Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

Judge Graves turned to Steve Winslow. His face was dark. “I’m allowing this on your assurance that you have a definite purpose in mind. In the event that you do not, in the event that it should turn out that you called this witness merely to harass her, to make her a red herring-in the event that it turns out you had no foundation whatever for asking the question that you did, that in fact you had no definite purpose in mind, then Mr. Winslow, you and Mr. Fitzpatrick will find that you have laid yourselves wide open for an abuse of process charge. And believe me, this is no idle threat. So, before we resume, I would like to give you one last opportunity to consider: would you care to withdraw your question?”

Fitzpatrick looked as if he were going to be ill. He looked at Steve Winslow with pleading eyes.

Steve looked at him. It could be Fitzpatrick’s career. It could be his too, what little career he had. And he had so little to go on. Such a thin thread.

For a second he hesitated.

But only for a second.

“We do not, Your Honor,” Steve said. “The question stands.”

Judge Graves looked down from the bench. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I am sorry for the interruption. We are ready to proceed. The objection has been overruled. The witness will answer. The court reporter will read back the question.”

There was a delay while the court reporter shuffled through the tapes. The question was way back, since he’d had to record the entire session in chambers. Finally he found it, and droned it out in an expressionless voice, ending with, “And did you know that when we compared your prints, two of them matched absolutely with the latent prints taken from the decedent’s apartment and introduced in evidence here in court.”

“Do you understand the question?” Steve said.

The witness took a breath. “Yes. I do.”

“Then answer it.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“You don’t know how your fingerprints could have got in Bradshaw’s apartment?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You were never in there on any occasion?”

“I-”

“Think. It’s important. You’re under oath. How could your fingerprints have gotten there?”

The witness’s eyes flicked around the courtroom. “I … I …”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Go on.”

“I remember now. I was in there once.”

Steve tried hard to keep his face from looking like he had just gotten a death row reprieve. A glance at the defense table told him Fitzpatrick was not doing quite that good a job. He looked positively ecstatic.

But Dirkson looked positively murderous.

“Oh, were you now?” Steve said. “And when was that?”

“Silly of me. It was a long time ago. Right after he moved in. I remember now. I met him in the hall. He called me in, asked me something about the previous tenant. I don’t remember what it was. Something about the apartment. Was some shelf in the kitchen permanent, or had the previous tenant put it in.”

“So you were in the kitchen of that apartment?”

“Yes. I guess that’s right.”

“And this was when Donald Blake, the man you knew as Bradshaw, first moved in?”

“That’s right.”

“You were in his apartment that one time?”

“Yes.”

“And you hadn’t been back in since? And you hadn’t spoken to him since, except to say hello in passing?”

“That’s right.”

“But you were in his apartment that one time?”

“Yes. I just said I was.”

“So when you said in your previous testimony that you had never been in his apartment, you were mistaken, is that right?”

“Yes. I was mistaken.”

“I see. And were you perhaps mistaken about any other part of your testimony?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“The rest of your testimony is accurate?”

“Yes, it is.”

“You were mistaken about that one particular fact?”

“That’s right.”

“You simply didn’t remember, but you remember now?”

“Yes. That’s exactly right.”

“Before we proceed, I would like to give you a chance to think. Is there anything else that you didn’t remember, that you remember now?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“You remember now that you’d been in Bradshaw’s apartment on that one occasion?”

“That’s right.”

“And if you were in his apartment, you of course spoke to him at that time. I mean, more than just to say hello in passing?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you recall what you talked about on that occasion, the occasion when you were in Bradshaw’s apartment?”

“No, I don’t. Only what I just told you. It was something about the apartment. A shelf or counter or something. I didn’t even remember the incident until you reminded me of it.”

“You didn’t talk about anything else? Anything about his personal life? Or yours?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“And that, to the best of your recollection, is the only time you ever talked to Bradshaw other than to say hello in passing in the hall?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’ve never been in his apartment again?”

“No.”

“You’ve never talked to him again, other than the hello in passing we’ve just mentioned?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you ever talk to him on the phone?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You never called him on his phone?”

“No.”

“He never called you on yours?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Is that so?” Steve said. “I hand you back the clipboard marked Defense exhibit B, and ask you to look at the list.”

Steve extended the clipboard, but Margaret Millburn made no move to take it. “Go ahead. You can touch it. You’ve already admitted being in the apartment. Your fingerprints don’t matter now.”

Reluctantly, the witness took the list.

“Fine,” Steve said. “Now, referring to the paper attached to the clipboard, the paper marked Defense exhibit A, what do you recognize it to be?”

“It’s a list of names.”

“That’s right. A list of names. Now, would you please read the names out loud?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The names on the list. Read them out loud, please.”

Margaret Millburn hesitated. Then she looked down and read off the names in a slow, steady voice, placing no emphasis on any particular name.

“Thank you,” Steve said. He took the clipboard, walked back and set it on the defense table. As he did so, Fitzpatrick flashed him a glance of inquiry. Under his breath Steve said, “Hold on to your hat, Fitzpatrick. We’re goin’ for the gold.”

Steve straightened and turned back to the witness. “Miss Millburn. Last night, when you were shown that list of names, the list you’ve just read into the record, did any name strike you as significant?”

“No.”

“No?” Steve said. “That’s odd. Suppose I were to tell you that Tracy Garvin, the young woman who showed you that list, noted a definite reaction on your part to one of the names-would that jar your memory any?”

“No, it would not. I don’t know what that list is, I don’t know where it came from, I don’t know what it means. That list has no significance to me.”

“And none of the names on that list has any particular significance?”

“No. The names appear to be people involved in this trial. Why that should be important, I couldn’t begin to tell you.”

“There are many people involved in this trial,” Steve said. “But it is my contention that there is one whose name has a special significance to you. Would it change your testimony any to know that the investigator, Tracy Garvin, was convinced that you showed a definite reaction to the name, Phyllis Kemper?”