The Anonymous Client sw-2

by Parnell Hall

  “She went down the street to a garage and got her car.”

  “You followed her?”

  “Yes we did.”

  “How?”

  “In our car.

  “There’s no parking in that area, is there? So where was your car?”

  “In another garage.”

  “How did you manage to get to your car and still keep the suspect under surveillance?”

  “Well, we knew she was parked in a garage, so-”

  Dirkson held up his hand again. “Uh uh. Please, Mr. Fisher. You only know that because of what someone else told you, right? The other detectives. And you can’t testify to that. Just tell us what you did.”

  “Yes, sir. When she left the coffee shop, my partner ran to get our car, while I tailed the defendant.” Fisher looked at Dirkson. “Am I allowed to say why?”

  “As long as you just describe the procedure and don’t give us your conclusions and tell us what you suspected.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, the procedure was I would tail the woman on foot while my partner got the car. That way, in case we had to follow her by car we’d be prepared. In the event she took off by car or taxi before my partner could bring the car around, then I would tail her alone in a taxi, and phone in her location at the first opportunity. My partner, not finding me, would call the office, get the location, and meet me there.”

  “Did that happen in this case?”

  “No, sir. The defendant went straight to a garage and handed in her claim ticket. My partner drove up in our car before she went out.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She got in her car and drove downtown.”

  “To where?”

  “East 3rd Street.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She drove around until she found a parking space.”

  “Did she find one right away?”

  “Actually, it took a little time. We went around the block a few times and made a few loops.”

  “But eventually she found one?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “Approximately five twenty-five.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She parked the car, got out, walked directly to 249 East 3rd Street, and went inside.”

  “Did you follow her inside?”

  “No, sir, we did not. We set up surveillance outside the building to pick her up again when she came out.”

  “And did she come out?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Approximately five minutes later.”

  “What happened when she came out?”

  “She seemed terribly agitated.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Never mind what you thought. What did she do?”

  “She came out the front door. She looked up and down the street. Very quickly, you know. Then she came down the front steps fast, turned, and headed toward her car.”

  “At what speed was she walking?”

  “Fast. Very fast. She was practically running.”

  “Did she do anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. She kept looking back over her shoulder.”

  “What did she do then?”

  “She got in her car and drove back to her house in Glen Cove.”

  “What time did she get there?”

  “About seven o’clock.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “We stayed and kept the house under surveillance.”

  “Until what time?”

  “A little after nine.”

  “Was that the end of your shift?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you break off surveillance at that time?”

  “At nine o’clock I called in to report. I was instructed to cease the surveillance and-”

  “Objecton to what he was instructed to do,” Fitzpatrick said. Then, noting the look on Judge Graves’s face, he said, “Never mind. Let’s hear it, Your Honor.”

  “Go ahead,” Dirkson said.

  “Yes, sir. I was told to break off surveillance and to report directly to the office.”

  “And prior to that time had you called the office to report that Marilyn Harding had entered the decedent’s building at approximately five-thirty that afternoon?”

  “Yes, I had.”

  “What happened when you got back to your office?”

  “Charles Miltner was there.”

  “That’s your boss?”

  “Yes, sir. He runs the detective agency.”

  “Was it normal for him to be there at that time of night?”

  “No, sir, it wasn’t.”

  “Did he give you any instructions at that time?”

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “And after he gave you those instructions, what did you do?”

  “I typed up my reports on the surveillance of Marilyn Harding and delivered them to the police.”

  “Thank you. That’s all.”

  Fitzpatrick stood up and approached the witness. His manner was grim.

  “Who hired you?” he demanded.

  The witness smiled. “Charles Miltner.”

  Fitzpatrick frowned. “You know what I mean. Who hired you to shadow Miss Harding?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, sir. I was instructed to place Miss Harding under surveillance. I was not told who the client was in the case.”

  “Wait a minute. Don’t you turn in time sheets to get paid?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And when you put in for work, don’t you have to designate on your time sheets what case the hours were for?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “So what name did you designate those hours to on your time sheet?”

  “Marilyn Harding.”

  “Really? I thought the time sheets usually bore the name of the client who was to be billed.”

  “They usually do.”

  “But in this case the name on your time sheet was Marilyn Harding?”

  “That’s right.”

  Fitzpatrick frowned and thought a moment. “You had Marilyn Harding under surveillance on the afternoon of Wednesday the ninth?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was that the only time you’d had Marilyn Harding under surveillance?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No, sir.”

