Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

Dirkson and Stams exchanged glances.

“All right,” Dirkson said. “So much for Marilyn Harding. What about Bradshaw?”

“Bradshaw left his apartment immediately after Miss Harding. He took a cab uptown and proceeded to ditch my shadows.”

“How?”

“Fairly routinely. Walked into a hotel and out another door.” Taylor shrugged. “It happens.”

“Did they pick him up again?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In Steve Winslow’s office.”

“What?!”

“They picked him up in Steve Winslow’s office.”

“When?”

“About a half hour later.”

Dirkson was staring at Taylor with great suspicion. “And just how did this happen?”

“Winslow called me and told me Bradshaw was in his office. My men picked him up there and followed him home.”

“Then what?”

“Then Winslow called me into his office and had me dust his desk for fingerprints. I found a perfect set where someone had leaned heavily on the desktop. I ran them down and identified them as belonging to one Donald Blake, a convicted felon with a history of larceny and extortion.”

Dirkson prided himself on having a good poker face, but he couldn’t conceal his surprise. He frowned and thought that over. “I see. So what happened then?”

“Bradshaw left his apartment shortly after six.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“He ditched my shadows.”

“Again?”

“It was not one of my better days.”

Dirkson’s face darkened. “Look here, are you giving me a run around?”

Before Taylor could reply, Steve jumped in. “No he’s not, Dirkson. I told you. This man is telling you the simple truth. Just ask your questions.”

Dirkson took a breath and blew it out again. “All right. Did you pick up Bradshaw again?”

“Yes.”

“When and where?”

“At his apartment. My men staked it out, and Bradshaw returned about nine.”

“That evening?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“After that, Bradshaw stayed put and had no further visitors.”

“Until when?”

“Until Wednesday morning when I pulled my men off the job.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Steve Winslow called me into his office on Wednesday and had me dust the combination of his safe for fingerprints. I found a thumbprint that matched the right thumbprint of Donald Blake. At that point, Winslow instructed me to pull my men off the case.”

Dirkson digested that information. “All right. What did you do next?”

“Nothing. I’d been ordered off the case.”

“What about tonight?”

Taylor shrugged. “Winslow called me and asked me to meet him for dinner.”

“And told you to bring the list?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose he just casually asked you to bring it along?”

Taylor frowned. “You’re asking me for my opinion of his tone of voice?”

“No. We’ll let it pass. The fact is he asked you to bring it?”

“Yes.”

“The same list you received from him Tuesday and traced to Bradshaw?”

“Yes. The same list.”

Dirkson nodded grimly. He turned to Steve Winslow. “All right, Winslow. You’ve refused to answer questions. That’s one thing. Concealing evidence is another. Now, I want to know right now if you have that list.”

“Yes, I have the list,” Steve said. “But as far as I know, it has nothing to do with the murder.”

“Well, I’m telling you that it does,” Dirkson said. “I am hereby informing you that that list of numbers is a valuable piece of evidence in a murder case, and I am asking you in my official capacity as District Attorney to turn it over to the police. Now then, do you intend to do so?”

“Certainly,” Steve said. He produced the list and passed it over to Stams. “I’d hate to make Sergeant Stams go to the trouble of having me frisked again.”

Sergeant Stams whipped a notebook from his pocket and began comparing numbers.

“Now then,” Steve said. “You’ve got what you wanted. Tracy and I aren’t talking, and Taylor’s made his statement. I think this is where we came in.”

Dirkson shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Winslow. I warned you what would happen if I connected you with those thousand dollar bills.”

“You can’t hold me without a warrant,” Steve said.

Dirkson shook his head sadly. “I’m trying to give you a break. If you cooperate, I might be able to save you the embarrassment of a formal arrest. But if you want me to swear out a warrant, I will.”

“You don’t have the grounds to issue a warrant.”

“I didn’t before, but I sure do now. Those serial numbers clinch the case. Bradshaw withdraws the bills from the bank Monday. You get the numbers Tuesday. Bradshaw gets bumped off Wednesday. The bills are found in his pocket, and you’re found in his apartment. Now put all that together and tell me if I can get a warrant.”

Sergeant Stams cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but-”

“Just a minute,” Dirkson said. “I just want to make sure Winslow knows where he stands. Now then, Winslow, you’re not leaving here until you answer some questions. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. It’s entirely up to you.”

Stams cleared his throat again.

“Yes, what is it?” Dirkson snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Stams said. “But there’s been some kind of flimflam here. The numbers on the list don’t match.”

“What?”

Stams shook his head. “That’s right. None of the numbers match. Winslow must have switched lists.”

Dirkson’s face began to purple. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed. “By god, Winslow, if you switched lists-”

“You’ll have a hell of a time proving that,” Steve said, “after the bank teller gets through testifying that the numbers are genuine.”

Dirkson hesitated a second, trying to gauge if Winslow was bluffing. He figured he couldn’t be. Not if he expected the bank teller to back him up. “Damn it,” Dirkson said, “if you didn’t switch lists, then you switched the bills themselves.”

“That’s a fine theory,” Steve said, “if you can find any way to prove it, be sure to let me know. In the meantime, I’ve done all I can here. Tracy, Mark. I think we’ve taken up enough of these gentlemen’s time. After all, they have a murder to solve.”

Steve bowed to Stams and Dirkson, and ushered Tracy and Mark Taylor out.

Tracy Garvin could hardly contain herself. She was seated across the table from Steve Winslow in a small diner three blocks from the courthouse. Steve had brushed aside all her questions, even after Mark Taylor, who didn’t want to hear the answers, had hailed a cab and beat a hasty retreat back to his office. Now she waited in mounting frustration while a tired waitress plodded over and slid cups of coffee in front of them.

As the waitress departed, Tracy looked up at Steve and said, “Now?”

Steve dumped cream in his coffee. “Yeah, now.”

“What happened?”

“You first. You heard it on the news, right?”

Tracy gave him an exasperated look, but realized argument would be futile. He wasn’t going to talk till she did. “Yeah. I’d gone home, and I told Mark Taylor to call me if anything happened, but he hadn’t called, and I was listening to the radio, you know, in case they had more details about the Harding thing. Then the news came on about Bradshaw. I called information and your number was listed, so I tried to call you. Of course, you weren’t there. So I figured he’d called you and you’d beat it to Bradshaw’s apartment. So I hopped a cab and went over there.”

“And what happened?”

“You know what happened. I walked into a trap.”