Parnell Hall - The Baxter Trust

“Of course not.”

“Well, what about Saks Fifth Avenue? How did you manage to miss that?”

“I didn’t miss that.”

“You window-shopped it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fine. Now tell me one item you saw in the window at Saks Fifth Avenue.”

Sheila tossed her head and gave him her most endearing smile. “Aw, come on.”

He bored right in. “No. You come on. You tell me window-shopping is important to you, you love rich things, it’s a big deal in your life, so this is not a casual thing and you’re going to pay attention to what you see. So tell me one thing you saw in the window at Saks Fifth Avenue.”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“Damn it, I’m thinking.”

“Good plan.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Keep thinking.”

“Damn it-”

“Thought of it yet?”

“Yes!” She practically screamed it at him.

“Good,” he said calmly. “What was it?”

“A swimsuit.”

“What kind?”

“A bikini.”

“What color?”

“Blue.”

Steve smiled, shook his head and locked his eyes onto hers.

“The reason I asked about Saks,” he said gently, “is that I passed by there this morning. The window display is devoted to evening wear.”

Her eyes faltered. “Well, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was Bloomingdale’s where I saw the swimsuit. Yes, I’m sure it was Bloomingdale’s.”

He smiled again. “You see. Your story won’t stand up. Not under cross-examination. And that’s just a sample of what the D.A.’s gonna throw at you. He’ll eat you up.”

“No fair,” Sheila said. ‘That’s just dumb luck. If you hadn’t happened to know what was in the window at Saks-”

Steve laughed. “Are you kidding me? You think I have the faintest idea what’s in the windows at Saks Fifth Avenue? You think that’s something I would really notice? That was a bluff, and not a very good one at that. The DA’s gonna fire a million questions at you, and sometimes he’ll be bluffing and sometimes he won’t, and you’re not gonna know which is which.”

Sheila bit her lip.

“Now,” Steve said. “I certainly don’t want to advise you, but if I were you and I were going to tell that story, the first thing I would do would be get my ass over to Fifth Avenue and find out what’s in the goddamned windows.”

Sheila hadn’t realized it, but she’d made a decision. She realized it now. She realized it from the sense of loss she felt when she heard him say, “I certainly don’t want to advise you.” The decision, of course, was to have him act as her attorney. She wanted him. Strangely enough, she felt comfortable with this unconventional man who made her feel uncomfortable. There was something reassuring in the way he distrusted her. Something about him she liked. She took his statement to be a rejection of her case, and from her disappointment, she realized she wanted him.

“You don’t want to advise me?” she said.

He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want to suborn perjury, compound a felony or conspire to conceal a crime.” He looked at her and said, pointedly, “That’s why I’m not advising you to look in those windows, and if you should look in those windows, it would certainly be without my knowledge. That advice I can’t give you. I’m perfectly willing to advise you on legal matters.”

“Then you’ll be my attorney?”

“Just as soon as you give me a retainer.”

Sheila bit her lip. “You’ll have to get that from Uncle Max.”

“All right. Get your purse.”

Sheila looked at him. “We’re going to see Uncle Max?”

“I’ll call on him later. Right now I want you to take me to Fifth Avenue and show me where you were window-shopping.”

Sheila looked at him, and a light dawned. “You mean you want me to-”

“I want to get the time element straight,” he interrupted, pointedly. “The time element’s going to be very important.”

She stared at him, blinked. “Yes,” she said, slowly. “I can see that it is.”

Dirkson grabbed up the phone.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Maxwell Baxter’s attorneys are Marston, Marston, and Cramden,” Reese told him.

“Great. And could you tell me why it took so long to get that information?”

“Because I’ve been on the phone with the Dunwoody Golf Course.”

“Oh, yes. And?”

“The gentlemen in question are not pleased. They seemed to take the attitude that I was preventing you from keeping your golf date.”

“Yes, yes,” Dirkson said impatiently. “How did you resolve it?”

“They’ll meet you in the clubhouse after the round. They didn’t mention future campaign contributions.”

“Fuck you, Reese.”

“Yes, sir. And Lieutenant Farron just came in.”

“Send him in.”

Farron didn’t look happy, but then Dirkson wouldn’t have expected him to. After all, Farron was pretty much in the doghouse over this one.

“What now?” Dirkson asked.

Farron shook his head. “We still haven’t traced him.”

“You came here to tell me that? Come tell me when you have traced him.”

“You know the girl’s prints are on the knife?”

“Yesterday’s news. Anything else?”

Farron held out a paper. “Autopsy report.”

“Why didn’t you say so,” Dirkson said irritably. He snatched it from him and looked it over.

“The only thing significant is the time element,” Farron said.

Dirkson looked. “Twelve-thirty to one-thirty.”

“That’s right.”

Dirkson looked at Farron. “Wasn’t her call logged at one thirty-eight?”

“Sure was.”

Dirkson frowned. “Well, that’s sure cutting it a little thin. Can’t we do any better than that?”

“Don’t look at me. Talk to the medical examiner. Those are the times during which he says it could have happened.”

“What time did she get home?”

Farron shook his head. “We haven’t found the cab driver yet.”

Dirkson looked at him. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

Farron gave him a look, turned and walked out the door.

The phone rang. Dirkson scooped it up. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Reese said. “There’s a Mr. Marston, of Marston, Marston, and Cramden on the phone.”

“Oh, shit.”

Sheila and Steve Winslow stood in front of Saks Fifth Avenue.

“This is one of the windows you looked in?” Steve asked her.

“Yes.”

“How long were you looking in this window?”

“Four or five minutes.”

“What were you looking at?”

Sheila looked in the window. “I was particularly interested in a blue dress with silver trim on the sleeves and hem.”

“Your memory is excellent,” Steve said, dryly. “Now then, it would have taken you about ten minutes to walk here from your uncle’s apartment. The cab ride home would be about fifteen minutes. That leaves an hour and twenty minutes you must have been window-shopping.”

‘That’s right.”

“So, I want you to retrace your path to all the stores you visited this afternoon and try to remember how long you stayed at each of them.”

“I understand,” Sheila said.

“Good. First you can walk me to Uncle Max’s. You should start from there, anyway.”

“Okay.”

They walked off down the street.

Realizing they were on the way to Uncle Max’s made Sheila uneasy. She stole a glance at Winslow. She’d been relating to him as a person, because she was caught up in her own problems. So she’d forgotten what he looked like, what her first impression of him had been. God. This man was going to call on Uncle Max. This man was going to ask him for money.