Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

“She had to pick up her car.”

“Sure she did, but you got in and out before she even got there? Bullshit. And then you’re just turning the corner when you saw her go in. And then you race around the block and you just see her come out. But you miss her both times. And you’re about to go after her, but then you spot a car tailing her.”

Steve Winslow stopped and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. I mean, here you are, a poor fucking real estate salesman. You just found a dead body. You just had a huge emotional shock, and you’re suddenly in the worst mess you’ve ever been in in your life, and what do you do? In the midst of all this hysteria, in the midst of racing after your girlfriend to warn her about what has happened, in the midst of New York City traffic, you spot a detective tailing her in a car.” Steve shook his head in mock wonderment. “Wow! What powers of perception! What ice water must run in your veins! This is not just your ordinary romantic hero. This is fucking Superman here.”

Kemper merely glared at him.

“No,” Steve said. “Here’s what happened. You missed Marilyn at the coffee shop just like you said, and then you beat it down to Bradshaw’s, went in and found him dead. But you didn’t get there before Marilyn, you got there after. You never saw her there at all. You found Bradshaw dead, you figured Marilyn killed him, you were in a total panic, and you got the hell out of there. I don’t know if you still think she killed him, but you probably do, even if she’s denied it. As far as you’re concerned, it’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s why you’re telling this bullshit story, and acting noble like you were willing to take the rap.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s what happened. The only thing I don’t know is whether you were the guy who searched Bradshaw’s body, found those bills on it, assumed they were Marilyn’s, and hid ’em in the upstairs hallway.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“No, I don’t think so. You’d only have done that if you were trapped there by the arrival of the cops. You weren’t, ’cause they didn’t get you. But the rest of it’s just like I said.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Steve nodded sarcastically. “Right, right, noble to the end. Including holding out on your lawyer. Good move. All right, tell me about the dollar.”

Kemper, startled by the change of subject, said, “What?”

“The dollar. The half a dollar. The one you sent me in the mail. Why did you do it?”

Kemper said, “Oh. Well, after I sent you the bills I got back from Bradshaw, I got to worrying.”

“About what?”

“Well, Bradshaw’d been too agreeable. Too willing to sell. I got to thinking about it, and it occurred to me maybe he’d pulled a switch.”

“On the bills?”

“Yeah.”

“You got this thought after you bought the bills?”

“Yeah.”

“After you sent them to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”

“Hey, give me a break.”

“Yeah, sure. You deserve all the breaks. So what about the torn dollar?”

“Well, if Bradshaw’d switched the bills, there was no way for Marilyn to prove she was your client. So I sent you the half a dollar as a means of identification.”

“So why didn’t Marilyn have the other half of a dollar? Why you?”

“She didn’t know I’d done it. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her. The only time we’d spoken was when she called me in the real estate office, and I couldn’t say anything then. She was telling me to meet her with the ten thousand dollars. She didn’t know I’d mailed them to you. Or the half a dollar. And I didn’t see her after that. Not until my wife and I walked in on you and her that night. And by that time she’d already called in Fitzpatrick to act as her lawyer. All right, she’d made her decision. She didn’t need you. But I did. So I kept the half a dollar.”

Steve Winslow looked at him. “What a great way of handling things,” he said. “Anonymous letters. A half of a dollar bill. Tell me, where did you get that idea?”

Kemper shifted in his seat. “I read it in a book.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah. I was sure you had.” Steve shook his head. “Tell me something, will you? The hero in the book you read, the book about the half a dollar-did you like him?”

Kemper stared at him. “What?”

“Was he sympathetic, a nice guy, someone you’d really root for? I mean, you really wanted him to win, right?”

Kemper frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

“That’s what’s wrong here. If you were the hero of that book, it never would have gotten published. The editor would have thrown it back in the author’s face. Because you’re not sympathetic. You’re not the romantic hero. You’re a self-centered egotistical son of a bitch, who’s playing around with a younger, richer woman who happens to be the stepsister of his wife. And then you get involved in a murder, but that doesn’t faze you, because you ripped some idea out of a storybook to hire some poor fucking lawyer to get you out of this mess. Well, I’ve got news for you. There ain’t a hell of a lot I can do. Sheila Benton told you I was good, well good for her. She didn’t get acquitted in court. She got acquitted ’cause there was a break in the case and it had nothing to do with what went on in that courtroom. I had something to do with it, yeah, but that was just luck. I wouldn’t count on it happening here. The problem is, you’re spoiled by books and TV, you think everything has a happy ending. I know what you expect from me. You want a courtroom confession. I’m gonna cross-examine the witnesses, and someone’s gonna break down on the witness stand and say, ‘I did it,’ and you and Marilyn will live happily ever after.

“Well, I got news for you, it doesn’t happen that way. I can’t get you a courtroom confession. I can’t solve this fucking crime. All I can do is make a showing in court and try to make the jury, one, like you and two, believe you. And we got a big problem there. Because I don’t like you, and I don’t believe you. So how the hell am I gonna make twelve other people do it?”

Kemper started to flare up again, but it just wasn’t in him anymore. His face contorted, and he wilted in his chair. He looked as if he were about to cry. For the first time, Steve almost felt sorry for him.

Kemper controlled himself and looked up at Winslow. “You’re saying you won’t be my attorney?”

Steve Winslow chuckled. “Now there, Mr. Kemper, you bring up an interesting point. Am I your attorney? You’re damn right I am. I happen to be withholding evidence from the police on the grounds that I’m protecting the confidence of a client. You’re the client. So like it or not, I’m stuck with you. So let’s cut out the bullshit, and get down to brass tacks.”

Fitzpatrick regarded Steve Winslow with superior disdain. “I fail to see what we have to talk about.”

“That’s because you haven’t had time to think things over. When you do, you’ll see that we have a lot to talk about. I’m afraid I don’t have time for your thought process to catch up with you, so I’m going to fill you in.”

“Your arrogance is amazing.”

“Isn’t it? When I find myself painted into a corner, I see no reason to be polite.”

“You threw me out of your office. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you out of mine?”

“I can give you plenty of reasons. You haven’t thought this over yet, but when you do you’re going to find out you’re painted into a corner too.”

“I fail to see it.”

“Only one of your many failings, Fitzpatrick. Remember when you came to my office in the spirit of cooperation? — we have similar interests, we could help each other? — well, it was bullshit then, but it happens to be true now.”