The Anonymous Client sw-2

by Parnell Hall

  “Of course.”

  “And if I were doing it for a client, my duty to my client would prevent me from giving you any information on the subject. I would not be in a position to either confirm or deny it.”

  “Which is exactly what you are doing in this case.”

  “However,” Steve went on, “if I were not shadowing you for a client, I would be forced to give you exactly the same answer. I could neither confirm nor deny.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if my behavior wasn’t uniform in either instance,” Steve said dryly, “my attempts to divulge no information would be somewhat futile.”

  “Fuck that,” Bradshaw said. “I didn’t come here to listen to that. I say you’re shadowing me. Now forget your lousy ethics for a minute and tell me why you’re doing it.”

  Steve sighed. “I’m afraid this interview is not going to be very satisfactory. Now, you say you’re being tailed by detectives?”

  “You ought to know.”

  Steve picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Steve Winslow for Mark Taylor.” Steve covered the mouthpiece and said to Bradshaw, “This agency handles all my detective work. Let’s see what they say about it.” He uncovered the mouthpiece. “Mark, Steve. Look, Mark, I have a fellow here in the office by the name of Bradshaw.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. A David C. Bradshaw. He claims detectives have been tailing him.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Do you admit you had operatives following him?”

  “You mean he’s there now?”

  “Well then, do you deny it?”

  “What’s going on? Can he hear this?”

  “I see. I hoped you could give me a little more help than that.”

  “What do you want me to say, Steve?”

  “No. I understand. You have to protect your clients.”

  “Shit. Let me get off the phone and I’ll get a tail on him.”

  “O.K., Mark. Sorry to bother you.”

  Steve hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, Bradshaw, but you’re going about this all wrong. You can’t get information from lawyers and detectives. They have to protect their clients.”

  Bradshaw scowled. “When I find your client, he’s going to need protection.”

  Steve studied Bradshaw narrowly. “Now look here, you wouldn’t be trying to kid me, would you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem to know more than you’re letting on.”

  Bradshaw laughed. “That’s a good one. I seem to know more than I’m letting on. You won’t tell me a thing. Can you give me one good reason why I should spill my guts to you?”

  “I could give you ten thousand reasons.”

  For a second there was a flicker of expression in Bradshaw’s eyes. Then he controlled himself, put his hands on the desk, and leaned into Steve’s face.

  “You know something, Winslow, you’re smart. But this time you’ve been a little too smart. Go ahead. Shadow me to your heart’s content. See if I care. All you’re gonna get for your trouble is a big fat detective bill. Now then, if your detectives have managed to get here in time, I’ll pick them up in the corridor. If not, I’ll pick them up at home. So long, wise guy.”

  With that, Bradshaw turned and stalked out of the office.

  6

  Mark Taylor stuck his head in the door.

  “Steve, this is getting screwy.”

  “You’re telling me, Mark? Did you pick up Bradshaw?”

  Taylor waved it away. “Yeah, yeah, he’s covered. Never mind him. I just got a call from the guys tailing the girl. She left Bloomingdale’s and they’re tagging along. But get this. There’s another agency on the job.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. There are two other guys tailing her.”

  “No shit! Any idea who it is?”

  “My man didn’t recognize them, but he got the license number. I’m running it down now.”

  The phone rang. Tracy was so fascinated with what she was hearing that it rang twice and Steve had to give her a look before she answered it. She listened, then handed the phone to Mark Taylor. “It’s for you.”

  Taylor took the phone, listened, said, “Uh huh,” and hung up. “Got it, Steve. It’s the Miltner Detective Agency.”

  “Know anything about them?”

  “I’ve heard of them. They’re a fairly reputable small agency. They mainly handle routine stuff. You know. Divorce cases, accident claims, stuff like that.”

  Steve rubbed his head. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah. Look, Steve, I don’t like this at all. We were just looking to I.D. the girl and drop her. Then we run into this. It’s crazy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if we spotted them, it’s a cinch they spotted us. I just don’t like it.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. If she’s being tailed, she’s important. We gotta tag along and find out why.”

  Taylor sighed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

  “So what’d you get on Bradshaw?”

  Taylor shook his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to get. He’s got no driver’s license, Social Security number, credit cards, birth certificate, marriage license, or what have you. My man pulled the old credit rating line on Bradshaw’s landlady and drew a blank. The guy moved in two months ago. He pays his rent in advance and in cash. That’s all she knows and all she cares to know. The bank can’t give us any more information than it already has.”

  “What I.D. did he use with the bank?”

  “Cold hard cash. After he deposited it the bank made him up a nice little photo I.D. with his signature, but for our purposes it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it. So the odds are, David C. Bradshaw isn’t your client’s real name.”

  “That figures.” Steve frowned. “Look, Mark. You got a fingerprint kit in your office?”

  Taylor stared at him. “We got one. We never use it, but we got it.”

  “But you know how to use it, right?”

  “Hey, give me a break. That’s TV stuff, and it never happens, but I can do it all right. Why?”

  “When Bradshaw got mad, he leaned over the desk to tell me off. I think we might have a pretty good set of latent prints.”

