The Anonymous Client

43

Steve Winslow was late getting to court. That was because he’d had his first good night’s sleep in a week. He’d left Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin at the office making out the subpoena, told them not to call him to report anything short of Margaret Millburn positively identifying Pauline Keeling as the murderer, gone home, flopped on his bed, and gone out like a light.

He’d slept long and late, got up, showered, shaved, had breakfast, and caught a cab to the court.

Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin were waiting for him outside the courtroom.

“Jesus Christ,” Taylor said. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Never fear,” Steve said. “So, how’d it go?”

“Like a charm,” Taylor said. “Tracy wanted to call you and tell you, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“My appreciation will be reflected in your check,” Steve said.

Tracy looked ready to explode.

“O.K.,” Steve said. “Let’s have it. She took the clipboard?”

“She sure did.”

“She read the list?”

“Yes, and that’s why I wanted to call you. We got a reaction. I’m sure of it. It hit her, and it hit her hard.”

“Well, that’s what I was looking for,” Steve said. “Mark did right. I said not to call, even if you got a reaction.”

“Yeah,” Tracy said. “But it wasn’t what you wanted. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?”

“Tracy has this theory-” Mark said.

“It’s not a theory, damn it,” Tracy said. “I know what I saw.”

“I was there too,” Mark said, “and-”

Steve held up his hands. “Hey kids, let’s not bicker. I gotta go to court. One at a time. Tracy, what did you see?”

Tracy gave Mark Taylor a look, then turned to Steve. “I saw her react. Just like you wanted. Only thing was, it wasn’t to the name Pauline Keeling.”

“Oh?”

“Mark thinks I’m crazy. But I was watching her carefully. Pauline Keeling was the last name on the list. I swear to you, she wasn’t halfway down the list when she reacted.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. “That’s her theory, and you’re not going to shake it. Phyllis Kemper happens to be the fifth name on the list. Tracy thinks it’s a good shot.”

“And you don’t?”

Taylor shrugged. “Personally I’d love it to be true. But I just can’t see it. I mean, I’d give anything for it not to be Pauline Keeling. But Phyllis Kemper? The witness knows all about Phyllis Kemper. Why would that name cause a reaction? Whereas, Pauline Keeling’s never been mentioned, and finding that name on that list would have to be a shock.”

“I know what I saw,” Tracy said.

“Fine,” Steve said. “You serve the subpoena?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“The witness here in court?”

“She’s here.”

“Fine. Now, Tracy, I want you to sit where you’ve always sat. Will that be a problem?”

“No. I already saved the seat.”

“Fine. Now, be ready. I may ask you to stand up in court. If I do, don’t worry. You won’t have to do anything.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I know. I’m just telling you. Mark, you got the clipboard?”

Taylor tapped his briefcase. “Got it right here.”

“Is it in anything?”

“It’s in a paper bag.”

“Fine. And you switched the lists?”

“You bet I did. Just as quick as I could. The list on the clipboard does not have the name Pauline Keeling.”

“Good. Let me have it.”

Taylor opened the briefcase and took out the paper bag. Steve took it, nodded to the two of them, and pushed through the doors into the courtroom.

Fitzpatrick was pacing up and down by the defense table.

“There you are,” he said. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“Never miss a court date,” Steve said.

Fitzpatrick pointed to a copy of the New York Post lying on the defense table. “HARDING MURDERED, DEFENSE CHARGES,” the headline read. “You see the paper?”

“I saw the headline,” Steve said.

“Not that,” Fitzpatrick said. “I mean this.”

Fitzpatrick took the paper and flipped it open. Steve looked. It was a cartoon, a caricature of the two of them, standing in court side by side like some singing duo, Fitzpatrick in a three-piece suit, and Winslow in close to rags. A word balloon coming out of both of their mouths said, “Your Honor, we object.” The caption beneath the cartoon read: “THE ODD COUPLE.”

“I missed that,” Steve said.

“Oh, did you?” Fitzpatrick grumbled. “Well I’ll bet you none of the partners in my firm did. I’m a senior partner, for Christ’s sake, and I’m going to be lucky to get out of this with my job.”

Fitzpatrick tossed the paper back onto the table. He pointed to the paper bag. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s our defense,” Steve said. “Don’t open it. I don’t want anyone to see what’s inside.”

Fitzpatrick looked at him. “What the hell are you up to? What’s going on? I understand you served a subpoena.”

“That’s right.”

“On Margaret Millburn. A prosecution witness.”

“Yeah. Is she here?”

“She’s here all right, but she’s hopping mad. So is Dirkson, for that matter.”

“Is he charging us with abuse of process?”

“Not yet, but he isn’t happy, and he wants to know what the hell is going on.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him.”

“How could I tell him? I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” Fitzpatrick mopped his brow. “Tell me, do you do this deliberately, or does it just happen that the people you work with wind up having nervous breakdowns?”

“Relax, Fitzpatrick. I’ll handle the questioning.”

“Yeah. That’s fine. But if you don’t come up with some good questions, and if she doesn’t come up with some good answers-if you can’t show a definite purpose for calling this witness-then Dirkson is going to hit us with abuse of process. And from what I know of Judge Graves, that charge is going to stick.”

Harry Dirkson lumbered over. “You subpoenaed Margaret Millburn.”

“That I did,” Steve said.

“Why?”

“Because I want her to testify.”

“She’s already testified. She was a prosecution witness.”

“And now she’s a defense witness.”

