The Naked Typist sw-4

by Parnell Hall

  Kelly shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. But that’s just it. That’s why he was so upset. Not just that this had happened. Because of the implications.”

  “What implications?”

  “Like you said. Who had access? See, David’s immediate superior was his father, Stanley Castleton.”

  “What?!” Steve said incredulously.

  “That’s right. In charge of the division, being groomed to take over the company.”

  “Why in hell would a man in that position risk something like that?”

  “I don’t know, and I tell you, it’s nothing that David said. It’s just the impression I got. And would account for him being so upset. You asked me, so I told you.”

  Steve rubbed his head. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah. It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll say. So you left him the disk?”

  “Right.”

  “And you left his apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time?”

  “Eleven-fifteen, eleven-thirty. Somewhere in there.”

  “And you went straight home?” Steve said. He knew the answer, of course, but he didn’t want her to know he knew.

  “That’s right. I went home, went to bed. Next thing I know, cops are knocking on the door.”

  “And you never told David Castleton who you were?”

  “No.”

  “And you never told him your address?”

  “No.”

  “Or phone number?”

  “No.”

  “Or any way to get in touch with you?”

  “No. I told him I’d get in touch with him.”

  Steve shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What?”

  “How the cops got onto you so fast. Tell me something, you ever own a gun?”

  “A gun? Why?”

  “Why do you think? David Castleton was shot. With a thirty-two-caliber automatic. So tell me. You ever own a gun?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Ever borrow one?”

  “No.”

  “There was a gun found next to the body. Are you telling me there’s no way that gun could be traced to you?”

  “Absolutely not. How could there be?”

  “I don’t know. But it would explain how the cops got onto you.”

  “I see that. But the answer is no. I’ve never had any connection with any gun. It had to be something else.”

  “Yeah. Great. You sure you didn’t talk to the cops. Tell ’em anything?”

  “Nothing. So what about it. Will you be my lawyer?”

  Steve ran his hand over his head, sighed. “Yeah, I’m your lawyer. Tell me, where’s the other floppy disk? The original.”

  “In my apartment.”

  “How will I find it? Is it marked?”

  “Yeah. It’s in a box of disks in my top dresser drawer. It’s marked with an X.”

  “An X?”

  “Yeah. In gold pen. There’s a special gold marker you can use to write on floppy disks. It shows up against the black. You can write right on the disk itself. I didn’t label the thing, I just marked it with an X. Right on the tab. You’ll see it riffling through the disks.”

  “What about the other one? The one you left with David? Was that marked?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “X dash one.”

  “In gold pen?”

  “Right.”

  “Then the cops should have found it. I’ll check on that.”

  Steve took out a pen and pencil and slipped it through the wire mesh screen. “Here. Write out a note to your super, stating I’m your attorney and you’re authorizing me to get stuff out of your apartment.”

  Kelly scribbled the note, pushed the pen and paper back through the screen.

  “You’ll get the disk?” Kelly said.

  “Yeah. I’ll get the disk.”

  She looked at him with pleading eyes. “And then you’ll get me out of here?”

  Steve sighed. “That may be a little harder.”

  18

  Steve dropped a quarter in the pay phone, called the office.

  “Tracy, it’s Steve. Did Mark call?”

  “I’ll say. Every two minutes. Did you take the case?”

  “Yeah. She’s our client. What’s Mark want?”

  “You, basically. He’s having a shit-fit. What should I tell him?”

  “Tell him to hang in there, keep getting the dope, do nothing till he hears from me.”

  “Should I tell him you took the case?”

  “Sure.”

  “You coming back to the office?”

  “In a bit. I got something to do first.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Tell you later.”

  Steve hung up the phone, stepped out in the street and hailed a cab. He paid it off a block from Kelly’s apartment, walked over and rang the super’s bell. He was in luck-the super was in. He was a skinny Hispanic with a moustache. He read Kelly’s note, then looked up at Steve Winslow with suspicious eyes.

  “How I know she wrote this?”

  “You don’t know her handwriting?”

  “How should I?”

  “Didn’t she ever leave you a note?”

  “Sure, but I should remember?” He shook his head. “Nice girl. What the cops want with her?”

  “Murder.”

  His eyes widened. “No?”

  “Yeah. And I’m her lawyer and I need to get in.”

  “You don’t look like no lawyer.”

  “I know,” Steve said. He whipped out his wallet. “Here’s my I.D. Steve Winslow.” He jerked his thumb at the phone. “Call the cops. Ask ’em who Kelly’s lawyer is.”

  The super thought that over. He nodded. “Okay. You say that, it must be true.”

  Which was a relief. Steve was bluffing. He didn’t really want the super asking the cops if he could get into Kelly’s apartment. Not that they had any right to deny him permission. He just didn’t want to start them speculating on what he was after.

  It was also a relief when the super unlocked Kelly’s door and went back downstairs, leaving him to search alone.