  Taylor shook his head. “Jesus.” He went out and came back ten minutes later with an old leather satchel.

  “Found it. I had to turn the office upside down, but I got it. Where are the prints?”

  Steve pointed. “Right here on the top of the desk.”

  Taylor opened the satchel. “O.K. The surface doesn’t look bad, but I’m not promising anything.”

  Tracy was hardly able to contain herself. She kept quiet, but her eyes sparkled as Mark Taylor pulled powders, brushes, a magnifying glass and a fingerprint camera out of the bag. He dusted powder on the desktop, and whistled.

  “Well, wrong again. I got ten beauties, Steve.”

  “Gonna lift ’em or photograph ’em?”

  “I’ll photograph ’em first, then I’ll lift ’em.”

  Mark Taylor busied himself with the prints. He’d finished photographing them and begun lifting them and transferring them to fingerprint cards when the phone rang. Tracy reluctantly tore herself away to answer it.

  It was for Mark Taylor. He took the phone, listened, and hung up.

  “You’re client’s an honest man, Steve,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “He went straight home, just like he said he would. He’s there now.”

  “How many men you got on him?”

  “Right now I’ve got four men and two cars. If he has any more visitors, I’ll throw in two more men and another car. This time he’s gonna stay put.”

  “Good. Can you trace those prints?”

  Taylor sighed. “If he’s got a record, we can trace them. It’s a bitch, but I can do it. But it’s gonna take time.”
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  The phone rang again. Tracy picked it up, listened, said, “Just a minute,” and handed it to Mark Taylor.

  “Mark Taylor here … Uh huh … The Binghamton? … descriptions … Uh huh … O.K., if they leave separately, split up and tail ’em. I may send another man. Whatever you do, don’t lose the girl. Stick with her and keep me posted.”

  Taylor hung up the phone.

  “Is that our girlfriend?” Steve asked.

  “Uh huh. She’s at the Binghamton. It looks like she’s gonna have dinner with a young couple who joined her in the cocktail lounge.”

  “What about the couple?”

  “Best bet is they’re married.”

  “To each other?”

  “More than likely. The guy’s about thirty, and the wife is a few years younger. They seem to know our young lady pretty well, and the meeting seems to have been arranged rather than accidental. The couple came in together, and I assume they’ll leave together, so I told my men to split up and have one take the girl and the other take the couple. Now then, do you want another man on the job in case the couple splits up?”

  Steve frowned thoughtfully. “If they’re married, they’ll probably go home together. Where is the Binghamton, anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s in Jersey. Right across the river. On the river, actually. It’s a boat. An old ferry boat. It’s permanently docked and outfitted as a restaurant. Kind of nice. You can sit and have dinner on the river.”

  “How’d the girl get there?”

  “In a taxi.”

  “What about the couple?”

  “I don’t know. They were there first. The girl walked in and joined them. I would assume they came in a car, but until they leave, there’s no way to find out.”

  “I see. Assuming they have a car, you would expect the girl to leave with them. But we can’t count on it. All right. Let’s assume the couple’s gonna leave together. So we don’t need another man. But what about cars? Are your two men in one car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you better get another car down there then. I don’t want to take a chance on the couple getting away without our finding out who they are.”

  “Do you think it’s that important?”

  Steve shrugged. “That’s the hell of it. I don’t know. I’m in a very tricky position, ethically, and I’m being forced to do a lot of things I don’t want to do.”

  “Why?”

  “All right, look,” Steve said, “Either David C. Bradshaw’s my client or he isn’t.”

  “And either I’m a detective or I’m not.”

  “I’m serious, Mark. Either Bradshaw sent me the money or he didn’t.”

  “I thought we’d established he did.”

  Steve shook his head. “Yeah, but he wouldn’t admit it. And I keep trying to convince myself that he didn’t. ’Cause I don’t want him for a client. Now, I can get around the bills by figuring that he gave them to someone else. But there’s one thing I can’t get around.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He came to my office. The minute he noticed he was being followed he came straight to my office. He must have realized I traced the bills and hired detectives to find out about him. That means he sent the bills and the letter. So, much as I hate it, I’m forced to assume that David C. Bradshaw is my client.”

  “Why does that put you in a shaky ethical position?”

  “Because a lawyer is bound to protect the rights of his client. Now then, if David C. Bradshaw is a client, he’s already stated in his letter that his situation is extremely delicate and must be handled with utmost discretion. Therefore, if I inadvertently do anything indiscreet to jeopardize his situation I am violating legal ethics by acting against the wishes of a client.”

  “Oh shit,” Taylor said.

  “Exactly,” Steve said. “On my own initiative I decided to have Bradshaw followed. Not only was this not in accordance with his wishes, but as soon as he realized it he flew into a rage and came up here to cuss me out about it. And I’m still having him followed.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s one saving grace. Tracy, you took shorthand notes, didn’t you?”

  Tracy had, but she hadn’t thought he noticed. “Yeah.”

  “I thought you had. Good. Hang on to them. They may be important.”

