Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

“No, I did not.”

“What did you do with them?”

“Put them in the bank.”

“And the person who called you. How were you supposed to contact them?”

“I wasn’t. They were to contact me.”

“How?”

“By phone.”

“And did that happen?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“On Wednesday morning the person called in for a report.”

“Did you speak to them at that time?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And did you give them a report?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You reported on Tuesday’s surveillance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Accurately?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did the person call back again?”

“No, sir.”

“They didn’t call Thursday, to ask about Wednesday’s surveillance?”

“No, sir.”

Fitzpatrick frowned and thought a moment. “On Wednesday night you contacted the police?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And told them everything you knew about the Marilyn Harding surveillance?”

“That’s right.”

“Then let me ask you this: if the person who called you had called back on Thursday, would that call have been traced?”

“It sure would. The police had a tap on the phone ready to record the call, and officers standing by ready to run the trace.” Miltner shrugged. “The call never came.”

Fitzpatrick thought that over. “That’s all,” he announced.

Dirkson didn’t even stand up. He waved his hand. “No questions, Your Honor.”

Miltner left the stand.

“Call your next witness,” Judge Graves said.

“Call Fred Grimes.”

As the witness took the stand and was sworn in, Fitzpatrick leaned down to Steve Winslow. “What can I do with him?” he said. “This guy’s gonna do us more harm than good.”

“Depends on how we play it,” Steve said. “What do you mean?”

“How would you feel about getting admonished for prejudicial misconduct?”

“I wouldn’t like it.”

“Then why don’t you let me take this one?”

Fitzpatrick sat down. Steve Winslow stood up and approached the witness.

“Your name is Fred Grimes?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And you are employed by the Miltner Detective Agency?”

“That’s right.”

“Directing your attention to Tuesday, the eighth of this month, were you employed to shadow the defendant, Marilyn Harding?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Were you alone at the time?”

“No, I was not.”

“Who was with you?”

“My partner, Saul Burroughs.”

“Where did you pick up the defendant?”

“We staked out her house in Glen Cove.”

“At 8:00 a.m.?”

“That’s right.”

“When did you first spot the defendant?”

“She drove out the front gate about 1:15 p.m.”

“You followed her?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Where to?”

“We followed her into Manhattan, to 249 East 3rd Street.”

“And what happened then?”

“She went into the building at that address.”

“Did you follow her in?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“So what did you do?”

“When she parked near the building, my partner stayed with the car and I got out and followed her on foot. When she went into the building, I tried to get close enough to see where she was going. I couldn’t risk following her in, but I wanted to learn all I could. I got close enough to look into the foyer. There was a row of buttons there and a call box. She pressed one of the buttons, waited, then the door buzzed and she went in. The minute she disappeared up the stairs, I went into the foyer and looked at the row of buttons. The one that she had pushed was labeled David C. Bradshaw.”

“Nice work,” Steve said. “So, to the best of your knowledge, on Tuesday the eighth, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, called on David C. Bradshaw at approximately 2:30 p.m.?”

“That’s right.”

“When did she come out?”

“About ten minutes later.”

“What did she do?”

“She got in her car and drove off.”

“So what did you do?”

“We followed her.”

“Where did she go?”

The witness shrugged. “She went to Bloomingdale’s. Shopping. We followed her through the store.”

“Then what?”

“She was still there at 4:00 p.m. when the relief arrived.”

“So,” Steve Winslow said, “if I understand your testimony correctly, when the crime lab expert, Mr. Riker, states that he found Marilyn Harding’s fingerprints in the apartment, there is every reason to believe that those fingerprints were made the day before the murder, on Tuesday the eighth.”

Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Argumentative, assuming facts not in evidence, calling for a conclusion on the part of the witness. It’s not a question, it’s an argument. Counsel is attempting to prejudice the jury by making an argument in the guise of a question. I assign that statement as prejudicial misconduct.”

“Objection sustained,” Graves snapped. “Mr. Winslow. I am not admonishing you for prejudicial misconduct at this time. I am taking the matter under advisement. However, I would caution you to use a certain amount of prudence in phrasing your questions.”

“Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.”

“No questions,” Dirkson said.

As the witness left the stand, Steve Winslow huddled with Fitzpatrick.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Steve said.

“No. Or so good, either. As a bombshell, that was a bit of a fizzle. Now we’ve shot our wad, what the hell do we do now?”

Steve sighed. “First we ask for a continuance until tomorrow. Then I’m afraid it’s time for me to do my Faust impression.”

Fitzpatrick frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Steve smiled grimly. “I’m going to sell my soul to the devil.”

Dirkson put his elbows on his desk, tapped his fingers together, and surveyed Steve Winslow.

“I should tell you before we start,” Dirkson said, “I am not particularly inclined to plea bargain.”

“Neither am I,” Steve said.

“Then why are you here?”

“I thought we might talk over the case.”

“I’m afraid I have nothing to talk about.”

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“You listened to me once, Dirkson. You didn’t come out of that one so bad.”

“Neither did you. You got your client released.”

“Which she would have been anyway, Dirkson. You know that.”

“Yes, but not as quickly. You got her out a day or two earlier than it would have taken with all due process. I don’t know why those two days were important to you, but they were.”

“I was looking after my client’s best interests.”

Dirkson snorted. “Sure. You gained some advantage, but you’re not going to let me know what it was. So stop talking cooperation and what a good turn you did me when I listened to you before. We’re dealing at arms-length here, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”

“Don’t I know it,” Steve said. “I heard your opening remark, Dirkson. You’re not inclined to plea bargain. What a crock of shit. You know damn well I’m not here to plea bargain. But you know and I know if I were, you’d jump at it. Because you don’t really care what charge you convict Marilyn on in this case as long as you convict her. ’Cause as soon as you do, you’re going to turn around and try her for murdering her father. And if you get a conviction here, you’re damn sure to get a conviction there. So let’s cut the shit about who’s diddling who. Let’s get down to brass tacks here.”

“Such as what? You going to tell me who killed Donald Blake?”