Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

“Yes, I did.”

“Really? You didn’t mention that on direct examination.”

“I wasn’t asked.”

“No, you weren’t, Miss Millburn. Now why do you suppose that was?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“Did you know you weren’t going to be asked about voices on direct examination?”

“Objection.”

“Sustained as to form.”

“Miss Millburn, when you gave your testimony, was there any intention in your own mind not to mention the fact that you heard voices?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Overruled. Witness will answer the question.”

“Yes, there was.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I couldn’t hear the voices clearly enough to identify them, and Mr. Dirkson told me-”

“Objection, Your Honor!”

“No, no,” Fitzpatrick said, grinning broadly. “Tell us. What did District Attorney Dirkson tell you?”

Judge Graves banged the gavel. “That will do,” he snapped. “Mr. Fitzpatrick, it is not your place to rule on objections, it is mine. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“In this case, the objection is overruled. The witness is explaining why she refrained from mentioning certain things in her testimony. It is entirely relevant. The witness will answer the question.”

“You didn’t mention voices because of something District Attorney Dirkson told you?”

“That’s right. He said that since I couldn’t recognize the voices, there was no reason I should mention them unless specifically asked.”

“I see,” Fitzpatrick said, grinning. “Now then, you are being specifically asked. The fact is, you heard voices?”

“That’s right.”

“You say you couldn’t recognize them?”

“No.”

“Are you familiar with the voice of the decedent, Donald Blake?”

“Not really.”

“You were next door neighbors. You had never been to his apartment?”

“No.”

“Surely you must have bumped into him in the hall.”

“He’d only lived there a couple of months. I’d bumped into him a few times.”

“Just to say hello in passing?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you had heard his voice?”

“Yes. I had.”

“Was one of the voices you heard arguing that of Donald Blake?”

“I tell you, I couldn’t hear the voices well enough to identify them.”

“But one of them might have been Donald Blake?”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“Miss Millburn, although you couldn’t identify the voices, could you hear clearly enough to tell that there were two?”

“No, I could not.”

Fitzpatrick raised his eyebrows. “You’re stating that there were not two voices?”

“No, I’m not. There might have been two. I’m merely saying I couldn’t identify them.”

Fitzpatrick stopped, frowned. “Miss Millburn, have the police or the prosecution at any time asked you to listen to the voice of the defendant, Marilyn Harding?”

“No, they have not.”

“They have not?”

“No.”

Fitzpatrick frowned again. He stopped, thought for a moment. Suddenly he smiled. He turned back to the witness.

“Miss Millburn, you claim you couldn’t distinguish between the voices.”

“That’s right.”

“Miss Millburn, just for the sake of argument, assuming that there were two voices-you will concede it takes two to make an argument-and assuming that one of the voices was that of Donald Blake, let us consider the other voice you heard. You say that you couldn’t distinguish between the voices. I ask you, considering all that, is it possible that the second voice you heard was that of a woman?”

The witness shifted on the stand, and Fitzpatrick knew he’d scored.

She batted her eyes. “No,” she said.

“No?” Fitzpatrick said.

“No,” she said. “It was a man.”

Fitzpatrick turned from the witness stand with a broad grin. But his eyes were hard. And they moved to the back of the courtroom, where they sought, caught and held those of Steve Winslow.

Steve Winslow leaned back in Mark Taylor’s overstuffed clients’ chair and rubbed his head.

“So,” he said, “what’s his game?”

Mark Taylor looked at him. “Fitzpatrick? I thought that was fairly obvious.”

Steve shook his head. “Naw. Screw Fitzpatrick. I mean Dirkson.”

Mark Taylor frowned. “I don’t get it, Steve.”

“I don’t get it either,” Steve said, “and it bothers me.”

Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee. “Look, Steve. We’re not connecting here. I don’t know what you’re thinking, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you expect me to contribute to this conversation, you better let me in on what you’re trying to say.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Look. To start off with, Dirkson’s not dumb.”

“All right. Dirkson’s not dumb. So? You told me that yesterday. He’s gonna let Fitzpatrick bring out all the shit and then let the bar association go after you. I know that.”

“Right. But besides that. Look what he’s doing.”

“What?”

“All right. Take the witness. Margaret Millburn. He gives her as perfunctory a direct examination as you ever heard. A child of three can see she’s not telling the whole story. Naturally, Fitzpatrick rips into her on cross-examination and brings out the fact that the person she heard arguing with the victim was a man.”

“So?”

“I was watching Dirkson when it happened. He didn’t bat an eye.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything.”

Steve Winslow got up and started pacing.

“I don’t understand, Steve,” Taylor said. “We know Dirkson’s out to get you. This is exactly what he’s been doing all along-letting Fitzpatrick bring out the damaging stuff. So what’s the big deal?”

Steve shook his head. “Dirkson wants to get me for obstructing justice and tampering with evidence. He isn’t out to get me for murder. Look, Mark. Dirkson’s trying Marilyn Harding on a murder rap. Much as he might love to take a few pot shots at me, his prime concern is convicting her. Margaret Millburn’s testimony that the person she heard having an altercation with the decedent was a man has to be a serious blow to Dirkson’s case. But it doesn’t seem to faze him. And the question is why?”

“And the answer is, I don’t know.”

“Right. And that’s what bothers me. Sooner or later, Dirkson’s gonna rest his case. As soon as he does, Fitzpatrick’s gonna slap a subpoena on me. He’ll put me on the stand, get me declared a hostile witness, and rip into me. I’ll have to take the position that I can’t answer certain questions without betraying the confidence of a client. You know how that’s gonna look to the jury. Ten to one, Fitzpatrick will rest his case right there. Then he’ll argue that the prosecution’s case is all circumstantial, and that I am just as likely to have killed the victim as his client. Add to that the fact that Margaret Millburn claims she heard Bradshaw arguing with a man, and there’s no way the jury’s going to being back a verdict of guilty.”

Taylor frowned. “That’s right. So what the hell is Dirkson up to?”

Steve shook his head. “That’s the question.”

When Court reconvened the next morning, District Attorney Harry Dirkson stood up and said, “Call Douglas Kemper.”

That announcement drew no reaction from the spectators in the courtroom. Most of them didn’t know who Douglas Kemper was. But it certainly produced a reaction in Marilyn Harding. She came half out of her chair, twisted around, and looked toward the back of the room. Fitzpatrick was immediately on his feet, interposing his bulk between his client and the spectators in the courtroom, but not before Steve Winslow caught the look on her face.