by Parnell Hall
STEVE WINSLOW CALLED MARK Taylor from a pay phone on the corner. “Mark, Steve. Listen, besides Lowery and Macklin, I want you to get a line on Larry Cunningham.”
“Who?”
“Larry Cunningham. That’s the guy Amy Dearborn had dinner with before she went down there. Find him and get his story sewn up before the cops do.”
“You got it.”
“You got anything for me?”
“Nothing new from the cops. But I pegged the store owner.”
“Store owner?”
“Guy from the music store. The one who closed up the shop.”
“That was him?”
“Sure was. I got his name and address and Tracy’s there now.”
“You sent Tracy to talk to him?”
“What do you mean, sent? Like I had a choice in the matter? My man calls in the info, and while I’m still taking it down, Tracy’s on the other phone calling him up. I told her to wait for you, but she said there might not be time and she’s gone.”
“Shit. Where’s the guy live?”
“A loft in SoHo. You want the address?”
“Sure do.”
Steve copied down the address, hung up the phone and flagged a cab. He didn’t go to SoHo, however, he had the cab take him to his apartment in Greenwich Village.
He had his corduroy jacket off on the way up the stairs. He went in, hurled it on the couch and tore off his T-shirt. Cursing his cluttered studio apartment, he detoured around a pile of paperbacks he’d never managed to find shelf space for, and flung open his closet. It was crammed with junk, but at least nothing fell out like in a cartoon. He riffled through the hanging clothes, managed to find a white shirt. He tore it off the hanger, pulled it on, buttoned it up.
Next a tie. He found a brown one hanging on a hook, pulled it on and tied it. The result was sloppy at best—the knot was twisted and the narrow end of the tie hung down below the wide one, but at least it was on.
Steve plowed through the hangers again. Aha. A gray sports coat that had seen better days. He pulled that on.
What about the pants? Screw the pants. Fix the hair. Steve rushed to a desk in the corner, jerked open a drawer. Victory. A rubber band, first rattle out of the box. He rushed into the bathroom combed his hair back into a ponytail, fastened it with the rubber band and tucked it under the collar of the white shirt.
And noticed how badly he’d tied the tie. Hell. Should he do it again?“Who gives a shit?” Steve said out loud. He turned and ran out the door.
20.
IT WAS A SECOND FLOOR loft on Spring street. The man who opened the door was indeed the man Steve had seen closing up the music shop.
“Mr. Branstein?” Steve said.
Branstein was a middle-aged man with a round face, wire-rimmed glasses, and curly hair. “Yes?” he said.
“Steve Winslow,” Steve said, pumping his hand up and down. “And I understand Miss Garvin is already here.”
Steve didn’t wait for an invitation, just pushed right by Mr. Branstein and found himself in a large open loft with guitars and banjos hanging on the walls.
Tracy Garvin sprang up from the couch. “Mr. Winslow. So glad you’re here. Mr. Branstein was just telling me all about it.”
“All about what?” Steve said.
Oliver Branstein had a slightly bewildered look on his face. “Well, now I don’t exactly know,” he said. “Miss Garvin has been asking me questions. And she hasn’t really told me what it’s all about.”
“Then I’m glad I’m here,” Steve said, “because I can explain. I’m an attorney at law. Miss Garvin is my confidential secretary. She’s been asking you questions with regard to a case I’m handling.”
“What case?”
Steve frowned. “May I be absolutely truthful, Mr. Branstein?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You have to understand that as an attorney at law, my client’s matters are confidential and I cannot divulge them. I know that’s not a very satisfactory answer, so without betraying my client’s interests, I’d like to tell you everything I possibly can.”
“I see,” Branstein said. He looked somewhat confused. He blinked twice. “Ah, won’t you sit down?”
Steve sat on the couch next to Tracy. Branstein sat in a chair opposite. “Now what is it you want to tell me?”
“Okay,” Steve said. “Now, you are the owner of the music store on West 47th Street, is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you familiar with the jewelry store in your building— the one on the second floor?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you ever notice people going in and out of the jewelry store?”
Branstein frowned. “Now, that’s just what this young lady was asking me. I thought you were going to tell me something.”
“I am,” Steve said. “I’m trying to tell you why I’m asking these questions. It happens that I’m interested in anyone you may have seen going in or out of there tonight.”
“Why?”
Steve frowned, rubbed his head. “Well now, there I’m not sure how much the police would want me to tell you.”
“The police?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but it seems to me you have a right to know. It appears there has been a robbery.”
“A robbery?”
“Yes.”
“At the jewelers?”
“Yes.”
“You mean jewelry was stolen?”
“As to that, I’m not sure. But I believe a sum of money was taken.”
“You mean tonight?”
“Now there,” Steve said, “We just don’t know. But there’s every indication it could have been tonight. In which case, what you saw might or might not be important. Which is why I’m here. To find out what you saw. To evaluate it. And if you did see anything important, to advise you whether or not you should report it to the police.”
“The police?” Branstein said again.
