The Anonymous Client

46

Steve Winslow looked like a prizefighter after the big fight. He was slumped back in his desk chair, totally drained, a can of beer in his hand. He looked as if he didn’t have the strength to raise it to his lips.

On the other hand, Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin were animated. They were sitting there, drinking beer and whooping it up.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Taylor was saying. “I just couldn’t believe it. I’m sitting there in court, and you got the witness on the run, and I’m really digging it ’cause you’d been off in chambers and things looked pretty sticky and then when you came back she caved in on the fingerprints, and I’m just like everybody else in the courtroom-by that time I figured the list was just a red herring, just a ploy to get her to touch the clipboard and get her to leave her fingerprints. And I know you haven’t compared any prints, but she doesn’t, and she caves in, and I’m thinking, ‘Holy cow, score one for our side!’ And the next minute you’re back to the clipboard and the list and Phyllis Kemper, and I’m thinking, ‘Holy shit, Tracy was right after all!’ Suddenly you come out with, ‘No, the name you reacted to was Mark Taylor.’“

Taylor shook his head. “I’m telling you, I almost went through the floor. It was like someone changed the channel on me. It was like someone was gonna tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Smile, you’re on Candid Camera.’ Taylor shook his head again. “I tell you, I never saw anything like it.”

“But you knew it all along,” Tracy said. “Last night, when you had us make up the list. Didn’t you?”

Steve sighed. He hefted the beer and took a swig. “I had it in mind. But you’re the one who gave it to me. With that question about why did Bradshaw come to the office. And then mentioning the phone calls. That was the key, of course. He didn’t come to my office, he came to Mark Taylor’s office.”

“What?” Taylor said.

“Well, he didn’t, but that’s where he was headed. He had Margaret Millburn trace the license number, he looked up the Taylor Detective Agency, and he was on his way to get you.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

“Callboard in the lobby. He looked at the callboard to get your room number, and right under Mark Taylor, on the bottom of the callboard was Steve Winslow. Kemper had already told him I was his lawyer. He knew private detectives don’t work on their own, somebody hires them, so he figured it was me. That was the leap of logic, and it was one that Bradshaw could easily make. And that’s why he came to me.”

“And on the strength of that, you figured Margaret Millburn killed him?” Tracy said.

“I figured it was a good shot. See, her story didn’t fit in with anyone’s version of what happened. Or rather, my interpretation of their stories. Or lack of them, in Marilyn Harding’s case. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. The reason I couldn’t figure it out was I’d made a mistake in logic.”

“Really?” Taylor said. “What was that?”

“Douglas Kemper’s story was that he got there before Marilyn Harding and found Bradshaw dead. I knew that was a lie. I knew he’d made that up to protect Marilyn. I figured he’d got there second. And, of course, he had.

“It was Marilyn Harding’s silence I misread. I figured Marilyn Harding was keeping quiet because she believed Douglas Kemper had got there first. In other words, because she walked in and found Bradshaw dead.

“But I was wrong. I had it backwards. What was making her hysterical was that she found Bradshaw alive. She called on him, told him she didn’t have the money, he was abusive, threatened her, and she got out. Bradshaw was alive when she left. That’s the thing Marilyn was trying to conceal.

“You can see how it looked to her. As soon as she heard Bradshaw was dead, she figured Douglas Kemper arrived right after she left, had an argument with Bradshaw, and killed him. See, the cops had the time of death pinned down so well that if Bradshaw was alive when she left, then Douglas Kemper must have killed him. Marilyn figured her statement that Bradshaw was alive when she left would crucify Kemper. And that’s why she kept quiet.”

“You lost me,” Tracy said. “How does all of that point to Margaret Milburn?”

Steve took another sip of beer. “I had the benefit of hearing Douglas Kemper’s story. And most of it was bullshit, but some of it wasn’t. Some of it I believed. And the part that I believed was the fact that he walked in there and found Bradshaw dead. ’Cause that’s the way it made sense from his point of view. He came second, he walked in there and found Bradshaw dead, and therefore he thought Marilyn had killed him, and that’s why he was claiming he came first.

“Now, if that was true, Margaret Millburn’s story didn’t fit at all. And once you answer the key question, why did Bradshaw come to my office, the answer is Margaret Millburn. Which means Margaret Millburn knew Bradshaw well and is lying up and down the board. Once you realize that and stop taking her phone call to the police at face value, the whole thing is obvious.”

“So Phyllis Kemper had nothing to do with it,” Mark said. “She was just a red herring to throw the witness off the track.”