  “When was the first time?”

  “The afternoon of Tuesday the eighth.”

  “From when till when?”

  “From four in the afternoon till midnight.”

  Fitzpatrick hesitated, wondering if he wanted to open up that can of worms. On reflection, he considered there was nothing the witness could say that could damage his client any more than he already had. So he decided to go for it.

  “Could you tell us what happened on that occasion?”

  “Yes, sir. We picked up the witness in midtown Manhattan, followed her while she went out to dinner in New Jersey, and then followed her home.”

  “She didn’t go near the decedent’s apartment?”

  “Not while we were on duty, no.”

  “You reported this surveillance to the police?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yet there’s nothing in the report of that day’s surveillance that you considered significant?”

  The witness hesitated. “Actually, there was.”

  “Oh? And what was that?”

  “At the time, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, was also being followed by detectives from another agency.”

  Fitzpatrick stared at him. “What?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you know who those detectives were?”

  “Yes, sir. They were operatives from the Taylor Detective Agency.”

  “And they tailed Miss Harding for how long?”
/>
  “As long as we did.”

  “All the way back to Glen Cove?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Anything else that you considered significant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is that?”

  “The defendant had dinner on the Binghamton. That’s an old ferry boat that’s been converted into a restaurant located in New Jersey. She ate dinner with her stepsister and her stepsister’s husband. During the course of dinner I also noted the presence of Mark Taylor, the head of the Taylor Detective Agency.”

  “Is that right? He joined his operatives there?”

  “He didn’t actually join them. I believe he spoke to one of them at one point. He arrived with another man and had dinner.”

  “Is that so? And did you learn the identity of the other man?”

  “Not at the time.”

  “But subsequently, you learned it?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And who was he?”

  “An attorney by the name of Steve Winslow.”

  A grin slowly spread over Fitzpatrick’s face. “Did you say Steve Winslow?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s the man who came to the restaurant in the company of Mark Taylor, the head of the Taylor Detective Agency, the agency whose operatives were keeping my client under surveillance?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Taylor and Steve Winslow dined there together at the same time as my client?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And is this the same Steve Winslow who was discovered by the police in the apartment of the victim, Donald Blake?”

  “Objection,” Dirkson said.

  “Sustained.”

  Fitzpatrick was grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you very much,” he said. “No further questions.”

  In the back of the courtroom, Steve Winslow nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I knew that was gonna be fun.”

  29

  The afternoon session began on much the same theme. Sergeant Stams, called to the stand, testified to finding ten thousand dollars in thousand dollar bills in a money belt on the body of the decedent, and to finding an additional ten thousand dollars in thousand dollar bills secreted in a hollow behind a fire hose in the upstairs hallway.

  Fitzpatrick had a field day on cross-examination. He pounced on the fact that Sergeant Stams had interrogated and searched Steve Winslow at the scene of the crime, and he played it for all it was worth. The expression on Fitzpatrick’s face when he inquired, “You released him?” was a wonder to behold. Sergeant Stams actually squirmed.

  Fitzpatrick also had the benefit of the grand jury testimony, so he knew just which questions to ask.

  “Well, Sergeant Stams, you claim you found ten thousand dollars in a money belt on the body, and an additional ten thousand dollars in the upstairs hallway, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Referring to the money hidden in the upstairs hallway-that was ten thousand dollars in thousand dollar bills?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did you attempt to trace those bills to determine where they’d come from?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And do you know who withdrew those bills from the bank?”

  “Only by hearsay, from the bank teller.”

  “I understand. Then let me ask you this: did you carry those bills around with you when you went to talk to the various bank tellers?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Then how did you know which bills you were inquiring about?”

  “I made a list of the serial numbers.”

  “Then let me ask you this: aside from talking to the bank tellers, did you have occasion to compare your list of serial numbers, the numbers taken from the thousand dollar bills found in the upstairs hallway, with any other list of serial numbers?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And did those serial numbers match?”

  “They did.”

  “Each and every serial number?”

  “Yes.”

  “In other words, the ten serial numbers on your list matched ten serial numbers on another list?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where did you get this other list of serial numbers you compared it with?”

  “It was handed to me by the District Attorney, Harry Dirkson.”

  Fitzpatrick frowned. “And do you know, of your own knowledge, where Harry Dirkson got that list of serial numbers?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And where was that?”

  “It was given to him by Steve Winslow.”

