Parnell Hall: The Anonymous Client

Steve was keyed up too, but on a different scale. Tracy was like a kid with a new toy. She accepted the letter as a matter of course. She was young enough and romantic enough and so conditioned by a steady diet of detective novels, that she expected anonymous cash retainers sent in the mail. Steve was old enough and cynical enough to realize such things were fantastic and totally unreal and therefore to be regarded with the utmost skepticism.

Which didn’t stop from making them interesting as hell.

When the intercom buzzed at two-thirty, Steve Winslow picked up the phone and Tracy Garvin in the outer office said, “Mark Taylor on 2.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “Stay on the line and take notes.” He pressed the blinking button. “Yes, Mark.”

“Got him, Steve.”

“Great. Who is he?”

“His name is David C. Bradshaw. He’s around forty-five, short, wiry, dark hair. He lives in an apartment on East 3rd Street.”

“Good work. How’d you find him?”

“Just routine. I covered the banks. The withdrawal was unusual enough that the teller took down the serial numbers. Fortunately, it was a bank I’d done a few favors for in the past, so they were most cooperative. Naturally they wouldn’t tell me anything about the account, other than when it had been opened, which was about a month ago. But they did confirm the withdrawal and gave me a pretty good description to go on.”

“Where is he now?”

“Apparently he’s home.”

“How do you know?”

“As soon as I got the address I sewed up the apartment building. Five minutes after my man got on the job, a young woman showed up, pressed the button for 2A, and was buzzed upstairs.”

“Got a description of the girl?”

“I’ll say. My man says she’s a baby-faced blonde of about twenty-five with a hell of a nice ass.”

“Miss Garvin is taking notes on the line, Mark. Let’s not bog her down with too many details.”

“Right.”

“Where’s the girl now?”

“Still up there.”

“How many men you got covering the apartment?”

“Two.”

“Put another one on. Two if you have to. Tail the girl when she leaves. Slap a tail on anyone else who calls on Bradshaw. Use as many men as you have to, but keep that apartment covered. When the girl leaves, let me know.”

“No problem. You going to go see him?”

“Not just yet. I want to be a little more sure of my ground before I actually talk to him. You don’t have anything else on him?”

“How could I, Steve? You said don’t let the guy know he’s being tailed.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’ll get the dope, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“O.K. Call me as soon as something breaks.”

Tracy was in the door practically before Steve hung up the phone.

“He got him,” Tracy said.

“Yes.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s a start.”

“It’s more than a start. Now you know who the client is. Now you can keep the retainer.”

“No I can’t.”

“Sure you can. The client’s David C. Bradshaw. He has nothing whatever to do with Sheila Benton.”

“How do you know?”

Her eyes were wide. “How do I know? I’ve been handling the business for months. There’s been nothing even remotely connected with any David C. Bradshaw.”

“I’m sure there hasn’t. But that’s not conclusive proof.”

“But-”

“Look. As I said, it’s a start. Mark Taylor’s getting the dope on him. As soon as he does, I’ll talk to the guy and we’ll work something out. At least the situation will be clarified. In the meantime there’s nothing to do but wait.”

Tracy gave him a pout. “And what are we supposed to do while we wait?”

Steve shrugged. “Why don’t you read your book?”

Tracy gave him a look and flounced out.

Mark Taylor called back a half an hour later.

“She left the apartment, Steve, and Bradshaw left right after her.”

“Your men pick them up?”

“Uh huh. I had four men on the apartment. Two of them took Bradshaw, and two of them took the girl.”

“Any idea where they’re headed?”

“The girl hailed a taxi and started uptown. Bradshaw went to the corner drugstore and made a phone call.”

“Your man listen in?”

“He couldn’t get that close, Steve. You told me you didn’t want Bradshaw to know he was being tailed, and my man couldn’t take any chances. But he thinks the number Bradshaw called was busy.”

“Why?”

“Because Bradshaw was only in there a minute. Then he came out and walked a block, and made another phone call from the booth on the corner. He got a busy signal again. He tried two more times before he got through. He talked on the phone a few minutes, then hailed a cab and headed uptown. So my man figures Bradshaw got a busy signal on the first call and knew his party was in, so he walked down to where he could get a cab, called his party again, made a date, and that’s where he’s going.”

“O.K. Just keep him in sight and let me know where he goes.”

“Will do.”

Fifteen minutes later an apologetic Mark Taylor was back on the phone.

“They lost him, Steve.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, but what can I say. He got out of the cab, walked into a hotel lobby, and disappeared.”

“Was he wise?”

“I don’t think so. The two guys I had on him were pros, and they had specific instructions not to tip their hands. I’m afraid it’s just one of those unlucky flukes.”

“What hotel?”

“42nd Street and Third Avenue. That was part of the problem. My guys were in a car. You know what parking’s like midtown. There’s none. So one guy stayed with the car, and the other hopped out and followed him into the hotel. When he got into the lobby, the guy was gone.”

“Hell. Where are your men now?”

“One’s gone back to cover the apartment in case Bradshaw shows up. The other’s covering the hotel just in case.”

Steve sighed. “O.K. I guess that’s the best you can do under the circumstances. What about the girl?”

“She seems to be on a shopping spree. At the moment she’s in Bloomingdale’s trying on clothes.”

“Got a line on her yet?”

“Are you kidding? You said you wanted this handled discreetly. I could have my men start shaking down salesgirls and maybe get a look at a charge card receipt, but then the cat would be out of the bag. I’m hoping the girl will go home, so I can get a line on her, but now she’s shopping and there’s nothing much I can do.”

“O.K., Mark. Do the best you can.”

Steve Winslow hung up the phone and rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. Tracy, who had been listening on the other line, came in the door.

“You heard?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. They lost him.”

“Yeah. And Mark thinks it was an accident.”

“And you don’t?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But here’s a guy who sends an anonymous ten thousand dollar retainer. He obviously doesn’t want to be found. But I hire detectives and find him. And as soon as I do, he gives the detectives the slip. Now am I supposed to believe that’s just coincidence?”

Tracy shook her head. “It couldn’t be. He has to be wise. But what’s the point? If the detectives picked him up at his apartment, there’s no way he can keep you from finding out who he is.”

“Right.”

“So what’s the point?”

“He must want to keep me from finding out where he’s going.”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “Of course. That’s it.” Her face fell. “And now you’ll never know. He’s done it.”

Steve shook his head. “This is true.”

“But-”

The sound of the outer office door opening and closing cut Tracy off.