“She had nothing to do with the Bradshaw murder,” Steve said. “I’m sure she’s the one who hired Miltner. And the one who killed Phillip Harding too.

“You can see what happened. Here’s Phyllis Kemper, a cold, mousy, repressed woman, living in her stepsister’s shadow. The only thing she’d got going for her is Douglas Kemper. And then she starts to lose him too. To her stepsister. So she snaps. She cracks up. She frames Marilyn for the murder of her father. But it doesn’t come off. The doctor blows the diagnosis and calls it a natural death. She waits for something to happen, but nothing does. So she forces the game. She hires private detectives, hoping to get the dirt on Marilyn and her husband. I don’t know what she expected to do with it, whether she was going to throw it in Marilyn’s face, or throw it in her husband’s, or what. I suspect by that time she wasn’t that clear on what she wanted to do.

“But she doesn’t catch Marilyn and hubby going to a hotel. She gets something else. She finds Marilyn is calling on a mysterious gentleman named David C. Bradshaw under circumstances that can only be shady. Jackpot. She phones an anonymous tip to the cops to get Phillip Harding’s body exhumed. Arsenic is found. Now, if Bradshaw hadn’t been murdered, I’m sure there would have been another anonymous tip to the cops telling them to check with Miltner’s Detective Agency concerning Marilyn’s movements. They would have found out that Marilyn had been calling on Bradshaw, and then jumped to the conclusion that Bradshaw was blackmailing her. That would have put Marilyn in the embarrassing position of having to prove that Bradshaw wasn’t blackmailing her over the murder of her father-as the police actually figured-but over something else.

“But that didn’t happen, because something better did-from Phyllis’s point of view, anyway. Bradshaw got killed, and Marilyn got the blame. It was beautiful. She didn’t have to do anything. Just sit back and let nature take its course. Which would have happened if we hadn’t got lucky.”

There was a knock on the door. Tracy got up and opened it. Fitzpatrick came in, grinning from ear to ear and carrying a bottle of champagne and a folded newspaper.

“So,” he said. “Beer. I might have known. Suppose it would hurt your amateur standing to join me in some champagne?”

“Well, Fitzpatrick,” Steve said. “You’re feeling a little better, I see.”

“I’ll say. You seen the paper? The Daily News got out an extra.”

Fitzpatrick flipped the paper open and held it up. The headline read: “COURTROOM CONFESSION: LAWYER TRAPS WITNESS.”

“And not a quote from you in it,” Fitzpatrick said. “It’s all, ‘Fitzpatrick, speaking for the defense team, stated ….’ I tell you, I never saw an attorney leave court so fast after a trial. What’s the matter, you camera shy?”

“I’ve never been much good with the press,” Steve said. “I figured public relations was a little more in your line. So what did you tell ’em?”

“Whatever they wanted to hear. Of course, I didn’t know the answers, so I made ’em up. I figured it didn’t matter, right?”

“Right. What did they ask you?”

“Did you really compare Margaret Millburn’s fingerprints, or was that just a trick? I told ’em, hell no, you were bluffing. You were, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. What else?”

“Did you have any hard evidence that Bradshaw and Millburn were partners? Was he really playing around with another woman? I told ’em, hell no, it was all bullshit off the top of your head.”

“They like that answer?”

“They ate it up.” Fitzpatrick chuckled. “Christ, I feel good. This morning I didn’t want to talk to anybody, I just wanted to disappear. This afternoon I’m ready to have Odd Couple t-shirts made up and wear ’em to the office. I mean, what a relief.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said. “But we’ve still got the murder of Phillip Harding to contend with if they decide to push the charge.”

Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“What?”

“You ran out so fast you missed all the action. Phyllis Kemper broke. I don’t mean she admitted anything. She just cracked up. Snapped. Went off the deep end. Right after you left. They’re taking Margaret Millburn into custody and releasing Marilyn Harding. And Phyllis Kemper stands up and says, ‘No, no, you can’t do that! She didn’t do it! She didn’t kill him! Marilyn did it! Marilyn’s the one! Marilyn! Marilyn!’ Then she gets louder and louder and more and more hysterical, screaming and crying about how it was Marilyn and how it wasn’t fair.”

Fitzpatrick shrugged. “Now it’s not an admission, it’s not a confession, it’s not really anything. It certainly doesn’t prove Phyllis killed Phillip Harding. But after all that, and after what you told Dirkson, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell they’re gonna prosecute Marilyn on the charge.”

