SW06 - The Innocent Woman

by Parnell Hall

  “And our client? For all we know she’s guilty, she’s going to take a fall, and she’s going to pull us down with her. I, for one, don’t really want to go.”

  “That’s not fair,” Tracy said.

  “Oh, isn’t it? I’ve done a lot of things tonight that I wouldn’t have done if it wasn’t your ass on the line. Sending her back there to find the body again. You think I’d have done that if you hadn’t whisked her out of there the first time?” Steve stopped, shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so hard on you. But it makes me crazy—thinking if I don’t cover this up, the cops are going to nail you.”

  “They’re not gonna nail me.”

  “Oh no? You left your fingerprints at the scene of the crime, and you rushed out to tamper with a witness. You think Branstein isn’t going to remember you showed up even before I did?”

  Tracy took a long breath, then blew it out again. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Steve said. He stepped out in the street, raised his hand.

  “What you doing?”

  “I’m putting you in a cab. I want you to go home and get some sleep while you still can.” Steve grimaced. Shook his head. “Because tomorrow, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

  22.

  STEVE WINSLOW WAS DREAMING.

  He’d finally gotten the lead in the Broadway play he’d always wanted. It wasn’t just any Broadway play, it was Hamlet. With him in the title role. There he was, out on stage doing the famous soliloquy. “To be or not to be.” The audience was hushed, quiet, listening to his words. But still, there were whispers. Faint but audible whispers, echoing around the theater. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier.

  It was hard to concentrate, hearing that. Still, Steve was doing a great job. Not better than Olivier, but a damn good Hamlet.

  But no one was watching him.

  What?

  That sea of faces in the audience, the same ones that had been whispering, “Better than Olivier,” weren’t even looking.

  Not possible. How fickle is the attention span. But sure enough, they were all looking stage left. What the hell was stage left?

  Who cares? Gotta concentrate on the part. Can’t be distracted by—

  By what?

  In spite of himself, Steve turned, looked, saw—

  Amy Dearborn and Tracy Garvin, dressed in identical sunsuits, arms linked, tap-dancing across the stage singing a Double-Mint commercial.

  Damn, that pissed Steve off. What were those girls doing? Ruining his concentration on the one hand, and stealing his audience on the other. There they were, dancing to a Double-Mint jingle.

  Only it wasn’t a jingle. It was a ring. A whirring ring.

  Like the ring of a telephone.

  On the fold-out couch, Steve snaked his arm out from under the blanket, groped, found the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Steve, it’s Tracy.”

  “Huh?”

  “Steve. Wake up. It’s Tracy.”

  “Tracy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tracy. Jesus Christ. What the hell time is it?”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but—”

  “You don’t have to call to say you’re sorry. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “No, don’t hang up!” Tracy shouted.

  Steve shook his head to clear it. “Tracy, what the hell’s going on?”

  “What’s going on is I’m in jail,” Tracy said. “I only get one phone call. It was between you and pizza. I opted for you. Don’t make me think I made a bad choice.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Got your attention now?” Tracy said. “Good. Here’s the picture. It happens to be two A.M. I’m in the D.A.’s office. He’s here, and so is Sergeant Stams. They’re both trying to ask me questions. I don’t want to answer. I told them I wanted to call my attorney. They weren’t happy, but they had to let me. I called you. Now did I make a good choice, or should I call someone else?”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Assuming they let me call someone else. I don’t know how this one phone call bit works. Do you? I mean, if the first attorney you call is a dud, do they let you keep calling until you score?”

  “All right, all right, I’m awake,” Steve said. “Just hang on, I’ll be right there.”

  23.

  HARRY DIRKSON LOOKED SMUG. Steve Winslow could tell. He’d seen that look before. It was the look the D.A. wore when he felt he had every ace in the deck. To Winslow that look was a challenge. The phrase, wipe that smug smile off your face, came to mind. Steve wondered just how the hell to do it.

  “Well, Winslow,” Dirkson said. “Nice of you to join us.”

  “Cut the comedy, Dirkson. What’s going on here?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Great,” Steve said. He looked at his watch. “It’s two-thirty in the morning. A half hour ago I was sound asleep. You want to play guessing games, or you want to fill me in?”

  Dirkson turned, indicated Tracy Garvin, who was seated next to Sergeant Stams. “You have this young lady to thank for it. She saw fit to visit a crime scene. But she can’t seem to see fit to tell us why.”

  “Excuse me,” Tracy said. “It just so happens I was arrested. I was perfectly willing to cooperate until then.”

  “You arrested my secretary?” Steve said.

  “I didn’t arrest her.”

  Steve turned to Sergeant Stams. “Sergeant, I know you don’t particularly like me, but don’t you think this is going a little far?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Stams said. “I wasn’t even there. She was picked up snooping around a crime scene. You wanna tell us why?”

  “I don’t think you get the picture, Sergeant. I told you, I was asleep in bed.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dirkson said. “This woman is your confidential secretary. As such, she’s considered to be your agent, and her actions reflect upon you.”

