by Parnell Hall
Kemper glared at him for some time. Then he seemed to wilt. He sank down in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start with Bradshaw,” Steve said.
“Yeah. Bradshaw.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. I knew him.”
“Been to his apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s perjury for starters. Tell me about it.”
Kemper took a breath, blew it out again. “Well, it’s pretty much as he said.”
“Who?”
“The prosecutor. That smug son of a bitch—”
“Skip that. What about Bradshaw?”
Kemper shrugged. “He was blackmailing Marilyn.”
“Not you?”
“No, just Marilyn.”
“About her father’s death?”
Kemper shook his head. “No. About me.”
“What did he have?”
“Photostat of the motel reservation.”
Steve sighed. “You’ll pardon me,” he said, “I’m just a little too pissed off to have to drag this out of you. Go on and tell me what happened. What was his approach? Did he contact you or Marilyn?”
“That’s just it,” Kemper said. “He hit on Marilyn. By the time I found out about it, it was too late.”
“You need a prompter? Go on. What happened?”
“Well, you understand, this is what Marilyn told me, after the fact. Bradshaw called her up. Cold. Out of the blue. Calls her on the telephone. Calls her by name. Identifies himself as ‘a friend.’ Says he has something he thinks she should have. Marilyn tries to ask questions but the guy’s evasive and mysterious. All he’ll tell her is he has something she forgot. She’s about to hang up on him when he tells her he has something from the Sand and Surf Motor Inn.”
Douglas Kemper grimaced. “And that’s where she made a mistake. That’s where she should have called me right away. But she didn’t. Instead, she agreed to meet the guy. So she goes to his apartment. He told her to go there, and like a damn fool she goes. I mean, in a building like that. It could have been a shakedown, it could have been anything.
“When she gets there Bradshaw whips out a photostat of a registration form from the Sand and Surf Motor Inn. It’s the card I signed, registering us as Mr. and Mrs. Sampson. Then he goes through the usual bullshit spiel about how he’s a really nice guy but he happens to be hard up and really needs the money, and if she’d just give him ten thousand dollars and—well, you know the rest.”
“No, I don’t know the rest. Let’s go through it. She drew out ten thousand dollars from her bank account and paid him off, right?”
“Right.”
“Did you know it?”
“No.”
“You hadn’t seen her in the meantime?”
“No, I hadn’t. We couldn’t meet that often. It’s kind of awkward, you know, and—”
“Yeah, sure. So you hadn’t seen her and she hadn’t told you, and she paid off the guy, and then what?”
“I saw her the next day and she told me about it. I couldn’t believe it. If she’d only come to me. She’d done everything wrong. Taking ten one thousand dollar bills out of her bank account. On a cash withdrawal of that size, they note the serial numbers. I knew it. She didn’t. She didn’t realize what she’d done. A blackmailer never quits. Giving Bradshaw that ten thousand dollars was just giving him a stranglehold over her. The motel reservation was nothing. It wasn’t even solid evidence. Against me, maybe, but not her. But that ten thousand dollars would fry her.
“That’s when I stepped in. I contacted Bradshaw and arranged to buy those bills back.”
Steve stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. I contacted Bradshaw and made a deal. It wasn’t that hard. Bradshaw was always willing to deal. That was part of his game. He was most agreeable. He would be delighted to return me Marilyn Harding’s ten grand in return for small bills. The only catch was, he wanted twelve thousand.”
“So you brought Marilyn’s bills back?”
Kemper grimaced. “I thought I did.”
“And you put them in an envelope and sent them to me. Along with the letter.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Marilyn was in trouble, big trouble. I wasn’t sure I could deal with it alone. I knew she needed help, and a special kind of help. This wasn’t something you could take to the cops. Or to any regular lawyer. Then I thought of you.”
“Why me?’
“I know Sheila Benton. I met her a long time ago through Marilyn. Happened to run into her just before she left for Europe. She told me about her case. What you did for her. Not so much in court. She said you did other things. Discreetly. Confidentially. Things no one would ever know about. She said you were a genius. I figured that’s what Marilyn needed. So I typed the letter and sent you those bills as a retainer. But I had to be very discreet. Very below board. I didn’t want to implicate Marilyn by mentioning her by name. I knew if you were as quick as all that, you’d immediately trace the serial numbers of the bills and find out who’d withdrawn them from the bank. You’d find out it was Marilyn, and you’d start protecting her.
“Only I hadn’t figured on Bradshaw.”
“He switched the bills?”
“Of course. As soon as I offered to buy them back, Bradshaw knew what I was after. So he played me for a sucker. He charged me twelve grand, and instead of Marilyn’s ten grand, he sold me ten bills he’d drawn out of the bank himself.”
“Which you promptly mailed to me,” Steve said. “Making my life a living hell ever since. Tell me something. Did you mention my name?”
“What?”
“To Bradshaw. When you called on Bradshaw. Did you mention me?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I did. I told him you were my lawyer, and if he made any more trouble he’d hear from you.”