“Absolutely. You may well be a witness. If you are, as an attorney, I would advise you to report what you’ve seen to the police at once.”
“Good lord.”
Steve smiled. “There’s no reason to be concerned. The police can be annoying at times, but in your case I think they’d be grateful for your cooperation. I know it’s a hassle, but if you saw something, it is your duty to come forward. Unless, of course, it has no bearing on the case.”
“How could it have no bearing on the case?”
Steve said, “Tell you what. I’m an attorney. If you tell me, I’m willing to take the responsibility.”
“What responsibility?”
“Of advising you whether or not you have to report to the police. If I advise you not to, you’re off the hook. Even if the police were to decide you should have reported to them, you could simply pass the buck.”
Branstein frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“I told you. I’m interested in the case. I’m willing to put myself in that position in order to hear what you know.” When Branstein hesitated, Steve said, “But that’s entirely up to you. If you don’t want to tell me, I suggest that you call the police now.”
“Wait a minute,” Branstein said. “Now you’re putting me in the position where you’re telling me to call the police, and if I don’t do it, it’s my fault.”
“I’m not trying to put you in any position,” Steve said. “I’m only trying to be fair.”
Steve stood up. “I’m sorry we bothered you. Please feel free to act on your information any way you see fit.”
Branstein sprang from his chair. “Hold on, hold on,” he said. “Let’s not be hasty. I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk to you. I just want to know the score.”
“Of course you do,” Steve said. “The problem is, I can’t tell you the score because I don’t know what your information is.”
Branstein exhaled. Came to a decision. “Sit down,” he said. “Let’s talk this over.”
/> Steve gave Tracy a look, then glanced at his watch. He sat back down and said, “Very well, but we do have to be going.”
“Fine,” Branstein said. “This should only take a minute. Now then, the only question was, did I see anybody going into the jewelers tonight?”
“Exactly.”
“The answer is yes. In fact, I saw two people.”
Steve kept a straight face, tried to keep from looking at Tracy. “Two?” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Men or women?”
“Both. A man and a woman.”
“Together?”
“No. At two separate times.”
“I see,” Steve said. “And when would that be?”
“The woman was first. That was early in the evening, say, eight o’clock.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’d just finished up with a customer. A guy’d brought in a guitar to be repaired and was picking it up. Particularly fussy. Took it out. Played it. Kept cocking his head and listening to the tone and frowning. Saying it wasn’t exactly what it was like before it was broken.” Branstein grimaced. Shook his head. “No kidding. Thing was cracked in three places. I did a hell of a job on that instrument, if I do say so myself. But the guy was going on like it’s my fault that thing’s not good as new.”
“And that’s when you saw this woman?” Steve prompted.
“That’s right. I’d walked the guy to the door. Good riddance, you know. And there was no one else in the shop. Otherwise I’d have been waiting on another customer. But there was no one there, so I walked him right to the door.
“Which is when I saw her.”
“Who?”
“The woman.”
“What woman.”
Branstein frowned. “That’s the thing. I didn’t really get a good look, you know. I was showing the guy out and I see someone go in. It’s not important. I wouldn’t even remember if you didn’t ask.”
Steve mentally shot himself. “Right,” he said. “This woman— you saw enough to recognize she was a woman?”
“Oh, sure,” Branstein said. “I could tell that. But I only saw her from the back.”
“You’re saying you only had a quick glimpse of her going in the door?”
“Right. Not well enough to recognize her at all.”
“Recognize?” Tracy said.
Steve shot her a look, but Branstein frowned and said, “Maybe recognize is the wrong word. Maybe I should say describe.”
“Can you describe her?” Steve said.
“No. Like I say, I only saw her from the back. I have the impression of short black hair. But I could be wrong.”
“Oh?” Steve said. “And where did you get that impression?”
“That’s the thing,” Branstein said. “I could be making it up. Like I say, I didn’t have a good look. But she reminded me of someone.” He frowned. “I think that’s it, really. The only reason I remember it at all.”
“And what is that?” Steve said.
“What I said. She reminded me of someone.”
“Who?”
“The woman who works there.”
Steve carefully avoided looking at Tracy Garvin. “Oh? he said.
“Yeah,” he said. “That was my first impression. But I’m probably wrong. Because I don’t think she works there anymore. At least, I haven’t seen her around for a while.”
“I see,” Steve said. “And you’re not sure if it really was this woman?”
“Sure?” Branstein said. “I’m not sure at all. It’s not like I saw her face.”
“What about her clothes? Could you describe what she was wearing?”
He shook his head. “No. How should I know it was going to be important?”
“You couldn’t, of course,” Steve said. “Now, this woman that you saw go in—did you happen to see her go out?”
“No.”
“Did you see her again tonight?”
“No, I told you. Just that one time.”
“Did you happen to see any other woman going in or out?”
“Not that I recall.”
“But you did see a man?”
“Yes, I did.”
“When was that?”
“That was at nine.”
“How can you be so sure.”