  “Is that so?” Steve said. “Does that mean I’m also under arrest?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re not under arrest.”

  “No, but she is. Tell me, what’s the charge?”

  “So far she hasn’t been charged.”

  “Then you have no right to hold her. Come on, Tracy. Let’s go.”

  “Not so fast,” Dirkson said. “I’ll charge her if I have to.”

  “You’ll charge her or release her.”

  “I’d much prefer to release her. If she’ll answer some questions, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  “Nice try, Dirkson. You can’t hang some nebulous threat of a charge over someone’s head to get them to talk. Now, do you have any grounds for this arrest, or not?”

  “I believe there’s plenty of grounds,” Dirkson said.

  “Then what’s the charge?”

  “Let’s see. Obstruction of justice, compounding a felony, conspiring to conceal a crime.” He shrugged. “This is the type of thing where the charges pile up. Aiding and abetting. Accessory to murder. Of course, it’s hard to tell when the principal won’t talk.”

  “Gee, Dirkson, that sounds pretty scary. You wanna tell me what happened?”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “I assure you I don’t. But if it makes you feel better, pretend I don’t know.”

  “Like I said, this woman was apprehended sneaking around a crime scene.”

  “Sneaking, hell,” Tracy said. “I asked for Sergeant Stams.”

  “Is that right, sergeant?” Steve said.

  “I wasn’t there,” Stams snapped.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Dirkson said. “Nor could one reasonably expect he would be. It was one in the morning. The crime scene unit had long since packed it in for the night. They left a guard at the scene. As it happened, that was a wise move.”

  “Oh?” Steve said.

  “Yeah,” Dirkson said. “One o’clock in the morning there was a knock on the door.” Dirkson gave Tracy Gar
vin a look. “Not the downstairs door, the upstairs door. Somehow Miss Garvin had managed to get in the downstairs door.”

  Tracy said nothing, just glared at him defiantly.

  “Go on,” Steve said. “You going to get hung up on that point, or you want to tell me more?”

  “There was a knock on the door,” Dirkson said. “The cop on guard duty opens it. It’s Miss Garvin, here. He asks her what she wants, she says she’s looking for Sergeant Stams. The cop says Stams left hours ago. And Miss Garvin says—now get this—she says, that’s all right, she’ll wait. She pushes right by him into the office.”

  Steve shot a glance at Tracy, did his best to keep a straight face. “Is that so?” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s so,” Dirkson said. “Now, I must admit the cop they left on guard duty was a rookie. He’s a bit green, he’s not used to dealing with a situation like this. He follows her into the office, telling her she can’t be there, she’s gotta stay out, and the whole nine yards. Meanwhile, she’s in there contaminating a crime scene.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she’d do that,” Steve said. “So what happened then?”

  “Then she tried to leave. But by then our rookie cop had had enough. He told her she wasn’t going anywhere until he got in touch with Sergeant Stams.”

  “That must have been confusing,” Steve said. “First he’s telling her she can’t come in, then he’s telling her she can’t go out.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she was that confused,” Dirkson said. “Anyway, that’s when she tried to leave, and that’s when he made the arrest. A radio patrol car brought her in, and she’s had nothing to say ever since.”

  “Can you really blame her?” Steve said. “A private citizen comes to the cops of her own accord, to give them some information regarding a crime. In return for her good citizenship, she’s bullied and interrogated and placed under arrest.”

  “Save it for the jury, Winslow. I’m sure you can sway some of them, but, personally, you’re breaking my heart.”

  Dirkson held up his hand. “Now then, let me assure you everything’s been done according to Hoyle. Miss Garvin’s had a full Miranda warning, and been given an opportunity to contact her attorney. Witness the fact that you are here.” He shrugged. “So, we have a situation that can be either adversarial or friendly. It’s entirely up to you. If Miss Garvin would like to explain what she was doing, I have no desire to charge her. If she doesn’t want to explain what she was doing, I have no choice. So what do you think? Would you like to let her talk, or should we go ahead with formal proceedings?”

  Steve smiled. “Frankly, gentlemen, Miss Garvin knows more about this than I do. Tracy, what do you want to do?”

  Tracy smiled. “I would like to cooperate with the police in their investigation in every way. That is why I came to see Sergeant Stams at the crime scene in the first place.”

  “And just why were you looking for Sergeant Stams?” Dirkson said.

  Tracy looked at Steve. “You mind if I answer that?”

  “Not unless you feel it might tend to incriminate you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Tracy said. She turned to Dirkson. “I was looking to Sergeant Stams to tell him we had located a witness who had seen people going in and out of the jewelers earlier in the evening prior to the murder.”

  Dirkson frowned. He picked up a paper on his desk. “Would that be Mr. Oliver Branstein, the proprietor of the music store at that address?”

  “Oh, then he did contact you,” Tracy said. “He said he was going to, but you can never tell with these witnesses. They start out with the best of intentions, and then they start thinking what a hassle it will be, dealing with the police.”

  Stams narrowed his eyes, cocked his head. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you went to the crime scene at one in the morning to tell me about this guy, Branstein?”

