SW02 - The Anonymous Client
Page 21
The next witness was a little better.
“Your name is Charles Miltner?” Fitzpatrick asked. “That’s right.”
“You’re the head of the Miltner Detective Agency?”
“I am.
“How many people do you employ?”
“It varies. I would say from twelve to fifteen.”
“And is one of those a Mr. Jason Fisher?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Then let me ask you this. Has your agency ever been employed in any case involving the defendant, Marilyn Harding?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What were you employed to do?”
“Place Marilyn Harding under surveillance.”
“Were you given any specific instructions regarding that surveillance?”
“No, sir.”
“Nothing in particular you were supposed to watch for?”
“No, sir.”
“What were your instructions?”
“Merely to place her under surveillance and report what she did.”
“And when did the surveillance begin?”
“On Tuesday, the eighth.”
“At what time?”
“At 8:00 a.m.”
“And when did it end?”
“Wednesday evening around 9:00 p.m.”
“You had Marilyn Harding under surveillance from Tuesday, the eighth, at 8:00 a.m. until Wednesday, the ninth, at 9:00 p.m.?”
“No, sir.”
“No? I thought you said you did?”
“No, sir. The surveillance was not continuous. We had her under surveillance during part of that time.”
“Which part?”
“From 8:00 am. till midnight on Tuesday, and from 8:00 am. till 9:00 p.m. on Wednesday.”
“Was that in accordance with your instructions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Yes, sir. The surveillance on Marilyn Harding was to be sixteen hours a day. Two eight hour shifts. The first shift from 8:00 a.m. till 4:00 p.m., the second shift from 4:00 p.m. till midnight. From midnight till 8:00 am. she was on her own.”
“You contracted to do two eight hour shifts?”
“That’s right.”
“How many men per shift?”
“Two.”
“And Jason Fisher, in your employ, was assigned to one of those shifts?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which one?”
“The 4:00 p.m. till midnight shift.”
“On both days?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said two men per shift. Who was his partner?”
“Michael Reed.”
“And the 8:00 a.m. till 4:00 p.m. shift? Who was assigned to that?”
“Saul Burroughs and Fred Grimes.”
“On both days?”
“Yes, sir.”
“These two eight hour shifts were specified in the work that you were contracted to do?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And,” Fitzpatrick said, raising his voice, “who made those specifications? Who requested two eight hour shifts per day of surveillance on Marilyn Harding? Who hired you, Mr. Miltner?”
Miltner shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Fitzpatrick stared at him. “You don’t know?”
“No, sir.”
“How is that possible, Mr. Miltner? You’re a businessman. You want to get paid for your services. Who did you bill?”
“I didn’t bill anyone. I was paid in advance and in cash.”
“How?”
“By messenger.”
“By messenger?”
“Yes, sir. An envelope came to my office by messenger. It had a thousand dollars cash in it.”
Fitzpatrick raised his eyebrows. “A thousand dollars cash? In what denominations?”
“Ten one hundred dollar bills.”
“Is that right? Was there a letter with them?”
“No, sir.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how did you know what the money was for?”
“I was contacted by phone.”
“By phone? Then you spoke to the person who hired you?”
“Objected to as calling for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“Sustained.”
“You spoke with a person on the phone who gave you instructions regarding the money you received from the messenger?”
“That’s right.”
“And this person instructed you to place Marilyn Harding under surveillance?”
“That’s right.”
“It was this person who requested the two eight hour shifts?”
“Yes.”
“When was this phone conversation?”
“On Monday, the seventh of this month.”
“And when did the money arrive?”
“That same day.”
“Before the phone conversation or after?”
“I believe it was right after.”
“This person on the phone—they didn’t identify themselves? They didn’t give you a name?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what were you told?”
“I was told to mind my own business.”
“Which you did?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You did. You minded your own business. You accepted the employment?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Is it your policy to accept employment from people who refuse to identify themselves?”
“It’s my policy to accept employment, period. If it’s legal, I’ll do it.”
“Very virtuous of you, Mr. Miltner. And what can you tell us about this mysterious person, this person who contacted you on the phone?”
Miltner shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? And yet you spoke to them for several minutes.”
“About instructions, yes. I learned only what the person wanted done and the fact that they didn’t want to be identified.”
“Surely you must have learned more than that. For instance, I notice you keep using the word person to describe the caller, rather than the pronoun he or she. Which leads me to ask, was the caller a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How is that possible?”
“The caller disguised his voice. Or her voice. It was muffled and distorted. It could have been a man affecting a high voice, or a woman affecting a low one. There was no way to tell.”
“And you made no attempt to find out to whom this voice belonged?”
“No, I did not.”
“You made no attempt to trace the call?”
“No, I did not.”
“And the money that was sent to you. The ten one hundred bills. Did you make any attempt to trace them?”
“No, I did not.”
“What did you do with them?”
“Put them in the bank.”
“And the person who called you. How were you supposed to contact them?”
