by Parnell Hall
“Then what?”
“I screamed at him again. But he just stood there. Then he smiled. The most smug, horrible smile. Then he walked over toward the desk.”
“What did you do?”
“I felt helpless. I couldn’t just sit there, but I didn’t want to get up either. I was horrified, embarrassed. I was covering myself as best I could. I got up from the chair, crouched behind the desk. I started screaming. Screaming for Mr. Castleton.
“Then he reached out and grabbed me. Grabbed me by the wrist. He said, ‘The boss ain’t here today. It’s just you and me.’”
“What did you do?”
“I slapped him. Slugged him hard. That startled him and he let go. I ran to the closet to get my clothes. I just got the door open when he came up behind me, slammed it shut, tried to grab me again.”
“Then what?”
“I slapped him again. Tried to knee him in the balls. I missed, but he got the idea. His face changed. Before it was gloating. Now it was angry. He said, ‘You little bitch.’ He grabbed me by the arms and dragged me. I was screaming, crying. Before I knew what was happening, he’d jerked open the door and pushed me out of the office.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. There I was in the hallway of the apartment. With this maniac grabbing me. I screamed for help, but there was no one there. I knew he had servants, a cook, a maid, what have you, but nobody came.
“I broke free, ran down the hall. He caught me in the foyer, right by the front door. He said, ‘Uppity bitch,’ and slammed me against the wall. Then he jerked the door open and pushed me out.”
Steve stared at her. “What?”
“That’s right.”
“He threw you out into the hall?”
“Yes.”
“Naked?”
“Yes.”
“And locked the door?”
“That’s right.”
Steve ran his hand over his head. “Good god.”
Kelly Blaine took a breath, calmed herself down. “Yes. So there I was in the hallway of this apartment building, and I couldn’t get back in and I couldn’t go out and I thought I was gonna die.”
“So what did you do?”
“I couldn’t just stand there. I had to hide somewhere. I went down the hallway, looking for help. I found the door to the stairs. So I went in there. The door closed behind me. It’s the type of door that’s locked from the inside. So there I was, trapped in the stairwell. I didn’t know what to do. I was almost hysterical. I went down the stairwell, trying all the doors. They were all locked. Even the one to the lobby. Not that I wanted to get out into the lobby, if you know what I mean.
“Anyway, there was another flight down. I took it. The door there was unlocked. It led into the basement. Thank god there wasn’t anyone around.
“I searched the place, found a storage closet.” She touched the fabric of the overcoat. “This coat was hanging in it. What a relief that was. I put this on, looked around for a way out. I found a back stairs that was unlocked. And I got out of there.
“So there I was, out on the street with no clothes, no money, nothing. I walked home. Twenty blocks. I didn’t have my keys, but the super would let me in. Only he wasn’t home. I didn’t know what to do. I was getting hysterical. I needed help.
“Then I thought of you. I remembered reading about you in the papers. A lawyer, yes, but not what you think of as a lawyer. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting. I’m saying it badly. What I mean is, you’re not just concerned with legalities. You help people. I need help.”
She paused, took a breath, looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Can you help me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Steve Winslow could see Tracy Garvin looking at him. From the look on her face, he knew that if he said no he would be in serious trouble.
Not that he had any intention of saying no.
“What is it you want?” he said.
She stared at him. What a stupid question. “Are you kidding? I want my clothes. I want my purse. With my keys in it, so I can get into my apartment.”
“I understand,” Steve said. “But it goes a little deeper than that. There are several legal ramifications here. On the one hand, you’ve been unjustly terminated from your job. You’ve been fired without cause and without notice. And you’ve been humiliated and forced out in the street with no wherewithal. All of which gives you a cause of action against your employer.
“On the other hand, you’ve been the victim of a sexual assault. Which means you could file criminal charges as well. When I say what do you want, I mean there are various avenues we could take on this, and we have to explore the possibilities.”
“I don’t give a damn about the legal ramifications. I’m sitting here in a goddamn overcoat. I want my clothes and I want my purse.”
“I understand. The question is how do we go about getting them back. Are we threatening to file criminal charges, a civil suit-”
“File?” she said. “What are you talking about, file? I don’t care about long legal procedures. I want my clothes back now.”
“And I’m going to try to get them,” Steve said. “But we have to consider possibilities. First off, I’m going to get your clothes back this afternoon. In the event that I don’t, the gentlemen in question will find they’ve bought themselves a great deal of trouble. If they do, we have to prepare for that contingency.
“Tracy, can you see about getting Miss Blaine some clothes?”
“Of course.”
“I want my own clothes.”
“I understand. But if they won’t give them up, we can’t have you running around naked. We’ll get you clothes. We’ll contact the super in your building and get you a new key. That’s just if worse comes to worst. Meanwhile, I’m going to put some pressure on these guys and see what I can do for you now. Before I do, I wanna know how you want to play this. Do you want to file criminal charges against this Phil Danby?”
“No.”
“That’s fine, but I don’t have to tell ’em that. I may have to threaten them with it to get your clothes. Now, with regard to the civil suit-”
“I don’t want to file a civil suit either.”
