Parnell Hall: The Naked Typist

“Well, I happen to know that it is. You know how I happen to know?” Steve smiled. “Marcie Keller. Marcie Keller proves you did.”

Phil Danby said nothing. His puzzled frown seemed quite genuine.

“That surprises you, doesn’t it Mr. Danby? I thought it would. No, there is nothing in her testimony that implicates you. What implicates you is the fact she gave it at all.

“See, here’s what happened. You had the perfect frame and everything was going fine. The prosecution was making a case, and you thought that would be that.

“But then I put the defendant on the stand and she told her story. The story about the memo.

“Which is when you panicked, Mr. Danby. The only time in the whole affair you lost your head and made a stupid move. But the bit about the memo scared you. You knew you’d erased it from the computer, but still hearing about it struck too close to home.

“So you tried to guild the lily. To convict Kelly Clay Wilder. To give the prosecution everything they needed to clinch the case.

“You phoned in an anonymous tip. A tip to the police to check out the Taylor Detective Agency for any young operatives, one male, one female, who might have had David Castleton under surveillance on the night of June twenty-eighth. The detective Dan Fuller has yet to be found, but they got Marcie Keller all right.” Steve smiled. “Probably wasn’t that hard, what with her being an actress. Probably just called SAG. Anyway, they found her and they put her on the stand.

“Which is what gives you away, Mr. Danby. Because, aside from Mark Taylor and myself, no one, the defendant included, knew those detectives were there. The only way someone could have known was if he was there too. You fingered Marcie Keller, Mr. Danby. And that puts you at the scene of the crime.”

Steve bored in. “You killed David Castleton, Mr. Danby. Deliberately, in cold blood. You did it to cover up an embezzlement for which you had framed an innocent man. You took Herbert Clay’s gun and you shot David Castleton dead. Didn’t you, Mr. Danby?”

Danby’s look was almost amused, his smile ironic, mocking. “No, I did not,” he said.

There was a moment’s silence.

“You son of a bitch!”

The shrill voice cut through the courtroom like a knife. All heads turned to stare.

On the aisle in the second row, Milton Castleton had struggled to his feet. With one hand he was gripping the back of the bench in front of him for dear life to hold himself up. With the other he was pointing a long, bony, accusing finger straight at his associate, Phil Danby.

Everyone’s attention shifted from the pointing finger to the witness stand, where Phil Danby sat, where a transformation was taking place.

Under Steve Winslow’s cross-examination Phil Danby had been calm, unruffled, hadn’t turned a hair. But under the accusing glare of his employer, Phil Danby began to wilt. He simply could not meet the eyes of that frail, old man. Danby’s eyes faltered, his face went pasty white, and he began to tremble.

Then all at once he turned suddenly and vomited over the side of the witness stand.

Fitzpatrick couldn’t stop laughing. Whether it was genuine amusement, relief of nervous tension or perhaps embarrassment over the harsh things he’d said to Steve Winslow-most likely a combination of all three-the man had a pretty good case of the giggles.

“It’s too much,” Fitzpatrick said. “It’s too much. I mean, I’m not sure this has a legal precedent. I mean, is throwing up on the witness stand considered an admission of guilt?”

Steve Winslow was leaning back in his desk chair, utterly drained. Too tired to answer, he merely smiled.

Fitzpatrick didn’t mind. He was hyped with nervous energy and on a roll. “And what does the court reporter write, that’s what I want to know? I’d like to get a look at the transcript. I mean, you get, ‘Question:’ ‘Answer:’ ‘Question:’ ‘Answer:’ Then you get, ‘Question: (from spectator): “You son of a bitch.” ‘ ‘Witness barfs.’ Is that what they write? ‘Witness barfs?’ Or do they write it phonetically? ‘Blaaaaah!’”

Steve exhaled noisily, shook his head. “What a stroke of luck.”

“Luck, hell,” Fitzpatrick said. “You knew it. You had him. You were right up and down the line.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steve said. “I never could have touched him in a million years. All I had going for me was his fear of that old man.”

Fitzpatrick’s grin faded. His eyes narrowed. “You played for that to happen?”

“Yeah, I did. I knew I couldn’t break Danby myself. So I played to Castleton. Because I believed Kelly’s story, particularly what David told her. That Milton Castleton is fair, Milton Castleton is just, Milton Castleton wouldn’t let that happen.

“And Milton Castleton loved his grandson. I knew if I could sell him, he’d do the rest.”

Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Jesus Christ. A man like Danby, so afraid of a sick old man.”

The door opened and Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin came in. “News from the front,” Taylor said. “Danby caved in. He’s making a full written confession.”

“You’re kidding,” Steve said.

Taylor shook his head. “Not at all. He’s comin’ clean. When his boss turned against him it broke him. The way I get it, he’d rather go to jail than have to face him.”

“Son of a bitch,” Fitzpatrick said.

“What about Kelly?” Steve said.

“They released her. She’s probably on her way over now.”

Steve sighed. “What a fucking relief.”

“Tell me about it,” Taylor said.

“They release Marcie too?”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. “She just called. You’re not going to believe this.”

“What? She wants her job back?”

“Not at all. She called her answering service. With her performance on the stand and her picture in the morning papers, she’s had calls from talent agents from William Morris and ICM.”

Steve grinned. “You’re kidding.”

“No. A literal Hollywood ending. Looks like you cost me an operative.”

“Or two. Any word from Dan Fuller?”

“No. But from what Marcie says, after she read him the riot act he took off on a camping trip. I expect he’ll resurface after Danby’s confession hits the press.”

“That’s good,” Steve said. “He was the joker in the piece, you know.”

Taylor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What I said to Danby on the witness stand, about tipping Marcie Keller to the cops, about how that’s how I knew it was him. Well, it turned out I was right. But there was one other possibility. That was Dan Fuller got cold feet and phoned in the tip.”

“Holy shit,” Taylor said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Hadn’t happened, but that’s what I was gambling on.”

“You were gambling on a lot,” Taylor said.

“I know. I don’t feel good about it at all.”

“So what’s the situation?” Taylor said. “With Marcie and me and you guys? What difference will Danby’s confession make?”

“We’re off the hook,” Steve said.

Taylor nodded. “You’ll pardon a second opinion, but, Fitzpatrick, is that right?”

“Basically, yes,” Fitzpatrick said. “Aiding and abetting, accessory after that fact.” He shrugged. “You can’t aid and abet an innocent person. And Kelly Clay Wilder had nothing to do with the crime. You and your detectives didn’t have any knowledge about Phil Danby’s involvement in this affair, did you?”

“No.”

“There you are. Technically you still withheld evidence, but in the vernacular, who gives a shit?”

“Dirkson won’t go after my license?”

Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Dirkson wouldn’t dream of it. Dirkson wants to get this whole thing out of the press just as fast as he can.”