by Parnell Hall
“Well,” Steve said, “what do you make of that?”
“What do you make of it?”
“Well, as a wild guess, I’d say she were going to meet her boyfriend.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Oh? Well, where do you think she’d going?”
“I don’t know. But do you have to put a sexist connotation on it?”
“I wasn’t aware I was,” Steve said. “Would you prefer some generalization like, Women, who can understand ’em?”
“What a prince,” Tracy said. “That’s much better. If I’d known you were so sensitive, I’d have asked you out to dinner.”
“I happen to have an engagement,” Steve said. “But can I drop you somewhere?”
Tracy looked at him a minute. “No,” she said. “I think I’ll walk off to the subway, so you can speculate on where I’m going.”
Steve watched her go.
He shrugged.
Under his breath he muttered, “Women, who can understand ’em?”
10.
STEVE WINSLOW’S ANSWERING MACHINE was blinking. He saw it the minute he came in the door. Which was not surprising. In his small, Greenwich village studio apartment, he saw everything the minute he walked in the door. There were three blinks, meaning three messages. Steve sighed. He hated messages.
Steve clicked the machine on, flopped down on the couch.
Beep.
“Steve, Tracy. Amy Dearborn called. Wants to see you at once. She was very upset, but she wouldn’t tell me why. Call me at home.”
Beep.
“Mr. Winslow, it’s Amy Dearborn. You gotta help me. Please. Meet me at F. L Jewelry. No, that won’t do. Call me at 555-0372. Oh, I can’t stay here. Shit. Oh, I don’t know. Oh, damn it to hell.”
Steve Winslow leaned back on the couch. He rubbed his head.
Beep.
“Steve, Tracy. I’m at the office. Call me right away.”
Steve switched off the machine, snatched up the phone, punched in the number.
Two rings, then Tracy’s voice, “You have reached the office of attorney Steve Winslow. Please leave a message after the beep.”
Steve cursed, slammed down the phone. He jerked it up again, went to dial the number Amy Dearborn had left. Realized he didn’t know it.
Steve lunged, hit the answering machine again. He waited impatiently through Tracy’s first message. Then Amy’s message. Then the number.
Steve suddenly realized he didn’t have a pencil. He switched the machine off, kept saying the number over and over again, then punched it in.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Five rings.
No answer.
Shit.
Had he gotten it right?
Steve stood for a minute, staring at the phone and the answering machine. Then turned and ran out the door.
11.
STEVE CAME OUT OF THE subway at Broadway and 50th Street. There was a pay phone on the corner. There was no sense going up to the office if Tracy wasn’t there yet. He stopped, called. The answering machine was still on.
Steve dropped the quarter in again, called 555-0372.
Still no answer.
All right, what the hell to do?
Not that big a problem with F. L Jewelry just blocks away. It was a four story building in the middle of the block. F. L. Jewelry was a second floor walkup over a music store.
The music store was just closing. The owner was out on the sidewalk, pulling down the metal cover over the window display of electric and acoustic guitars.
The door to upstairs was just to the right of the storefront. Steve went in and found himself in a small foyer. There was an inner door and a row of mailboxes with push buttons. Steve hesitated a moment, then pushed the button for F. L. Jewelry. He was not at all surprised when no one buzzed the door open. He considered trying the other buttons to see if anyone in the building would buzz him in. First he tried the door itself. To his surprise it clicked open.
Steve went in and took the stairs to the second floor. The door straight ahead said F. L. Jewelry. Steve walked up and was about to knock when he noticed the door was open a crack. There was a light coming from under it.
Steve took a breath. He paused, pushed open the door.
Whatever he had expected to find wasn’t there. It was just your typical small business office, furnished with a desk, file cabinets and stacks of packing cases.
Steve walked over to the desk. It was clearly secretarial, with a switchboard, intercom, rolodex and typewriter on a stand. Just in case there was any doubt, the top drawer was open slightly, displaying a movie magazine.
Steve walked around the desk and stopped.
The middle drawer on the right hand side was open. So was the cash box inside it, which was empty.
Steve leaned forward to look. Sure enough, underneath the cash box was some sort of bound book, obviously the petty cash ledger.
Steve sighed. Oh boy. Bad news all around.
He checked the inner offices. The first one was neat as a pin. The large oak desk held a telephone, an intercom and nothing else. Aside from that was a desk chair, two straight backed chairs and a file cabinet. Either Mr. Lowery or Mr. Fletcher’s office.
Steve tried the last office. The light was off. He fumbled on the wall, switched it on.
The body of Frank Fletcher lay face down on the floor. His head was twisted to one side, and his eye was open, staring. He was lying in a pool of blood, which seemed to have begun at his chest and spread out almost to his outstretched arms.
He was clearly dead.