  Fitzpatrick smiled. “In your presence?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where did this take place?”

  “In Mr. Dirkson’s office.”

  “When?”

  “In the early morning hours of the tenth. One or two in the morning is the closest I can recall.”

  “And is this the same Steve Winslow whom you had interrogated at the scene of the crime?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And this was later that same evening? Though technically it was the next day, since it was after midnight, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So,” Fitzpatrick said. “You interrogated Steve Winslow at the scene of the crime. And then you saw him several hours later in Harry Dirkson’s office, where he produced that list of bills, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell me, did you happen to encounter Mr. Winslow at any time between those two times?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Could you tell us when and where?”

  “Yes, sir. At around ten-thirty that evening I went to Glen Cove to interview Marilyn Harding. When I arrived, Steve Winslow was there talking to her.”

  “Steve Winslow was talking to Marilyn Harding?”

  “Yes.”

  “The defendant in this case?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Steve Winslow is an attorney. Did he claim to be her attorney?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did he make any explanation for what he was doing there talking to my client at ten-thirty in the evening?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “So, if I understand your testimony correctly, at around seven o’clock you interview and search Steve Winslow, who was found in the apartment with the deceased. At ten-thirty in the evening, you encounter Steve Winslow in Glen Cove, Long Island, talking to the defendant, Marilyn Harding. And at around one o’clock in the morning, in District Attorney Harry Dirkson’s office, this same Steve Winslow produces a list containing the serial numbers of the ten one thousand dollar bills that you found hidden in the upstairs hallway near the apartment of the deceased?”

  “That’s right.”

  Fitzpatrick chuckled and shook his head. “And yet it is Marilyn Harding who has been charged with this crime.”

  Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor.’

  Judge Graves banged the gavel. “Sustained. Mr. Fitzpatrick, I have already warned you about such side remarks.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.”

  Dirkson next called the bank teller who identified Marilyn Harding as the person who had withdrawn the ten thousand dollars found in the money belt on the victim.

  Fitzpatrick did not cross-examine.

  The last witness of the day was Margaret Millburn, Donald Blake’s next door neighbor, who testified to hearing an altercation in Bradshaw’s apartment, and calling the police to report it. She was not sure of the exact time, but placed it around five-thirty.

  As Fitzpatrick rose to cross-examine, Steve Winslow watched the witness with some interest. Margaret Millburn was not an unattractive woman. She was of medium height, full-figured, but not fat. Curly brown hair framed a face that was attractive but hard. Steve put her age about thirty-five.

  And she was nervous.

&n
bsp; Steve Winslow hadn’t had a lot of courtroom experience, but he had good instincts, and he could tell. There was something in the witness’s manner that was not right. Maybe it was the way she shifted her eyes, maybe it was the way she gripped the witness stand, maybe it was merely the way she sat. Steve Winslow didn’t know. But whatever it was, it was something. That, coupled with the fact that Dirkson’s direct examination had been very brief, told Steve Winslow that there was something the witness was holding back.

  And Steve realized, if he could see it, it was a cinch Fitzpatrick could see it too.

  “Miss Millburn,” Fitzpatrick said, “you say you heard the sounds of an altercation coming from the victim’s apartment?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What kind of altercation?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me. What did you hear?”

  “The sound of things being knocked over. Furniture being smashed.”

  ‘Did you hear voices?”

  “Voices?”

  “Yes. Did you hear voices? Was it also a verbal altercation? Did you hear the sounds of an argument?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Really? You didn’t mention that on direct examination.”

  “I wasn’t asked.”

  “No, you weren’t, Miss Millburn. Now why do you suppose that was?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Did you know you weren’t going to be asked about voices on direct examination?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained as to form.”

  “Miss Millburn, when you gave your testimony, was there any intention in your own mind not to mention the fact that you heard voices?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Overruled. Witness will answer the question.”

  “Yes, there was.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because I couldn’t hear the voices clearly enough to identify them, and Mr. Dirkson told me-”

  “Objection, Your Honor!”

  “No, no,” Fitzpatrick said, grinning broadly. “Tell us. What did District Attorney Dirkson tell you?”

  Judge Graves banged the gavel. “That will do,” he snapped. “Mr. Fitzpatrick, it is not your place to rule on objections, it is mine. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “In this case, the objection is overruled. The witness is explaining why she refrained from mentioning certain things in her testimony. It is entirely relevant. The witness will answer the question.”