SW02 - The Anonymous Client

by Parnell Hall

  Steve took a breath, restrained himself from hitting the horn. If he’d done that, the guy probably would have turned around and given him the finger, wasting more time. Instead, he pulled away slowly.

  Steve gunned the motor, lurched into the tollbooth, slapped his two dollars into the toll taker’s hand, gunned the motor again, and zoomed off. In the tunnel he weaved in and out, ignoring the double yellow line and the “KEEP IN ONE LANE” sign. He caught the Mercedes just as it emerged from the tunnel into Manhattan.

  Marilyn Harding went down Second Avenue, across 34th Street, and pulled into a garage. Steve didn’t want to go into the same garage, but there were no others around. He pulled over to the curb and waited. About five minutes later Marilyn emerged, tucking her keys and her claim ticket into her purse. Steve hopped out of his car and tagged along behind.

  She walked down the street and went into Macy’s. Steve groaned. After hours of sitting in the car, he wasn’t up to hours of shopping. And Macy’s wasn’t really a good place to approach her.

  On the other hand, Steve realized, there was no good place to approach her. Well, what the hell. He had to take a shot.

  Marilyn hopped on the escalator. Steve hopped on behind. As soon as she lights, he told himself.

  She lit in lingerie. Just his luck. As if he didn’t have enough problems, the saleslady would think he was a masher. Well, the hell with it.

  Steve walked up behind her. “Miss Harding?”

  Marilyn wheeled around. She was holding a lacy bra. From the expression on her face, one would have thought she’d been caught shoplifting it. Then she recognized him.

  “You!”

  “Yes. Steve Winslow, in case you’ve forgotten. I thought it was time we finished our talk.”

  Marilyn’s eyes flashed. “Oh, is that so. I’ve been indicted for murder. I have a lawyer, and he doesn’t happen to be you.”

  “I sure wish you could convince some other people of that.”

  “What?”

  “Hasn’t Fitzpatrick been after you to get you to admit you hired me?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “I don’t know why—Wait a minute. I’m not talking to you.”

  “Yeah. I noticed. Look, I don’t want to talk to you about the case. I just thought we could discuss a mutual acquaintance.”

  “What?”

  “Sheila Benton.”

  Marilyn frowned. “What?”

  “Yeah. Old school chum. You went to college together, remember?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sheila was my first client. My only client, actually. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think so?”

  Marilyn said nothing, just kept staring at him.

  “So I wondered. When was the last time you two talked?”

  Marilyn kept her lips clamped tightly together.

  “Huh?” Steve persisted.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Marilyn said.

  “Fine. Understandable,” Steve said. “You’d like to be rid of me? Want to see me walk out that door? Then just answer one question and I will. When was the last time you talked to Sheila Benton?”

  Marilyn took a breath, looked down at the floor, then looked Steve right in the eye. “I haven’t seen Sheila in years,” she said.

  Steve looked back at her and shook his head. “God, I wish I could believe that.”

  Steve turned on his heel and walked off. On the escalator down he shook his head again. Yeah, Judy. Great advice. This is really getting me somewhere.

  Steve emerged onto 34th Street just in time to see his rental car being towed away.

  By the time Steve Winslow, one hundred twenty-five dollars poorer, had retrieved his car from the pier, dropped it off at the rental agency, and hailed a cab back to the office, he was in a foul mood to say the least. He had also decided something. Fuck this. No more chasing will-o’-the-wisps. No more groping in the dark. If his client wanted to come forward, fine, but in the meantime he was through. Marilyn Harding could go hang for all he cared. Dirkson could think what he liked. Steve Winslow, attorney, was not involved in the case, and that was that.

  Having made that decision, Steve walked into his outer office fully prepared to face the wrath of Tracy Garvin.

  He didn’t. Tracy was over her snit. More than that, she was excited. It didn’t take him long to learn why.

  There was another letter. Typewritten. Unsigned. Just like the first two. And, to the best Steve could determine, written on the same typewriter.

  It said: “Sit in on the trial.”

  25.

  DISTRICT ATTORNEY HARRY DIRKSON BOWED, smiled, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this will be a very brief opening statement, because this is a very simple case. We expect to prove that on the ninth day of October, at approximately five-thirty in the afternoon, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, did feloniously and with malice of forethought, kill one Donald Blake, alias David C. Bradshaw, by stabbing him with a knife. The events leading up to this murder are simple and straightforward, and we shall lay them out for you.

  “We hold no brief for the decedent. He was a blackmailer and an extortionist, and he had a prison record. He made his living preying on people, and his end was probably the inevitable consequence of his existence. But none of that matters, and the judge will instruct you that you must give it no weight. Donald Blake may have been a despicable human being, but he was a human being, and every human being’s life is sacred, and no person has the right to take it.”

  Fitzpatrick was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Is this an opening statement or a closing argument?”

  Dirkson, nettled, whirled to glare at the defense attorney. “Your Honor—” Dirkson began.

