kemper. Harry Dirkson. Mark Taylor. Steve Winslow. Tracy Garvin. Charles Miltner. Jason Fisher. Saul Burroughs. Fred Grimes. Michael Reed.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “And last but not least, Pauline Keeling.”

“Steve,” Mark said. “Please. Don’t blow that for me.”

“Relax,” Steve said. “All right, Tracy, look. I want you to type up that list. One name to a line, with a space between ’em so they stand out. That should just about fill a page, right?”

“Yeah,” Tracy said. “Should be fine.”

“Good. Now, I want you to type the list twice. The second time you type it, leave off the name, Pauline Keeling. Got a typewriter she can use, Mark?”

“By the reception desk.”

“O.K. Come on. Let’s type ’em up.”

They went out to the reception area and Tracy typed the lists. Steve took them and looked at them. He nodded.

“O.K. Now you got a metal clipboard? One that looks official?”

“Yeah.”

Taylor rummaged in the desk and came out with a clipboard. Steve took the first list, the one with Pauline Keeling’s name on it, and clipped it on. He held it up and inspected it.

“Fine,” he said. “Now look, Mark, you got a female operative? One you can really trust?”

“I can scare one up, Steve, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“We don’t have time. Tracy, how’d you like to do a little detective work?”

Tracy looked at him. “You’re kidding?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re on. What have I got to do?”

“O.K. Look, Mark. Here’s what I want you to do. Take Tracy down to Bradshaw’s. Then I want you to get her in the foyer door. You won’t have any trouble, a credit card will do.”

“Are we gonna get into trouble over this?” Taylor said.

“We’re in trouble already. I’m trying to get us out. Now, the witness across the hall. What’s her name again?”

“Margaret Millburn.”

“Fine. You go in, you have Tracy knock on her door. It’s gotta be Tracy, ’cause she probably wouldn’t open it for you. You keep in the background. But when the door’s open, you’re there. See what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

Steve looked at Tracy. “All right. This is important. You don’t say you’re cops. Got it?”

“Right. What do we say?”

“Sorry to inconvenience you, it’s about the trial, you’ve been asked to verify the names on that list. That’s all you say. Don’t give her a chance to think about it, just hand her the list.

“And that’s where you play detective. You watch her carefully when she reads the names. See if there’s any reaction.”

Taylor’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, shit, Steve, I get it. You mean Pauline Keeling may have been lying. She may have been there more than once. You know this may fry my source.”

“Come on, Mark,” Steve said. “If Pauline Keeling killed him, you can’t expect me to hush it up. Short of that, I’m going to protect you any way I can. That’s why there are two lists.”

Steve turned to Tracy Garvin. “Look, Tracy. I know you’re going to love playing detective, and you’re going to want to make a big score. But some things work and some don’t. You can’t push it. You just do the best you can. The main thing is, get her to take the list. Put it in her hands, first thing. If you can get her to look at it, great, but if she refuses and hands it back, well, it’s not your fault, there’s nothing we can do about it, and you shouldn’t go kicking yourself in the head about it all night.”

Tracy looked disappointed. “And that’s all we do?” she said.

“Believe me, that’s a lot,” Steve said. “But, no, that’s not all. Mark, after Tracy’s done her stuff, no matter how it goes, slap a subpoena on her.”

Mark looked at him. “On a prosecution witness?”

“That’s right,” Steve said. “Only don’t play it too soon. Give Tracy every chance to do her stuff first. But make sure you get it served.”

“You’re going to put Margaret Millburn on the stand?” Taylor said. “What the hell are you going to have her testify to?”

Steve shrugged. “Anything she knows.”