There came the squeak of floorboards from the outer office.
Steve wheeled, tiptoed to the door.
Peered out.
It was Tracy Garvin.
Steve stepped out, said, “Tracy.”
She started, then recognized him. Relief flooded her features. “Steve!” she said. She ran to him, fell into his arms.
“Hey, hey.” he said. “Take it easy.” He grabbed her shoulders, held her up till she looked at him. “Get a hold of yourself. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You see Amy?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what’s in the next room?”
Tracy looked at him, wide-eyed. The answer was all over her face.
Steve exhaled. “We gotta get out of here.”
12.
“ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS SHE?”
Tracy Garvin looked up at him. Steve Winslow had whisked her out of F. L. Jewelry and had not stopped until they were safely around the corner on Sixth Avenue.
“In the office.”
“No, she’s not. I just called there.”
“When?”
“Just now. Before I went in there. I got the answering machine.”
“The office machine?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you say that?”
“It must have been while we were down the hall.”
“Oh?”
“Amy thought she was going to be sick. She went to the ladies room.”
“There’s a bathroom in the office.”
Tracy gave him a look. “You wanna argue with me about it? I’m leading her up to the office, she says she’s gonna be sick and runs down the hall. I followed her, got her together and brought her back. You must have called then.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Went out to look for you.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“Amy said she left a message for you to meet her at the jewelers.”
“Then she said not to.”
“Right. But I figured you would anyway. And you did.”
“I see,” Steve said. “So this all just happened. I mean, you were just a few steps ahead of me. You got here, met her, took her to the jewelers. You got her out of there, took her up to the office. You were down the hall when I called. You parked her in the office and came out to get me?”
“That’s r
ight.”
“How long ago did you find the body?”
“I don’t know. A half hour. Twenty minutes. Why?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to do. Did you touch anything up there? Leave your fingerprints?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about her?”
“She may have. But she worked there. Her prints would be there anyway.”
“Yeah, but not for some time. She’s up in the office now?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
13.
AMY DEARBORN LOOKED THE worse for wear. Her eyes were red, her face was pale. She was so nervous she couldn’t sit still.
Steve Winslow was not feeling sympathetic. “Get a grip on yourself,” he said. “I need answers, and I need ’em fast. Now, to begin with, you knew the body was there before you called?”
Amy Dearborn said nothing. She looked down at her lap, where her hands were fiddling with her handkerchief.
“Hey, wake up,” Steve said. “You’re going to be charged with murder. What happens in the next ten minutes may determine whether you beat the rap.”
Amy looked up then. Her eyes were wide. “Murder?” she said.
“Yeah, murder. That’s what they call it when someone dies. Little more serious than petty theft. Little harder to get off. So snap out of it and clue me in.”
“Oh, my god.”
“How did you find the body?”
“I just did.”
“No, there’s no just about it. You got fired from your job, you haven’t been in the office in over a month and you go there tonight. Why?”
“To clean out my desk.”
“What?”
“I had stuff in my desk. I’d been afraid to go back and get it. What with being fired and being charged with a crime. I figured now that I was found innocent, it didn’t matter.”
Steve frowned. “You went up there tonight to clean out your desk?”
“That’s right.”
“What time?”
“What?”
“What time did you go?”
“Oh.”
“Thought of an answer?”
Amy stuck out her chin. “I don’t like your attitude.”
“I don’t like yours,” Steve said. “We’ve got a situation here where minutes count. I gotta decide if I’m going to report this thing, and how. And you’re playing games with me. Now listen. I’m your attorney. Anything you tell me is privileged. It can’t hurt you. So just tell me what you did, and stop trying to figure out what you want me to know. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to help you. But you’re not making it easy.”
Amy’s lip trembled. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Steve, take it easy,” Tracy said.
“Easy, hell,” Steve said. “This is murder. She’s got you involved, and now she’s involving me. So let’s see what we can do to get out from under.”
“I’m not involving you,” Amy said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Steve said. “I bow to your superior legal knowledge. When they disbar me, I’ll tell the judge, no, no, it’s all right, Amy told me I wasn’t involved.”
“Steve,” Tracy said.
As Amy glared at him defiantly, Steve said, “I have your attention? Good. I wasn’t kidding about there being no time. I want you to stop stalling and answer questions, or I’m putting in a call to the cops. Got it? Good. Now, what time did you find the body?”
Amy took a breath. “I’m not sure. But it was just before I called her.”
“That would be just before eight o’clock,” Tracy said.
“Is that right?” Steve said.
“I guess so. I called right away.”
“From the office?”
“No, no. When I found the body I was scared, I got the hell out of there. I called from the street.”
“You mean from a pay phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s a break. So, as soon as you found the body you went out in the street and called?”
“That’s right.”