  Judge Randell Graves banged the gavel. The thin, reedy, elderly judge had a reputation for brooking no nonsense in his courtroom. “Gentlemen,” he snapped. “Approach the sidebar.”

  Graves stepped down from his bench, and the two lawyers and the court reporter joined him at the sidebar. They proceeded to confer in low tones, out of earshot of the jury.

  In the back row of the court, Tracy Garvin grabbed Steve Winslow’s arm. “What’s going on?”

  “A sidebar,” he told her.

  “I know it’s a sidebar,” Tracy said impatiently. “I’ve been in court before. What’s the point of law?”

  “Virtually none,” Steve said. “Fitzpatrick’s just trying to needle him. Interrupt the opening argument, break the flow, get him pissed off.”

  “Has he got a point?”

  “Technically, yes. Dirkson shouldn’t be arguing the case at this time. But all lawyers do, it’s really splitting hairs, and Dirkson’s pretty pissed off at Fitzpatrick for calling him on it.”

  “So it’s a good move on Fitzpatrick’s part?”

  Steve shook his head. “No, it’s a bad one.”

  “Why? It throws Dirkson off, doesn’t it?”

  “A little. But it irritates the judge. It’s a hollow tactic, and Judge Graves isn’t going to like it. Judges don’t like to put up with a lot of over technical crap. They like to keep the trial moving along. Fitzpatrick may score a point now, but it’s going to cost him later on.”

  The lawyers had resumed their positions. Judge Graves addressed the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. As I have instructed you, during the course of the trial there will be many occasions upon which we depart to the sidebar to discuss various objections. You should give those discussions no weight, and you should not speculate on what goes on in those discussions.

  “Now, I would like to instruct you that we are not arguing the case at this time. The prosecutor is merely outlining what he intends to prove. That is all that should concern you.

  Dirkson rose. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. To resume, we expect to prove that Marilyn Harding killed Donald Blake, alias David C. Bradshaw. The motive for this murder is simple and straightforward. We expect to prove
that Donald Blake was a blackmailer, that he was blackmailing Marilyn Harding. We expect to prove that Marilyn Harding paid Donald Blake the sum of ten thousand dollars. We expect to prove that Donald Blake had evidence that Marilyn Harding had poisoned her father, Phillip Harding, and—”

  Fitzpatrick jumped to his feet. “Objection!” he roared. “Objection, Your Honor! The prosecutor is attempting to prejudice the jury by introducing evidence of a previous crime. I move for a mistrial.”

  Dirkson smiled. “I offer that evidence only as proof of motive, Your Honor.”

  “May I have a sidebar, Your Honor?” Fitzpatrick demanded, already heading in that direction.

  Graves banged the gavel. “Attorney, stand back. We’ll do this in open court. Bailiff, please show the jurors to the jury room. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am going to excuse you while we discuss this motion. Please follow the bailiff to the jury room.”

  As the jury filed out, Dirkson’s grin was smug.

  “Big victory for Dirkson,” Steve said.

  “What?”

  “Sidebar denied. I told you it would cost him. Now we’re going to hear the argument in open court.”

  “But the jury won’t hear it.”

  “No, but we will, and so will the media. And the idea that cases aren’t tried in the papers is bullshit. And it doesn’t even matter which way Graves rules. Phillip Harding’s murder is going to make the front page.”

  When the jurors had filed out, Judge Graves said, “I will now hear arguments on the objection. Mr. Fitzpatrick?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Marilyn Harding is on trial for killing Donald Blake, not for killing her father, Phillip Harding. Any evidence of the fact she killed her father is prejudicial, inadmissible, and grounds for a mistrial.”

  “Mr. Dirkson?”

  “Your Honor, we are not attempting to prove that Marilyn Harding killed her father. As I said, we are introducing this evidence only to show motive. It is our contention only that Donald Blake claimed that Marilyn Harding had killed her father, and was therefore blackmailing her. We are not attempting to show that Marilyn Harding killed her father, merely that Donald Blake had reason to believe that she had and was blackmailing her about it. That, therefore, she paid him the ten thousand dollars and, when he demanded more money, she killed him. As evidence of motivation, it’s clearly admissible. We introduce it only for that limited purpose.”

  “Nonsense, Your Honor,” Fitzpatrick said. “This talk of limited purpose is absurd. So is the prosecution’s statement that they will only be introducing evidence of Donald Blake’s contention that Marilyn Harding killed her father. They intend to show that Marilyn Harding paid Donald Blake ten thousand dollars. Then they’re going to claim Donald Blake demanded that money because he knew she’d killed her father. Now, after they prove she paid him that money, what juror is going to believe she didn’t kill her father?”

  Steve Winslow shook his head and laughed silently. “Jesus, what an asshole. Even if he wins the point, he just managed to convince the whole world his client’s guilty.”

  “Is he going to win the point?” Tracy asked.