  Which wasn’t hard. It was, as Kelly had said, the most modest of one-room apartments. The furniture consisted of a single bed, a dresser and an end table.

  The box of computer disks was in the top dresser drawer, just where Kelly had said it would be. Steve opened the box, riffled through the disks.

  The disk with the gold X wasn’t there.

  19

  Steve pushed open the office door. “Mark call again?”

  Tracy looked up at him. “Are you kidding? I can hardly get off the line with him before he calls again.”

  The phone rang.

  “See?” Tracy said. “There he is now.” She snatched it up. “Steve Winslow’s office … Yes, Mark, he’s here.”

  “Tell him to come down,” Steve said.

  “He just got in, he says come on down.” Tracy listened a moment, covered the phone, said with some exasperation, “Mark says he’s got too much stuff coming in right now, you should go up.”

  “Tell him to put a man on the phone and come down. Tell him you’re pissed off at being left in the lurch and I’m afraid you might quit on me.”

  The phone squawked.

  Tracy hung up. “He heard that, and he’s coming down.”

  “Great.”

  Steve walked into his inner office, slumped into his desk chair, leaned back, closed his eyes and rubbed his head.

  Tracy followed him in and stood there looking at him. “What’s the matter?” she said.

  Steve opened his eyes, sighed, shook his head. “This fucking case. It’s really getting to me.”

  “What about it?”

  “I listen to this girl, and she’s either totally innocent or she’s the most accomplished liar I ever heard.”

  “Oh?”

  “The first story she told
us was hogwash, or at least most of it.”

  “She didn’t type nude?”

  “Yeah, she did.” Steve held up his hands in exasperation. “That’s just it. The parts of her story that sound like outlandish, preposterous lies turn out to be true. It’s the reasonable stuff that turn out to be lies.”

  “So what’s going on? You gonna tell me?”

  “Of course. That’s why I had Mark come down. Turns out I got a lot to tell.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like-”

  Then came the sound of the outer door banging open.

  “There’s Mark now.”

  Seconds later Mark Taylor came barreling into the room.

  “All right, Steve. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Take it easy, Mark. What’s the matter?”

  “What’s the matter? The girl’s charged with murder, I’m sitting on a bunch of key evidence, and you ask me what’s the matter?”

  “We’ve been through all that.”

  “Yeah. Before she was charged. Now she is, and there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  “You call your detectives?”

  “Yeah. I can’t reach ’em.”

  “Then you’ve done your job. You got information for me?”

  “I’ll say. And more coming in every minute. Tracy tells me you took the case. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, I took it.”

  “Great. So you want me to sit on the evidence?”

  “I’m not asking you to sit on anything. I told you to tell the detectives.”

  “Right. Which I can’t do, ’cause you told ’em to skip out.”

  “I never told ’em that.”

  “They knew what you wanted.”

  “I’m not legally responsible for what someone infers. I’m only responsible for what I said.”

  “Steve, I got a license.”

  “I know that. Look, let’s stop talking in the dark. We got information, let’s pool it. Then we can work out what we gotta do. You say you got information for me?”

  “Lots of it.”

  “How about the fact Kelly Wilder happens to be the sister of Herbert Clay?”

  “Who?”

  “You’re the one who told me, Mark. The Castleton bookkeeper, went to jail for embezzlement.”

  Mark Taylor’s eyes widened. “Are you shitting me?”

  Steve shook his head. “Not at all.”

  “Jesus Christ, it’s even worse. That’s the motive.”

  “That’s how it looks to you?”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Then that’s how it’s gonna look to the cops. But as far as you know, they haven’t got it yet?”

  “If they do, I haven’t heard.”

  “Your pipeline good?”

  “The best.”

  “Then they probably don’t. Okay. You know how the cops got a line on the girl?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Damn. The whole thing doesn’t make sense.”

  “What whole thing? What the hell’s going on?”

  Steve held up his hands. “Okay. You win. Me first. Here’s what happened.”

  Steve gave them a rundown on Kelly Wilder’s story. He told them everything, up to and including the floppy disk that wasn’t there.

  Taylor shook his head and said, “Shit.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The more I hear, the worse I feel.”

  “Why is that?”

  “This girl does not exactly inspire confidence. She tells you one story, it turns out to be bullshit. Then she tells another story. How do you know it’s not bullshit, too?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Exactly. And then this fairy tale about a floppy disk that don’t exist.”

  “Maybe it did. Maybe she had it and someone stole it.”

  “Sure,” Taylor said. “The conspiracy theory. Someone framed her brother. Someone framed her. Maybe you can sell that to a jury, but you’ll have a tough time selling me.”

  Steve took a breath. “Mark, I have a tough time selling myself. I’m just telling you what I’ve got. Now what have you got?”

  Taylor pulled out his notebook, flipped it open to a page that was filled with seemingly indecipherable scrawl and proceeded to decipher them. “Okay. Time of death you know about. That’s the worst, and that’s what fries our ass. And hers.