“And how long were you in the office before you found the body?”
“Oh.”
“Weren’t prepared for that one?”
“No. I’m just trying to think.”
“If the cops ask you questions you have to think before you answer, that makes them suspicious. Gives them the idea you’re not telling them the truth.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Maybe so. I’m just telling you how it looks. If we call the cops and report this, you gotta do a better job with them than you’re doing with me. So, let’s try it again. How long were you in the office before you found the body?”
“Not long. Five or ten minutes.”
“You went there to clean out your desk?”
“Right.”
“So Where’s your stuff?”
“Huh?”
“The stuff from your desk. Where is it?”
“Oh.”
“You don’t have it with you?”
“No.”
“You mean you left it there?”
“I ...”
“Did you pack it up and then leave it? When the cops show up, will they find a shopping bag of your stuff in the middle of the floor?”
“No.”
“You didn’t pack up, then?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You didn’t clean out your drawers?”
“No.”
“Why not? If you were there for five or ten minutes, what were you doing?”
“Looking around.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Just looking around.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? I worked there. It was a place I spent time.”
Steve made a loud buzzing sound, imitated a game show host. “Sorry, wrong answer. This is a job you were fired from over a month ago. Then you go to clean out your desk. But you don’t clean out your desk. You spend five to ten minutes just looking around. In an office where there just happens to be a dead body in the other room. Then, after five or ten minutes that you can’t account for, you go into an inner office where you have no business going and find the dead body.”
Steve shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not right. So, Miss Dearborn, I’m sorry you didn’t win more, but we do have these lovely parting gifts for you.”
Half a dozen expressions struggled over Amy Dearborn’s face. Anger finally won out. “How could you,” she said.
“You don’t like what I’m saying?” Steve said. “Well, that’s too bad. I don’t happen to like what you’re saying. Which makes us even. Except for one thing. I’m not about to be charged with murder.” He shrugged. “Though I don’t know. The way you play this game, I wouldn’t count it out.”
When Amy said nothing, Steve added, “What about the petty cash drawer.”
“What?”
“The petty cash drawer. The famous petty cash drawer. The one you didn’t rob. In the five to ten minutes before you found the body, did you happen to notice it?”
Amy glared at him a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“You did? How interesting. And what was the condition of the petty cash drawer?”
“It was open and the money was gone.”
“You didn’t open it?”
“No.”
“You didn’t take the money?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s no of course not about it. You say you went up there to clean out your desk. The only thing that got cleaned out of your desk is the petty cash.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Yes, I know,” Steve said. “You’re innocent.”
“Steve,” Tracy said again.
Steve ignored her. His eyes never left Amy Dearborn’s. “So,” he said, “you manage to figure out what you were doing in the five to ten minutes before you found the body?”
“I tell
you, I was just looking around.”
“Not pilfering the petty cash drawer?”
“Do I have to answer that?”
Steve took a breath. “All right, look,” he said. “You’re in bad. I can’t tell how bad, because you won’t talk straight. And right now I haven’t time to twist the truth out of you. What I need to know now is if you’re going to play ball.”
Amy looked at him. “Huh?”
“I got two choices here.” Steve pointed to the phone. “I pick up the phone, call the cops, hand you over to ’em and tell ’em exactly what I know—which is going to look like shit.” He shrugged. “Or I don’t.”
Amy’s eyes were wide. “What if you don’t?”
“That depends on you. Whether you got the nerve to pull it off.”
“Pull what off?”
“Where do you live?”
“Huh?”
“Where’s your apartment? Where do you live.”
“Oh. A hundred and seventh and Broadway.”
“Fine. You leave here, you take the subway home. But you don’t go home. You go to the corner of Broadway and a hundred and seventh, hail a cab. Take the cab straight to F. L. Jewelry. Go in, find the body. Call the cops. Use the phone on your desk. Stay right there and wait for them to arrive.”
“What do I tell them?”
“That’s the thing. You don’t lie. Everything you tell ’em’s gotta be the truth. You went there to clean out your desk. You let yourself in with a key from when you worked there before. You came in, found the body and called the cops.”
“Then what?” Amy said.
Steve held up one finger. “Here’s the hard part. The cops aren’t going to let it go at that. They’re going to start asking questions. The first one you hear that sounds like they didn’t believe something you said, the first one that sounds like they’re cross-examining you, you take offense. Say, Just a minute here, if it’s going to be like that, I want to call my lawyer.”
Steve slowed down for emphasis. “Then,” he said, “you clam up and you...don’t...say...another...word. Anything they ask you, you either don’t answer, or you say I want to call my lawyer. Just make sure you got that in. The reason you’re not answering questions is you want to talk to your lawyer first.”
Steve looked her in the eye. “Can you do that?”
