Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

“Well, no reason for Phyllis to tag along too. If she tried to, the detectives might spot her. But she knows where Marilyn’s going. She gets out of there fast, goes to Manhattan, stakes out Bradshaw’s apartment from across the street. Waits for the scenario to unfold.

“What happens? Marilyn arrives, slightly late, since she was held up waiting for Doug. Of course, Phyllis doesn’t know Marilyn was going to meet Doug, since she split right after the Bradshaw call. Had she known that, it might have altered her plans. But she doesn’t know.

“So Marilyn arrives, goes in, and comes out five minutes later. The detectives are trailing along behind. Great. The stage is set. Phyllis goes up, rings the doorbell, gets buzzed into the apartment, talks to Bradshaw. I don’t know what line she pulled on Bradshaw, but knowing he was a blackmailer, thinking up one couldn’t have been that hard. At any rate, she kids him along, picks up a knife, and zaps him in the back. Voila! Perfect frame.”

Dirkson shook his head. “Full of holes.”

“Such as?”

“What about the ten thousand bucks hidden in the hallway?”

“Phyllis does that. She knows Marilyn came to pay him off. She searches the body for the ten grand. Finds it. She doesn’t want to leave that money on the body, because why would Marilyn pay him off and then kill him? On the other hand, she wants the money discovered ’cause it will point to Marilyn. So she takes it and hides it in the upstairs hallway. The theory: Marilyn killed Bradshaw, then, trapped in the apartment and afraid she would be discovered with the money on her, hid it and got out. Not a great theory, but the best she could do. The bills have to be discovered to point to Marilyn, and hiding them is slightly more credible than leaving them on the body.

“Only, what Phyllis doesn’t know is the bills she removed from the body aren’t Marilyn’s, they’re Bradshaw’s, and Marilyn’s ten grand is still left in the money belt. But Phyllis had no reason to suspect there was another ten grand involved.

“And,” Steve said, “if you want to talk about weak theories, you’re the one dealing with the contention that Marilyn would have paid Bradshaw off, killed him, and then left the money on the body. Frankly, I find that hard to swallow.”

Dirkson smiled. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem. You’re forgetting the time of death, Winslow. The altercation? The witness? The phone call to the cops? If Phyllis Kemper did what you describe-and I’m not saying she didn’t-by the time she got up the stairs, Donald Blake was dead.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Dirkson. You’re talking minutes here. No medical examiner can be that exact.”

“There’s the witness and the phone call.”

“Sure there is. But how exact is exact? Those detectives who logged the times Marilyn went in and out. You think they got it to the minute?”

“That’s their job.”

“Yeah. That’s their job, and I bet they’re aces at it. They probably log everything the instant it happens. Probably set their watches by Greenwich mean time every morning. Totally infallible, I’m sure.”

Dirkson waved his hand impatiently. “I don’t want to quibble. You save your arguments for the jury. I’m just telling you I don’t think they’re going to pull very much weight.”

“I don’t want to argue either. I told you, I didn’t come here to discuss the case.”

“You could have fooled me. I happen to be rather busy, Winslow. You got a point, make it. Otherwise, I got work to do.”

“All right, I’ll make it. If Marilyn’s found guilty on any count of the Bradshaw murder you’re going to turn around and try her for the murder of her father.”

“You keep saying me. Phillip Harding was killed in Nassau County. That’s outside my jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said. “But you know damn well you’ve got your hand in. If they haven’t indicted her for it, it’s ’cause they’re just waiting for your say so.”

Dirkson frowned. Said nothing.

“But that’s neither here nor there. The point I’m making is this. If she’s convicted of this crime, she’ll be charged with that one. You know it and I know it. But consider this. If she’s acquitted of this crime-the Bradshaw murder-then someone better take a long hard look before they charge her with the murder of Phillip Harding. ’Cause then you got no prior conviction to throw in her face. And when you think about it, that was really going to be the key evidence against her. Sure, you can show she had an opportunity to tamper with the sugar bowl. But so did her stepsister. And if Marilyn had poisoned her father, do you really think she’d be stupid enough to leave the sugar bowl full of arsenic around for a whole month until the cops thought to look for it? I’d like to see you try to argue that one. And if Phillip Harding’s body was exhumed because of an anonymous tip, think of the argument I’ll be able to make. Think of the doctrine of reasonable doubt. And then ask yourself what chance you’d have of getting a conviction.”

Dirkson met Steve’s eyes steadily. A good poker player, giving nothing away. “Is that it?” he asked.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, that’s it.” He got up, smiled. “See you in court.”

Fitzpatrick was animated.

“I like it,” he said. “I really like it. Oh sure, I’ve known Phyllis Kemper for years, I’m upset about all that. But damn it, she’s not my client. I really like it.”

“Well, don’t get too excited,” Steve said. “It may sound good, but it happens to be a bunch of bullshit. It’s one thing to try to sell a D.A. a bill of goods, but you don’t have to start swallowing it yourself.”

“But damn it,” Fitzpatrick said, “it all makes sense.”

“That Phyllis hired the detectives, yes. I think that’s a good bet. That she killed Bradshaw happens to be a hell of a stretch.”

“Maybe not. The way you spelled it out for Dirkson sounds logical.”

“A lawyer’s job is to make things sound logical. It doesn’t mean they are. It’s just a theory, Fitzpatrick. Let’s not go off the deep end over it. Remember this. We have the benefit of Douglas Kemper’s story. The police don’t. Of course, I didn’t bring that up with Dirkson. But if Douglas Kemper’s story is true-or rather, if my interpretation of how Douglas Kemper lied to me is true-he was in the apartment right on the heels of Marilyn Harding. Of course, if he’s not lying, he was in there right before Marilyn Harding. That means he either found Bradshaw dead or killed him. And the same goes for Marilyn.

“The problem is, we got two clients here, and despite whatever finespun theories I might try to lay on Dirkson, the fact is one of them probably killed him. The best I can see with this Phyllis Kemper thing is, we got a red herring to play with.”

Fitzpatrick frowned. “Well, at least that’s something.”

Steve stood up, stretched, yawned. “Well, just wanted to fill you in.”

Steve glanced around the sumptuously furnished Wall Street office of the law firm of Fitzpatrick, Blackburn, and Weed. “Nice place you got here, Fitzpatrick. Suppose you’ll miss it if I get you disbarred.”

Fitzpatrick’s grin was somewhat forced.

Steve took a cab back to his office. On the ride uptown he got to thinking about what he’d just said, about what he’d told Fitzpatrick. “One of the two of them probably did it.” Yeah, that was true. And now they were both his clients. He was charged with getting both of them off. Regardless of who did it. Regardless of who actually committed the crime.

That bothered him. That bothered him a lot. Shit. What had he come to? When he’d defended Sheila Benton, she’d asked him point blank if he’d defend her if he thought she was guilty. And he’d told her no. And he’d believed it. Just as he’d believed what he’d told her about the case he’d handled for Wilson and Doyle, the case that had got him fired, the case where he’d tricked the hit-and-run accident victim into identifying someone other than his client, and then it had turned out his client was actually guilty. Sheila had asked him if he’d have done it if he’d known, and he’d said no. And he’d believed that too.