Dirkson shook his head. “You can’t do that. She was a prosecution witness. You had a chance to cross-examine her. You can’t call her as your witness just to cross-examine her some more. Unless you have new evidence, unless you have a definite plan in mind, that’s abuse of process.”

“I’m familiar with the law,” Steve said. “You want anything else?”

“I just wanted to warn you,” Dirkson said.

Steve smiled. “Thanks for your concern.”

Dirkson bit his lip, turned, and stalked back to the prosecution table.

Judge Graves entered and the bailiff called court to order.

“Call your next witness,” Judge Graves said.

Steve rose. “Your Honor, we call Margaret Millburn.”

Judge Graves frowned, but said nothing.

Margaret Millburn entered the courtroom from the back. She looked angry and tight-lipped. She strode down the aisle and took her place on the stand.

“Now, Miss Millburn,” Judge Graves said. “You have already been sworn. I remind you that you are still under oath. Mr. Winslow, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Millburn, you have already testified in this case, as to hearing an altercation in the decedent’s apartment?”

“Objected to,” Dirkson said, “as already asked and answered. I submit, Your Honor, that Miss Millburn has already given her testimony in this case, and unless counselor has some definite purpose in mind, his calling this witness to the stand borders on abuse of process.”

“I have a definite purpose in mind, Your Honor,” Steve said. “But this is a prosecution witness, and I see no reason to disclose the purpose to her. Some of the questions I am asking are necessarily preliminary, and may in essence already have been asked and answered, but I do have a point, and if allowed to proceed, I intend to connect the matter up.”

Judge Graves frowned. “You may proceed, Mr. Winslow. But before you do so, let me add my caution to that of Mr. Dirkson. In the event that you do not connect the matter up, I trust you are aware of what the consequences might be.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor. Now. Miss Millburn, you testified as to an altercation in the decedent’s apartment, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“You also testified that you knew the decedent only slightly. As his next door neighbor, you had seen him a couple of times in the hall. But you’d never spoken to him other than to say hello. Is that right?”

“Yes it is.” Margaret Millburn drew herself up. “And I know nothing about this case other than what I have already testified to in court, and I object to being dragged through it again.”

Harry Dirkson grinned.

“I’m sure you do, Miss Millburn,” Steve said. “And I’m sorry to inconvenience you. I’ll try to make this as brief as possible.”

Steve Winslow walked to the defense table. He reached into the paper bag and detached the list of names from the metal clipboard. “Your Honor, I ask that this piece of paper be marked for identification as Defense exhibit A.”

Harry Dirkson stood up. “May I see that?”

“Certainly,” Steve said, and passed the paper over to him.

Dirkson took it, frowned, and said, “No objection, Your Honor.”

The court reporter took the paper and marked it. Steve took it back from him and approached the witness.

“Now, Miss Millburn, I hand you this paper marked for identification as Defense exhibit A, and ask if you have ever seen it before.”

The witness took the paper, looked at it, then glared at Steve Winslow.

“Well?” Steve said.

“Yes, I have.”

“I want to be sure of this,” Steve said. “Will you look at the list again? And read it over to yourself?”

The witness glared at him. Then looked down at the list. A few moments later she looked up. “Yes,” she said.

“You’ve read the list over?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And to the best of your recollection, you have seen this list before?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Steve said. He crossed back to the defense table, and took the metal clipboard out of the paper bag. “Your Honor, I ask that this clipboard be marked for identification as Defense exhibit B.”

“Any objection?” Judge Graves said.

“None, Your Honor,” Dirkson said.

“So ordered.”

The reporter marked the clipboard. Steve took it back from him.

“Now,” Steve said, “I am going to take the paper, Defense exhibit A, and attach it to the clipboard, Defense exhibit B, and hand it to you and ask you if this is not the way the paper was presented to you when you saw it before.”

The witness took the clipboard. “Yes. That’s right. It was.”

“Fine,” Steve said. He looked around the courtroom. “Tracy Garvin. Please stand up.”

Tracy got to her feet.

“Now,” Steve said. “I ask you to look at the young woman standing in the back of the courtroom, and ask you if you have ever seen her before.”

“Objection, Your Honor. Incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.”

“I’ll connect it up in a moment, Your Honor,” Steve said.

“I think the connection should come first,” Dirkson said.

“Very well,” Steve said. “In that case, I will withdraw that question and ask you this: is it not true that the person standing in the back of the courtroom, Tracy Garvin, is the person who handed you the clipboard which you now hold?”

“Objection. Same grounds.”

“I can connect it up, Your Honor.”

“I still maintain the connection should come first,” Dirkson said.

“Very well,” Steve said. “Then let me ask you this: did you know that that person standing there is a private detective in my employ? Did you know that the clipboard you are holding in your hand is a highly polished metal clipboard used by private detectives for the purpose of obtaining clear latent prints of suspects? Did you know that Tracy Garvin, on my instructions, got you to handle that clipboard just as you are holding it now, specifically for the purpose of obtaining your latent prints for comparison? And did you know that when we compared your prints, two of them matched absolutely with the latent prints taken from the decedent’s apartment and introduced in evidence here in court?”

Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection!” he thundered. “Your Honor-”

Judge Graves’ gavel cut him off. “That will do,” he snapped. “Court is still in session. Jurors will remain seated. Witness will remain on the stand.” Judge Graves paused, took a breath, and then glowered at the defense table. “Attorneys,” he said grimly. “In my chambers.”