“Neither do I, but that’s not the point. This man is a millionaire. He’s done you irreparable harm. If I go in, talking civil suit, he’s apt to offer a compromise to avoid litigation. Particularly considering the circumstances of the case. It’s not the sort of thing he’d like to have made public. If he offers a settlement, how much would you be willing to take?”
“I don’t want a settlement.”
“Right,” Steve said, somewhat impatiently. “You want your clothes. You’re gonna get ‘em, but in addition they’re gonna compensate you for the humiliation you went through. From your point of view, how much would be enough?”
“I don’t care.”
“Maybe not, but I do. I’m a lawyer, not an errand boy. If I do this for you, I have to be paid.”
“I have money.”
“I wouldn’t touch it. If anybody pays me, it’s gonna be them. I’ll take your case, but only on a contingency basis. If they give us a settlement, I get a third. The rest goes to you.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“There’s one thing I want you to understand. To settle this, we have to release them from all damages. That’s why you should think about this. To accomplish anything, you’ll have to sign a release. That release will be legal and binding. Once you’ve signed it and they’ve accepted it, if you change your mind and want to sue them for damages, you can’t do it. You can’t go after them again. You understand that?”
“Of course. That’s fine. I don’t mind.”
Steve looked at her a few moments. “All right,” he said. “Tracy. I want you to type up a release for me. Have it release Milton Castleton and Phil Danby from all claims of damages resulting from the employment and termination of said employment of Miss Kelly Blaine.”
“Certainly,” Tracy
said. She stood up.
“One minute. First get me Milton Castleton on the phone.” Steve looked at Kelly Blaine. “What’s his number?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s not like I ever had to call there. I have his number. It’s in my purse.”
“Right,” Steve said. “All right. Call information. See if they have a Milton Castleton listed.”
Tracy called information, asked for the listing. She frowned and hung up the phone. “It’s unlisted,” she said.
“That figures,” Steve said. “Get me Mark Taylor.”
Tracy called the Taylor Detective Agency, said, “Steve Winslow for Mark Taylor.” She listened a moment, then handed Steve the phone.
“Mark, Steve.”
“Yeah, Steve. What’s up?”
“Milton Castleton.”
“What about him?”
“You know him?”
“I know who he is.”
“Fine. He’s got an unlisted phone number. I want it.”
“No sweat. Hang on.”
There was a pause and Steve could hear Taylor shouting at someone. A minute later he was back on the line with the number.
“Anything else?” Taylor asked.
“That’s it,” Steve said, and hung up the phone. He turned to Tracy Garvin. “Okay. Get going on that release. Take her with you. Check the details with her.”
Tracy nodded. There was no reason she needed Kelly Blaine to make up the release. She realized Steve just wanted her out of the room while he made the call.
Kelly Blaine got up to go. Steve picked up the phone. Kelly Blaine turned back in the doorway. “I have to warn you,” she said. “He’s going to give you a hard time.”
Steve smiled grimly. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
3
The man who opened the door was plump, bald, wore horn-rimmed glasses and a three-piece suit. “Yes?” he said.
“Phil Danby?” Steve asked.
“Yes. And who are you?”
Steve gave him a look. “I spoke to you on the phone. The doorman downstairs just called you to ask if he could send me up. Who the hell do you think I am?”
“You’re Steve Winslow?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look like a lawyer.”
“You don’t look like a rapist, either.”
Danby frowned. “If that’s the tack you’re going to take-”
“No, it isn’t,” Steve said. “I don’t feel like sparring in the hallway. Where’s your boss?”
“Mr. Castleton is in his office.”
“Let’s see him.”
Phil Danby stood glaring at Steve for a moment. His problem was clear. Since Castleton had agreed to see Winslow, it was his job to bring Steve in. But with Steve ordering him to do so, he didn’t want to do it.
Danby took a breath. He stepped aside, let Steve in and closed the door. Without a word, he turned and walked down the hallway. Steve followed.
Danby stopped before a closed doorway, knocked twice, pushed it open. Steve followed him in.
It was a large office. At first glance it appeared to be a stage set, a period piece set somewhere in the thirties or forties. It was wood-paneled, with Persian rugs on the floor. There was a large marble fireplace. Solid oak furniture. It occurred to Steve that Bogart could have walked into such an office and found a body lying on the floor.
Or gotten sapped. In spite of himself, Steve glanced over his shoulder. But there were no unseen henchmen behind the door. Danby was it. Steve turned back to the room.
Dominating the office was a massive oak desk. Seated behind it in a high-backed desk chair was a frail wisp of a man. He was completely bald. His face was incredibly thin. His cheeks and eyes were sunken. His skin was stretched tight and was almost translucent, giving him the appearance of a skeleton.
That was Steve Winslow’s first thought. That the man was dead. That Milton Castleton had been dead for years, that his body had been propped up at this desk here and that Phil Danby, the loyal and trusted associate, was nothing more than a fat Tony Perkins, psychotically maintaining the fiction that his boss was still alive.