  Harry Dirkson put up his hand. “Ah, Sergeant. I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind. Miss Garvin, was that the only reason you were looking for Sergeant Stams?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “That was the information you wished him to have?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “That is why you went to the crime scene at one o’clock in the morning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And when you were informed Sergeant Stams wasn’t there...?”

  Tracy smiled. “I wanted to see for myself. So very often, they tell you the officer you want isn’t available just so they won’t be disturbed.”

  Dirkson frowned.

  “Will that be all?” Steve said. “It is a little late, and I for one would like to get some sleep.”

  “That’s not quite all,” Dirkson said. “This witness Branstein—the one you were so eager to tell us about—just why did you call on him this evening?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Tracy said. She jerked her thumb at Steve Winslow. “He’s Amy Dearborn’s attorney. As you well know. We are therefore investigating all aspects of the crime.”

  “That’s not what I asked you,” Dirkson said. “What made this particular witness important. More to the point, what made you think this man might even be a witness.”

  “Well,” Tracy said, “without betraying any professional confidences, I think I can assure you that since Amy Dearborn’s arrest we have been doing everything possible to investigate the crime. Since there was a music store on the ground floor of the building, one of the first things we looked into was whether the store was open earlier that evening, and if so, who was working there at the time. The answer was Mr. Branstein. We interviewed him, it turned out he had seen something, and I thought Sergeant Stams should know.”

  “At one in the morning?” Stams said sarcastically.

  “Hey, cut us a break,” Steve said. “If she’d gone home and gone to sleep, you’d be griping at us for withholding evidence.”

  “Let’s not go off on a tangent,” Dirkson said. “Right now, I’m concerned with the witness, Branstein. As I understand, Miss Garvin, while the two of you interviewed him, you actually called on him first.”

  “Right,” Tracy said. “Mr. Winslow was conferring with his client, it was late, and I didn’t know when he’d be back. I didn’t want to let the witness get away.”

  “How did you know he was a witness before you talked to him?”

  “Do you prefer the words potential witness? No one’s taking this down, are they? Do I have say alleged before every statement for fear of being misquoted?”

  “There’s no reason to take that tone,” Dirkson said.

  “Oh, come on, Dirkson,” Steve said. “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “No, I have not,” Dirkson said. “Nor do I intend to be. I’m a law abiding citizen.”

  “May I quote you on that come next election?” Steve said. He held up his hand, pretended to read newspaper headline. “D.A. scoffs at doctrine of innocent until proven guilty—statements imply stigma of guilt attaches from moment of arrest.”

  Dirkson exhaled. “As you said, it’s late and we’d all like to get home. The witness Branstein—when you interviewed him, I understand he described two people. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is,” Tracy said. “That’s the information I thought Sergeant Stams should have.”

  “Uh huh,” Dirkson said. “Tell me, did you recognize either of those two people?”

  “It’s so hard to recognize someone from a description.”

  “I’m sure it is. He described a woman and a man, did he not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The woman came first?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And then the man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you recall the description of the man?”

  Tracy frowned. “It was more of an impression than a description. I think he said he looked like a hippie and his first thought was he was a customer for the shop. I’m afraid he didn’t see him that well.”

  “Uh huh,”
Dirkson said. He picked up the phone from his desk, said, “Is he here yet?” He listened a moment and said, “Bring him in.”

  Minutes later the door opened and a cop ushered in Oliver Branstein.

  “Are these the two you told me about?” Dirkson said.

  Branstein looked back and forth from Tracy Garvin to Steve Winslow. “Yeah, that’s them.”

  “They’re the ones who came and interviewed you tonight?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Asked you if you’d seen anyone going into the jewelers upstairs while you were working in your music store?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s no doubt in your mind that these are the ones?”

  “None at all. That’s her, all right. In fact, she looks exactly the same. He’s dressed differently, but I still recognize him.”

  “Dressed differently how?”

  “Well, he’s sloppy and his hair’s uncombed. He looks like he just got out of bed. I suppose I look that way myself, because I just got out of bed. I don’t see what was so important you had to drag me down here this time of the morning. I mean, I already told you everything I know.”

  “I’m very sorry about that,” Dirkson said. “But if you’d just bear with me a few minutes longer. You say Mr. Winslow was dressed differently when he called on you—could you tell me exactly how?”

  “Well, he was wearing a jacket and tie and his hair was combed.” Branstein shrugged. “In fact, I had no idea his hair was long. He does look different now, but it was definitely him.” Branstein cocked his head and looked at Steve Winslow accusingly. “You didn’t tell me there’d been a murder.”

  Dirkson held up his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Branstein, I think that will be all for the time being. Officer, if you’d take Mr. Branstein out. I’m sorry, Mr. Branstein, but you’re just going to have to hang in here a little longer.”

  The cop led Branstein out. When the door closed behind them, Dirkson said, “Well, well, what an interesting situation.”

  “It may be interesting to you,” Steve said, “but frankly I’ve heard it all before.”