  “Cause of death-gunshot wound to the heart. Thirty-two-caliber automatic found next to the body. One shot discharged- you knew that. News is, it’s the murder gun. Ballistics matched up the bullet.

  “No prints on gun-thank god for that, one for the good guys. Girl’s prints in the apartment, score one for the bad team. Paraffin test on hands shows corpse did not recently fire gun.”

  “Unless wearing gloves,” Steve said.

  “Great,” Taylor said sarcastically. “Good theory. Decedent wearing gloves shot self through heart, then removed and hid gloves before expiring on the floor.”

  “I’m not saying he fired that shot from that gun, but he could have fired a gun.”

  “Sure. At an assailant, making it self-defense. Assailant then removed gloves and gun, leaving murder weapon behind.”

  “Admittedly not the best defense. I’m just talking. Go on, Mark.”

  “Bartender at singles bar recalls David Castleton drinking there early in the evening, but did not see who he left with.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “How the hell’d they get a line on him?”

  Taylor shrugged. “That I haven’t got. Best guess is Castleton talked.”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. But you can’t confirm it?”

  Taylor shook his head. “That’s the one thing I can’t get a line on. Anything about Milton Castleton’s being handled with kid gloves. Anything he told ’em is very hush-hush. The reporters don’t have it and I don’t have it.”

  “Yeah, but that’s got to be it. David Castleton left work, went right to his grandfather’s apartment, then went to meet the girl. The way I see it, it means Castleton was running him all along.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When he first came to my office. David Castleton, I mean. Trying to get a line on the girl. That bit about admiring her from afar was bullshit. Grandpa was running him.”

  “Why?”

  “Basically to find out what the hell was going on.” Steve took a breath. “The problem is, we’re sifting through these stories, and everyone is lying and misrepresenting and holding out. So we have a Watergate situation here-who knew what when?

  “Let’s start from the beginning. With Kelly Blaine Clay Wilder whatever getting fired. Her original story and Danby’s version of what happened were presumably both lies. If her second story’s true, that she was tapping into the computer system and Danby caught her at it, well what happened then? I would assume Danby told Castleton exactly what happened. So Castleton’s clued into that, but still doesn’t know what’s going on. Then I show up and try to bulldoze a settlement. Which confused Castleton. First he thinks the girl’s an industrial spy, now he thinks it’s a badger game. Whatever, he’s playing ’em close to the vest. He won’t let Danby admit the girl was fired for going through the files and has him tell his improbable story of her making sexual advances to him. He then settles the civil suit as cheaply and as quickly as he can, figuring if that’s all there is to it, they’re actually lucky and they got off easy.

  “But as soon as it’s settled, he starts checking to make sure that’s what actually happened. So he starts checking on the girl. Which is well before I start checking on the girl. And it doesn’t take long to check out. She gave a phony name, address and telephone number. The girl is completely bogus.

  “Now Castleton really wants her checked out, but he’s got no way to do it. The girl is my client, so presumably I should be able to reach her. But he knows I won’t tell him. So he gets his grandson, who’s young and handsome, to come in and make a p
itch about wanting to date the girl. The guy is awkward and embarrassed about it, but under the circumstances that goes pretty well with the role he’s playing. Anyway, as it turns out, I can’t reach Kelly any more than he can. In the meantime, she contacts him.

  “Which is just what Castleton feared. This thing is more than just a simple badger game. The girl wants to meet him. The girl won’t come to his apartment. Wants to meet in a public place. He won’t go. And there’s no way she’ll deal with Danby. So Castleton rings in his grandson again.

  “When David Castleton gets off work, he goes to his grandpa’s, where he and Danby program him for the evening and send him out to meet the girl.”

  “Fine, I see all that,” Taylor said. “What’s the point?”

  “The point is, if what I just said is the situation, that accounts for the cops getting a line on the bartender. Castleton told his story, which included his grandson going to the singles bar to meet the girl.”

  “Right.”

  “But it doesn’t explain how the cops got a line on her. Castleton knew her only as Kelly Blaine, didn’t have her name, didn’t have her address.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “Yeah, but it stands to reason. If Castleton knew how to contact the girl, he wouldn’t have to go through the charade with the grandson.”

  “Yeah, but you’re talking about when he talked to the cops.”

  “So?”

  “So, maybe he knew then.”

  “How?”

  “From his grandson. His grandson meets the girl last night, learns her name and address. Assuming she didn’t kill him-and that’s a big if-after she leaves he calls grandpa and gives him the dope.”

  “But she didn’t tell him.”

  “So she says. She’s said a lot of things. Some of them are not noted for being true.”

  “I like that theory.”

  “Why?”

  “It leaves David Castleton alive after she left.”

  “Yeah, well don’t go on my say-so. The way I see it, it works as well if she excused herself to use the bathroom and David picks up the phone and says, ‘Got it, Grandpa, her name’s Kelly Wilder and here’s the address.’”

  “Then she comes out of the bathroom and plugs him with a thirty-two?”