Then the eyes in the skeleton moved. The lips moved, and a reedy voice said, “Come in.”
Steve walked up to the desk.
The lips moved again. “Sit down.”
Steve sat. As he did, he noticed Phil Danby had moved in and was standing to the left of the desk.
Castleton’s eyes flicked to Danby, then back to Steve. “Talk.”
“I’m Steve Winslow. I’m representing Kelly Blaine.”
Castleton looked Steve up and down. “Are you with Legal Aid?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I have a private practice.”
Castleton frowned. “That’s bad.”
“Why?”
“If you have a private practice, you must be good. You look like a jerk. If you can dress like that and still get clients, you must be pretty sharp. Which means you’re going to give me a hard time.” Castleton smiled. “I don’t like sharp lawyers who give me a hard time.”
“My client’s the one who had the hard time.”
“So you say.” Castleton sighed. “All right. Let’s have it.”
“Miss Blaine worked for you.”
There was a pause. Castleton said nothing.
“Do you concede Kelly Blaine worked for you?”
Milton Castleton smiled. “Concede?” he said. He shook his head. “I was right. You lawyers. Always want to sound like you’re winning. Concede. I don’t concede anything. Kelly Blaine worked for me. If that’s a concession, I’ll eat it.”
“Miss Blaine left your employment today.”
“So I understand.”
“You weren’t here?”
“No, I was not.”
“The circumstances of her leaving were unfortunate.”
“They always are.”
“Some more than others. In this case, Miss Blaine was frightened into leaving. So much so that she left some of her possessions behind.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Milton Castleton nodded. “I will have to look into the matter. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
Steve Winslow stared at Castleton a moment. The emaciated face was bland, composed. There was an innocent serenity about him, like some elderly relative who had been propped up in the drawing room to have tea with the family but who had no idea what was really going on.
Which was disconcerting. Steve Winslow had come prepared to fight. But Milton Castleton’s indifference left him with nothing to push against. Steve knew it was a charade, an act, a business tactic on Castleton’s part. Still, it was hard to deal with.
Steve pulled himself together. Never mind the guy looks half-dead. This is not a kindly old relative. This is a dirty old man.
Steve glanced around. On one side wall there was a huge computer system that seemed anachronistic in that office. On the other side wall there was a rectangular curtain. It was shut. Steve got up, walked over to it, yanked it open.
Behind it was a picture window overlooking the adjoining office. The room was dark, but still Steve could make out the desk and chair lined up directly in front of the curtained window.
Steve was surprised. He realized that in hearing Kelly Blaine’s story he had envisioned a desk with a typewriter. Instead, a CRT screen with a keyboard sat on the desk. Kelly Blaine naturally had worked on a word processor.
Steve Winslow turned back to Castleton. “Let’s cut the charade.” He jerked his thumb at the window. “Kelly Blaine told me the details of her employment. And the details of her leaving it. They are not pleasant. You have her clothes and you have her purse. I want those and I want compensation.”
“Oh?” Castleton said. “Compensation for what? She wasn’t fired, she quit.”
“I’m not talking about severance pay.
”
“Oh? Then what are you talking about?”
Steve took a breath. “Let’s cut the shit, Mr. Castleton. Let’s talk about the window in the wall and the fact the woman was working nude.”
Castleton’s eyebrows raised. “Is that your angle? Is that your idea-blackmail? Mr. Winslow, there’s nothing you can say about me that’s not already been said. You wanna make a stink about the manner in which my secretary dressed, you’ll only hurt her, not me. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve said. He jerked his thumb at Phil Danby. “What about him?”
“What about him?”
“He’s your employee?”
“I’m sure he prefers the term business associate, but yes, if you want to call him that.”
“As his employer, you’re responsible for his actions.”
“So?”
“In this instance we have a case of sexual harassment, sexual assault, attempted rape. My client was subjected to violence and the threat of bodily harm. She was humiliated and ejected from your premises with no wherewithal whatsoever-in fact, stark naked. Her cause of action against you for emotional and mental stress alone could run in the millions of dollars.”
Castleton frowned. “Phil, what is this man talking about?”
Danby shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Oh really?” Steve said. “Are you denying you threw my client out of this apartment earlier today?”
Castleton held up his hand. “Now, Phil, you don’t have to answer his questions. You are responsible only to me. So for my benefit, rather than his, would you please tell me what happened this afternoon.”
“It’s just as I told you before.”
“Tell me again.”
“Very well. I was in your office going over some documents when the buzzer rang.”
“Buzzer?” Steve said.
“Yes,” Danby said. He shot a look at Castleton. “I suppose I should explain.” He turned to Steve. “There is no phone in the secretary’s office, no intercom, no means of communication. Which is fine, because there’s no need for any communication.
“Unless, of course, something goes wrong. A technical problem with the computer. Or the cassette recorder. Something like that. In that event, the typist needs to contact us. And she is under instructions not to leave the room and wander the apartment. So, in the event that she needs something, she can buzz us to open the door.”