Steve shook his head. “Jesus Christ.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Little presumptuous, don’t you think? You hadn’t even consulted me.”
“Yeah. At first I was bluffing. But that’s when I decided to. Hire you, I mean.”
“Great. And when was this?”
“Monday.”
“The seventh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s when you met Bradshaw and bought back the bills?”
“Right.”
“Then why did Marilyn go see him on Tuesday, the eighth?”
“’Cause she didn’t know I’d got the bills back. I hadn’t been able to talk to her.”
“You hadn’t told her you were going to do it?”
“No. I hadn’t figured it out at the time. When I was talking to her, I mean. I only told her she made a mistake giving ’em to him. She was worried about it, and she went to Bradshaw to try to straighten things out herself.”
“That’s on Tuesday?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Bradshaw was nice as could be. He was sorry she’d upset herself, but there was nothing to worry about. I’d been there the day before and bought the bills back, hadn’t I told her? Relax, everything was going to be just fine, and if she didn’t believe him, why didn’t she talk to me.
“Which it turned out she couldn’t do, because when she met me on the boat I was with my wife and we never got a moment alone.”
“All right. That’s Tuesday. What about Wednesday?”
Kemper grimaced. “Just what you’d expect. Bradshaw made another pass at Marilyn. The son of a bitch. He’d just told her everything was straightened out to let her think she was off the hook. To give her one peaceful day. To let her see just how good that felt, just how wonderful that feeling of relief could be. Before he jerked the rug out from under her.”
“What happened?”
“She called me at work. She was hysterical. You gotta remember, that was the same day she found o
ut her father’d been murdered. She’d had cops at the house all morning. She’d just gotten rid of them when she got the phone call. It was Bradshaw at his oiliest best. He was so sorry, but he needed more money, and the whole spiel. He had another photostat of the motel reservation—what a surprise, right?—and he had the bills she withdrew from the bank, proof she paid blackmail. Of course that shocked the hell out of her. She thought I’d bought them back. He told her different. He had her ten grand, he wanted another ten grand, and he’d give her till five-thirty that afternoon.
“She called me at work. Just caught me as I was going out the door. I was supposed to show some people some properties. It was a tough moment. The boss was there. I had to act cool on the phone. I couldn’t really tell her anything, I had to just listen. And she’s telling me what Bradshaw did and what Bradshaw demanded. She wants me to meet her and bring her the ten grand I bought back from Bradshaw. So she could use it to pay him off again.
“Well, I didn’t have it, I’d sent it to you, but I can’t tell her different with the boss standing there and this young couple at my elbow waiting to go see some properties. So the best I can do is to get the message across that I can’t talk now, but I’ll meet her at this coffee shop on Lexington Avenue around four o’clock. I figure I’ll meet her there and we’ll tackle Bradshaw together.
“Only I get hung up. This young couple’s picky. They don’t know from my problems, they’re planning a life together. They want to see this, that and the other thing. And they’re do-it-yourselfers. They must spend all their time watching This Old House on PBS. They’re tapping walls and talking about structural beams and types of molding. They probably don’t know shit, but they’re talking a lot, you know what I mean. You know the type. So I’m going crazy with ’em. But it’s an emergency, and I probably would have just ditched them, except the fucking boss comes along. He does it now and then when he thinks someone’s slacking off. What with me sneaking off to meet Marilyn now and then, I know he’s been suspicious of me, and what with me getting that phone call and all. So the son of a bitch tagged along.
“So I couldn’t get out of there, and the end result’s I’m late. I get to the coffee shop at five after five, double park and run in. She’s gone.”
“So what’d you do?”
“Beat it down to Bradshaw’s, to try to head her off. I was too late there too. Or so I think. There’s no sign of Marilyn. I double park the car. I run in. I go upstairs. The door’s open. I walk in. I find him there on the floor, dead.”
“So what do you do?”
“What do you think I do? I’m in a panic. I’m afraid Marilyn got there first and killed him. I look around the apartment real quick, trying to see if she left anything incriminating. Then I beat it out of there.
“I hop in my car and drive off. Just as I’m turning the corner, I look back down the block at Bradshaw’s building to see if anything’s happening. When I do, I see Marilyn come around the corner and walk in the front door.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, I would have waved to her, but it happened too quick. I’m too far away, and she doesn’t see me. She’s already gone in. It’s a one-way street. I can’t turn around and go back. So I zoom around the block. I’m going to double park again, run in and get her.
“But I get caught in traffic. By the time I’m coming down the street again, I see her come tearing out of the building and run around the corner again. I beat it down to the corner just in time to see her hop in her car and pull out.
“But then another car pulls out and tags along behind her. I realize she’s being followed. I don’t dare contact her then.
“By then it’s late. I’m supposed to pick up my wife for dinner. I’ve stalled her off. But now I’ve gotta go. I pick her up. We go out to eat. It’s a real bitch with all this churning inside of me. But there’s nothing I can do about it.