“That might well be, Fitzpatrick, but it still might be a good idea to get Marilyn to give you a substantial retainer to defend her in the event the situation should arise.”

“Me?” Fitzpatrick said. “What about you?”

“She’s your client now,” Steve said. “As far as I’m concerned, my services to Marilyn Harding are finished. Now, I’ll settle up with Douglas Kemper myself. But you might tell Marilyn my fee for my services to her is a hundred thousand dollars. In case she thinks that’s excessive, you might explain to her why it’s actually dirt cheap.”

“I’m sure there’ll be no problem,” Fitzpatrick said. “But why are you cutting yourself off now? You suggested I get a provisional retainer. I’m sure you could get one too.”

“I don’t want it.”

Fitzpatrick frowned. “Why?”

Steve sighed. “Because life isn’t a storybook and you don’t get happy endings. Oh you try. I mean, you’re in here with your champagne, and you’re so happy because we got our clients off. Well, I’m happy too. They didn’t do it, so they should have got off, and everyone likes to win. But happy endings?” Steve grimaced and shook his head. “You see, I don’t like our clients much. They’re spoiled, rich kids. Self-centered, egotistical, playing their little games. Sure, they’re cleared and Phyllis is discredited, and now Doug can divorce her and he and Marilyn can live happily ever after. And am I really supposed to care?

“No, the only one I really feel sorry for is Phyllis Kemper, and she’s probably a murderer. But think about her. Her mother marries into money, dies, and leaves her there, a poor relation in a rich man’s home. Then Douglas Kemper marries her, probably for her money. And there she is, the ugly duckling that failed to become a swan, in over her head and playing in the fast lane with people who are out of her league. Yeah, she probably killed Phillip Harding, but if so, it was her husband and stepsister that drove her to it.

“But, you know, I’ll bet she can’t be convicted of it. Even if they should get enough evidence against her-which they may-after her post-trial performance this afternoon, I’ll bet there isn’t an attorney in the world who couldn’t get her off-not guilty by reason of insanity.

“Which kind of mucks up your happy ending. I don’t know the law, Fitzpatrick. In New York State can you divorce a woman who’s been declared legally insane?”

“I don’t know,” Fitzpatrick said, “I’d have to look it up.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” Steve said. “Wouldn’t it be the crowning irony if Phyllis Kemper got tried for killing Phillip Harding, was proven to be legally insane and then Marilyn and Dougie could live happily ever after, except for the fact that it screwed him out of his divorce?”

Fitzpatrick chuckled and shook his head. “You’re a cockeyed moralist, you know it? You’ll pardon me if I don’t see it that way.”

“Hey,” Steve said, “it’s difference of opinion that makes horse races. And that makes us the ‘Odd Couple,’ Fitzpatrick.”

“Right,” Fitzpatrick said. “Though I doubt if we’ll be handling another case together again soon.” He grinned. “Don’t take that the wrong way. It certainly was an experience. Well, I just stopped by to fill you in. I got another shindig down at my office to get to. I have a feeling I’m a bit of a celebrity down there now.”

Fitzpatrick shook Steve’s hand, grinned and bowed himself out.

“There goes a happy man,” Steve said.

“Well, can you blame him?” Taylor said. “Yesterday he was thinking about misconduct charges, public ridicule and disbarment. Today he just won a murder case.”

“So did we,” Steve said. He grinned. “Don’t let me bring you down, folks. I don’t care for my clients much, but it sure feels good to win.”

Steve heaved himself up out of his chair. “Well gang, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’m getting out of here before some enterprising reporter figures out this is where we hang out.”

Steve nodded to Mark Taylor. “Mark, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned to Tracy Garvin. “Tracy, it’s been real nice working with you. I wish you the best of luck. Do keep in touch.”

Tracy stared at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You probably thought I was too busy to notice, but I don’t mean to be an inconsiderate employer, and I realize your two weeks are up.”

Tracy’s face fell. “Oh.”

“You got another job lined up yet?” Steve said. “No one’s called yet for a reference.”

“Steve …”

“Of course, I haven’t found a replacement yet either. I’ve been rather busy. But I’m sure I can get someone from a temporary agency.”

Tracy took off her glasses, folded them, and looked at him in exasperation. “Damn it,” she said.

Steve grinned. “Of course, on the other hand, if you should change your mind and want to stick around.” He chuckled and jerked his thumb at the newspaper Fitzpatrick had left lying on his desk. “It looks like I just might have a law practice after all.”