  “Technically, yes. The judge is going to instruct the jury that the evidence is being introduced for a limited purpose and they must give no weight to the contention that Marilyn Harding killed her father. Which is like telling them, don’t think of an elephant. Which is just what I expected of Fitzpatrick, really. He’s the type of lawyer who loses when he wins.”

  After a long and tedious argument, the jurors were brought back in and Judge Graves instructed them just as Steve had predicted.

  The jurors listened to the judge’s instructions gravely. Some looked at each other. Some nodded. And by the end of the instructions, each and every one of them was looking directly at the defendant, Marilyn Harding.

  Dirkson watched this with extreme satisfaction.

  Having finished his instructions, Judge Graves turned to the District Attorney and said, “You may proceed, Mr. Dirkson.”

  Dirkson rose to his feet. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He smiled. “We shall prove all this by competent evidence, and we shall expect a verdict of guilty at your hands.”

  And Dirkson sat down.

  Steve Winslow grinned.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “Give Dirkson credit. I didn’t know he was that good.”

  “What?” Tracy said.

  “His opening statement. He didn’t have to finish it. He let Fitzpatrick’s objection do it for him. He knew Fitzpatrick would object, and he knew how the judge was going to rule, and he knew how the jury would respond. He planned it that way.”

  Judge Graves turned to Fitzpatrick. “Does the defense wish to make an opening statement?”

  Fitzpatrick rose. “We will reserve our opening statement until we begin putting on our case.”

  “Very well. Mr. Dirkson, is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. It is approaching the hour for noon recess. I am going to excuse the jury and adjourn for lunch, and we’ll resume at two o’clock.”

  26.

  FOR HIS FIRST WITNESS, DIRKSON called Police Officer Frank Sullivan, who stated his name and cited his eighteen years of duty on the force.

  “Now, Officer Sullivan, were you on duty on the ninth day of October.”

  “I was.”

  “And what was your duty on that day?”

  “I was on radio patrol.”

  “In what vehicle?”

  “In a marked police car.”

  “And did you have a partner at that time?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “And who was your partner?”

  “Officer Sanford Hill.”

  “Directing your attention to the address 249 East 3rd Street, did you receive any instructions regarding that address?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Could you tell us what happened, please?”

  “Yes. We got a call on the police radio reporting an altercation at that address.”

  “Can you tell us what time you got that call?”

  “I do not recall the exact time, but I wrote it in my notebook.”

  “Would looking at your notebook refresh your recollection on that matter?”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “Would you please do so?”

  Officer Sullivan took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Yes, sir. The call came in at 5:42 P.M.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “My partner and I proceeded to that address.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  “Approximately five minutes later.”

  “That would be 5:47?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what did you find when you got there?”

  “The downstairs door was open and we went in.”

  “Did you hear the sounds of an altercation.”

  “No, sir. We did not.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “We went up the stairs to apartment 2A.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “We found the body of a man lying on the floor. He had been stabbed in the back with a knife.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “We radioed for Emergency Medical Services, and radioed to report a possible homicide.”

  “Thank you, officer. Your witness.”

  As Dirkson sat down, Fitzpatrick got ponderously to his feet. Steve Winslow smiled. This really was going to be a battle of the giants. Steve watched Fitzpatrick with some interest, wondering what tack the attorney was going to take. Fitzpatrick smiled and approached the witness. “Officer Sullivan,” he said. “I believe you stated that you have been a police officer for eighteen years?”

  “That’s right.”

  “During the course of that time, have you ever been called upon to testify in a court of law?”

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  “On how many occasions?”
<
br />   “I can’t recall, sir.”

  “Approximately.”

  “Say fifty to a hundred times.”

  “I see. Now in this particular case, I notice several glaring gaps in your testimony.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Well, let’s discuss your testimony. You say you got a radio call, requesting you to proceed to 249 East 3rd Street?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The downstairs door was open and you went in?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Now, when you got to the door to 2A, the apartment of the deceased, what happened?”

  “I knocked on the door.”

  “And what happened?”

  “A voice said ‘Come in.’”

  Fitzpatrick raised his eyebrows. “A voice?”

  “Yes. A man’s voice.”

  “A man’s voice. How interesting? You didn’t mention this on direct examination.”

  “I wasn’t asked.”

  “No, you weren’t, were you, Officer Sullivan? So a man’s voice said, ‘Come in,’ and what did you do then?”

  “I opened the door and went in.”

  “The door was unlocked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s mighty interesting too. And when you got into the apartment, did you by any chance encounter the owner of this voice, the man who said, ‘Come in’?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And where was he?”

  “Seated on the couch.”

  “The living room couch?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is the same room in which you found the body of the deceased?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, if I understand it correctly, when you entered the apartment, you found two people, a dead man lying on the floor, and a live man, sitting on the couch. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fitzpatrick shook his head and laughed. “Well, Officer Sullivan, you must forgive me for thinking there might be a few glaring gaps in your story.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said.

  Judge Graves frowned. “Mr. Fitzpatrick. If we could avoid such side remarks.”