“After dinner we drive up to the house in Glen Cove, and that’s where I ran into you. You know what happened. I don’t get to talk to Marilyn, the cops pick her up, and I don’t get to talk to her until Fitzpatrick gets her released the next day.”
Kemper stopped. “There you are. That’s it. That’s the story.”
Steve Winslow looked at him for several moments. Then he shook his head. “No, it isn’t,” he said.
“What?” Kemper said.
“No, it isn’t. It’s bullshit. At least part of it. The part about you finding Bradshaw’s body. It never happened that way. You made it up.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sure you did. And you didn’t even do a good job of it. You’re so transparent, Kemper. You know what you’re doing? I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You’re trying to be some goddamn storybook hero—that gallant, noble, romantic leading man who cheerfully takes the blame to save his ladylove. The problem is, you don’t fit the part. Gallant? Noble? Shit, give me a break.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“No. You sit there and take it, ’cause you have to. I’m going to tell you what happened. The bit about you finding Bradshaw’s body is all wrong. You made it up from what you heard in court—from the testimony of the detectives who were following Marilyn, and the testimony of the witness who heard a voice in the apartment. You put that together and you say, ‘Hey, I’ll shade my story a little bit and I’ll be the gallant hero and I’ll give her an alibi.’ So you say you got there first and found him dead. You figure your statement, coupled with the testimony of the detectives who were following Marilyn, will put her in the clear. Bradshaw was dead before she got there. Of course, that puts your ass right on the line, but that’s what the romantic hero’s supposed to do, right?
“And it doesn’t really put your ass on the line, because your story’s so bad no one will believe it. You got to the coffee shop after Marilyn left, but you want me to believe you got to Bradshaw’s first.”
“She had to pick up her car.”
“Sure she did, but you got in and out before she even got there? Bullshit. And then you’re just turning the corner when you saw her go in. And then you race around the block and you just see her come out. But you miss her both times. And you’re about to go after her, but then you spot a car tailing her.”
Steve Winslow stopped and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. I mean, here you are, a poor fucking real estate salesman. You just found a dead body. You just had a huge emotional shock, and you’re suddenly in the worst mess you’ve ever been in in your life, and what do you do? In the midst of all this hysteria, in the midst of racing after your girlfriend to warn her about what has happened, in the midst of New York City traffic, you spot a detective tailing her in a car.” Steve shook his head in mock wonderment. “Wow! What powers of perception! What ice water must run in your veins! This is not just your ordinary romantic hero. This is fucking Superman here.”
Kemper merely glared at him.
“No,” Steve said. “Here’s what happened. You missed Marilyn at the coffee shop just like you said, and then you beat it down to Bradshaw’s, went in and found him dead. But you didn’t get there before Marilyn, you got there after. You never saw her there at all. You found Bradshaw dead, you figured Marilyn killed him, you were in a total panic, and you got the hell out of there. I don’t know if you still think she killed him, but you probably do, even if she’s denied it. As far as you’re concerned, it’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s why you’re telling this bullshit story, and acting noble like you were willing to take the rap.”
Steve leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s what happened. The only thing I don’t know is whether you were the guy who searched Bradshaw’s body, found those bills on it, assumed they were Marilyn’s, and hid ’em in the upstairs hallway.”
“I didn’t do that.”
“No, I don’t think so. You’d only have done that if you were trapped there by the arrival of the cops. You weren’t, ’cause they didn’t get you. But the rest of it’s just like I
said.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Steve nodded sarcastically. “Right, right, noble to the end. Including holding out on your lawyer. Good move. All right, tell me about the dollar.”
Kemper, startled by the change of subject, said, “What?”
“The dollar. The half a dollar. The one you sent me in the mail. Why did you do it?”
Kemper said, “Oh. Well, after I sent you the bills I got back from Bradshaw, I got to worrying.”
“About what?”
“Well, Bradshaw’d been too agreeable. Too willing to sell. I got to thinking about it, and it occurred to me maybe he’d pulled a switch.”
“On the bills?”
“Yeah.”
“You got this thought after you bought the bills?”
“Yeah.”
“After you sent them to me?”
“Yeah.”
“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”
“Hey, give me a break.”
“Yeah, sure. You deserve all the breaks. So what about the torn dollar?”
“Well, if Bradshaw’d switched the bills, there was no way for Marilyn to prove she was your client. So I sent you the half a dollar as a means of identification.”
“So why didn’t Marilyn have the other half of a dollar? Why you?”
“She didn’t know I’d done it. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her. The only time we’d spoken was when she called me in the real estate office, and I couldn’t say anything then. She was telling me to meet her with the ten thousand dollars. She didn’t know I’d mailed them to you. Or the half a dollar. And I didn’t see her after that. Not until my wife and I walked in on you and her that night. And by that time she’d already called in Fitzpatrick to act as her lawyer. All right, she’d made her decision. She didn’t need you. But I did. So I kept the half a dollar.”
Steve Winslow looked at him. “What a great way of handling things,” he said. “Anonymous letters. A half of a dollar bill. Tell me, where did you get that idea?”