“It was closing time. I was out on the sidewalk, locking up. A man walked by and went in.”
“Can you describe him?” Steve said, casually.
“Sure. He was a hippie. You know. With long hair. I thought he was a customer. I mean, he looked like he should be playing a guitar, you know.”
“Did you notice anything besides the long hair?” Steve said.
“Not really. Like I said, I was locking up. I didn’t really notice the guy until he was going past me. Then I thought he was going to stop, but he didn’t. He kept going, went in the door.”
“So you really only saw him from the back?”
“Yeah, well maybe three quarters. Like I say, I expected him to turn, but he didn’t.”
“Did you notice his clothes?”
Branstein frowned. “Not particularly. The impression I got was nondescript hippie clothing. But the specifics?” He shrugged. “Hey, I could be just going by the hair.”
Steve nodded. “You think you’d know this man if you saw him again?”
“If I saw him again I might. Even though I can’t describe him, I got that impression, you know.”
“I see,” Steve said. “What about the woman?”
He spread his arms. “How could I possibly recognize her? I didn’t see her at all.”
“Right,” Steve said. He stood up. “Well, thanks for your help.”
“Well,” Branstein said. “What do you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the cops. You said you were going to advise me about the cops.”
“Yes, of course.”
“So whaddya think? Do I have tell the cops?”
Steve exhaled. He nodded grimly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m afraid you do.”
21.
“LET ME TELL YOU the facts of life.”
“You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”
“What gave you your first clue?”
Tracy blinked up at him, tried to see his eyes in the glow from the street light. They were on the corner just outside Branstein’s building.
“Steve,” she said.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before the cops come.”
“You think they will?”
“Are you kidding? He’s calling them now. If he mentions my name, it’s jackpot time, and Stams himself may show up. I sure don’t want to be standing here if he does.”
He took Tracy by the arm and pulled her down the street. The action was rough, the grip tight, hurting her arm.
“Hey, hey,” Tracy said. “Take it easy. I’m coming.”
Steve released her arm and they walked along rapidly, not talking, till they reached Canal.
Steve stopped, turned around. “Okay,” he said. “I’m putting you in a cab. Before I do, I got something to say.”
“You’re upset I went over there?”
“No kidding.”
“It’s a judgment call. You weren’t there and it seemed the thing to do.”
“It wasn’t.”
“So I gather. You wanna beat me up, or you wanna tell me why?”
“You know why. You’re overboard on this one from the word go. You take the client up to the murder scene, leave a convenient fingerprint behind and whisk her out of there. Then when I’m running around trying to patch that one up, you rush out and call on a witness.”
“Because you weren’t available and I wanted to get to him before the cops did.”
“The cops weren’t getting to him,” Steve said. “And he wasn’t getting to them. There was absolutely nothing to connect him to the case.”
“Maybe so, but—”
“And look what you did,” Steve sai
d. “Will you stop to consider what you did?”
“I know it’s a mess.”
“Do you?” Steve said. “Well, let me define it for you. This guy had no idea anything had gone on, and still wouldn’t if we hadn’t told him. He only remembers Amy going in there because we reminded him of it.”
“He can’t identify her.”
“So what,” Steve said. “Don’t you see the big bummer here? Don’t you see what we’ve done?” Steve paused, exhaled. “The guy closed his shop at nine. If Amy got there and called the cops at ten, why is this guy a witness at all? Obviously he isn’t. He’s peripheral. Clearly irrelevant and one of the last people in the world you’d ever think of.
“So what happens? We think of him first. Rush out there and interview him the night of the crime. Before the police even know he exists. What does that do? That elevates him from peripheral witness to prime witness. If the guy’s important to us, there must be something we know. I don’t care how dumb Stams is, he can still figure that.
“So what’s the upshot? The store owner’s not the witness anymore. Our client’s the witness. She had to have seen him earlier for us to have even known about him.”
“She didn’t see him earlier,” Tracy said.
“Right. I did. Big fucking deal. Same difference. If I saw him, by extension I saw him because of something my client told me.”
“At least he didn’t recognize you.”
“Yeah, and look how I had to dress up to make sure he didn’t.”
“Even so, doesn’t that count for something if he tries to identify you later on?”
“Small victory and beside the point,” Steve said. “The point is, our client’s dead. We took a non-witness and made him a star. We don’t go there, even if the guy tells his story, it barely implicates Amy at all. Because there’s no connection. But now there is. Her attorney rushed out there to try to break down the identification. Before the cops even knew there was one. Conclusion? There must have been an identification to break down.”
Tracy’s eyes glistened. He lip trembled. “I was only trying to help.”
“No, you weren’t,” Steve said. “You know what you were doing? You were trying to play Della Street. It’s the books you read. Your head’s so full of murder mysteries, you think life is like that. You can’t run around contaminating murder scenes and holding out on the cops, pulling a fast one with the witnesses and all that. I got bad news for you. I’m not Perry Mason, and there doesn’t have to be a happy ending.