  “Why?” Taylor said.

  “That’s the saving grace. Bradshaw came to tell me to stop following him. But I got him so pissed off he never got around to it. In fact, he finally said something like, ‘Go ahead and follow me, see if I care, you’re just going to run up a big detective bill.’ So if worst came to worst, I could use that to show he’d O.K.’d the surveillance.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t like it much. It makes me look like a tricky shyster. But right now I got no choice.”

  Taylor nodded. “Shit.”

  “So what about that car? Can you get another car out to the boat?”

  “Yeah. I’ll probably have to bring it out myself. I got my men stretched out pretty thin.”

  “I’ll go with you. I want to check out the girl anyway.”

  “O.K.”

  As they started for the door, Tracy said, “Hey, what about me?”

  Steve stopped and thought a moment. “Close up at five as usual. If anything important comes in, call the Taylor Detective Agency and have ’em relay the message. Come on, Mark, let’s go.”

  They went out the door.

  Tracy stood there, staring after them. She took a breath and blew it out again. So. This was her reward for taking the shorthand notes. When she hadn’t even been asked. Great.

  Tracy stalked into the outer office. Her book was lying on the desk. She snatched it up and looked at it for a moment.

  Then she slammed it down on the desk.

  7

  They took two cars, seeing as how they had to get home again. Mark Taylor led the way in one, and Steve followed in the other. It was a short drive, up the West Side Highway to the George Washington Bridge, and then back down the river to the boat.

  Steve Winslow had hoped to spot a likely car in the parking lot, but there was no hope of that. The Binghamton shared the huge parking lot with the Showboat Cinema and a racquetball club, and the place was jammed.

  Steve found a parking space, got out, looked around, and joined Mark Taylor who had found a space in the next row. They walked up the covered gangplank to the boat. Inside were stairs leading up to the restaurant on the main deck.

  Mark Taylor stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “They’re gonna spot us, Steve. You know that.”

  “Who?”

  “Miltner’s men.”

  “That’s all right. They don’t know me,” Steve said.

  “Yeah, but they know me. And by now they’ve spotted my men, just like we spotted them. On a job like this, you can’t help that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So they’ll know my agency’s on the job, and when I come in they’ll spot me.”

  “I know, Mark. Right now I just don’t care.”

  They went up the stairs. At the top was the cashier’s booth. Taylor said, “Wait a minute,” and went up to it. While Steve watched, Taylor conferred with the cashier, then extended a bill.

  “What was that all about?” Steve asked, when Taylor came back.

  Taylor jerked his thumb. “Phone’s there. I left the number with my office. If anything breaks, they’ll call me here.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes and no. I’ll wind up back in the office eating a soggy hamburger.”

  A waiter appeared to usher them to a table. “Party of two? Would you care to eat inside or on deck?”

  “Inside,” Taylor said.

  The waiter led them to a table, seated them, gave them menus and took the drink order. Steve had scotch and Taylor bourbon.

  When the waiter withdrew, Mark said, “You got them spotted, Steve?”

  “Yeah. I spotted ’em on the way to the ta
ble. In the far corner. It’s the only party of one man and two women that’s even in the ballpark. Gotta be them.”

  “Gotta be. You spot the detectives?”

  “No, and I don’t want to look around for ’em. Where are they?”

  “Look over my right shoulder. The two bored businessmen at the table by the wall-those are Miltner’s men. And then the table to the left. The two rather drunk out-of-town buyer types, trying to talk the blonde into calling a friend-those are mine. The blonde’s one of their wives. They brought her along for cover.”

  “And for dinner,” Steve said. “You know, the more expenses I run up on this thing, the more tempting it’s gonna be to keep that retainer.” Steve picked up the menu. “So what’s good here?”

  “Well,” Taylor said. “You can get a steak or a lobster if you want, but the best bet is a hamburger.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all.”

  Steve looked at him. “Here you are, so worried you’re gonna get sent back to the office and wind up eating a hamburger, and then what do you want to order? A hamburger.”

  “Hey, there are hamburgers and there are hamburgers. The one in the paper bag is cold and soggy and small. The hamburger here is a half a pound of chopped meat served hot in a basket of fries with your choice of bacon, avocado, Swiss cheese or what have you on top. Trust me.”

  The waiter returned with the drinks, and they ordered hamburgers. As the waiter left with the order, Steve looked over Mark Taylor’s shoulder and said, “One of Miltner’s men is getting up.”

  Taylor watched as the man walked by, went out the door and down the stairs. “Pay phone’s down there. Probably spotted us, and he’s phoning in.”

  “Right,” Steve said. “The report will read that, during dinner the surveillance of the subject was joined by Mark Taylor himself, in the company of a longhaired hippie freak.”

  Taylor grinned. “I would imagine that would piss off their client.”

  “It ought to,” Steve said. “And wouldn’t it be particularly nice if that client happened to be David C. Bradshaw?”

  “You think it is?”

  “It stands to reason. Bradshaw’s scum. The girl’s class. I can’t imagine her associating with him unless he’s got something on her. If he does, he probably hired detectives to get it.”