“I wasn’t. They were to contact me.”
“How?”
“By phone.”
“And did that happen?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“On Wednesday morning the person called in for a report.”
“Did you speak to them at that time?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And did you give them a report?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You reported on Tuesday’s surveillance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Accurately?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did the person call back again?”
“No, sir.”
“They didn’t call Thursday, to ask about Wednesday’s surveillance?”
“No, sir.”
Fitzpatrick frowned and thought a moment. “On Wednesday night you con
tacted the police?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And told them everything you knew about the Marilyn Harding surveillance?”
“That’s right.”
“Then let me ask you this: if the person who called you had called back on Thursday, would that call have been traced?”
“It sure would. The police had a tap on the phone ready to record the call, and officers standing by ready to run the trace.” Miltner shrugged. “The call never came.”
Fitzpatrick thought that over. “That’s all,” he announced.
Dirkson didn’t even stand up. He waved his hand. “No questions, Your Honor.”
Miltner left the stand.
“Call your next witness,” Judge Graves said.
“Call Fred Grimes.”
As the witness took the stand and was sworn in, Fitzpatrick leaned down to Steve Winslow. “What can I do with him?” he said. “This guy’s gonna do us more harm than good.”
“Depends on how we play it,” Steve said. “What do you mean?”
“How would you feel about getting admonished for prejudicial misconduct?”
“I wouldn’t like it.”
“Then why don’t you let me take this one?”
Fitzpatrick sat down. Steve Winslow stood up and approached the witness.
“Your name is Fred Grimes?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you are employed by the Miltner Detective Agency?”
“That’s right.”
“Directing your attention to Tuesday, the eighth of this month, were you employed to shadow the defendant, Marilyn Harding?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Were you alone at the time?”
“No, I was not.”
“Who was with you?”
“My partner, Saul Burroughs.”
“Where did you pick up the defendant?”
“We staked out her house in Glen Cove.”
“At 8:00 a.m.?”
“That’s right.”
“When did you first spot the defendant?”
“She drove out the front gate about 1:15 p.m.”
“You followed her?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Where to?”
“We followed her into Manhattan, to 249 East 3rd Street.”
“And what happened then?”
“She went into the building at that address.”
“Did you follow her in?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“So what did you do?”
“When she parked near the building, my partner stayed with the car and I got out and followed her on foot. When she went into the building, I tried to get close enough to see where she was going. I couldn’t risk following her in, but I wanted to learn all I could. I got close enough to look into the foyer. There was a row of buttons there and a call box. She pressed one of the buttons, waited, then the door buzzed and she went in. The minute she disappeared up the stairs, I went into the foyer and looked at the row of buttons. The one that she had pushed was labeled David C. Bradshaw.”
“Nice work,” Steve said. “So, to the best of your knowledge, on Tuesday the eighth, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, called on David C. Bradshaw at approximately 2:30 p.m.?”
“That’s right.”
“When did she come out?”
“About ten minutes later.”
“What did she do?”
“She got in her car and drove off.”
“So what did you do?”
“We followed her.”
“Where did she go?”
The witness shrugged. “She went to Bloomingdale’s. Shopping. We followed her through the store.”
“Then what?”
“She was still there at 4:00 p.m. when the relief arrived.”
“So,” Steve Winslow said, “if I understand your testimony correctly, when the crime lab expert, Mr. Riker, states that he found Marilyn Harding’s fingerprints in the apartment, there is every reason to believe that those fingerprints were made the day before the murder, on Tuesday the eighth.”
Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Argumentative, assuming facts not in evidence, calling for a conclusion on the part of the witness. It’s not a question, it’s an argument. Counsel is attempting to prejudice the jury by making an argument in the guise of a question. I assign that statement as prejudicial misconduct.”
“Objection sustained,” Graves snapped. “Mr. Winslow. I am not admonishing you for prejudicial misconduct at this time. I am taking the matter under advisement. However, I would caution you to use a certain amount of prudence in phrasing your questions.”
“Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.”
“No questions,” Dirkson said.
As the witness left the stand, Steve Winslow huddled with Fitzpatrick.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Steve said.
“No. Or so good, either. As a bombshell, that was a bit of a fizzle. Now we’ve shot our wad, what the hell do we do now?”
Steve sighed. “First we ask for a continuance until tomorrow. Then I’m afraid it’s time for me to do my Faust impression.”
Fitzpatrick frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
Steve smiled grimly. “I’m going to sell my soul to the devil.”
39.
DIRKSON PUT HIS ELBOWS ON his desk, tapped his fingers together, and surveyed Steve Winslow.
“I should tell you before we start,” Dirkson said, “I am not particularly inclined to plea bargain.”
“Neither am I,” Steve said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I thought we might talk over the case.”
“I’m afraid I have nothing to talk about.”
“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”
“Why should I listen to you?”
“You listened to me once, Dirkson. You didn’t come out of that one so bad.”
“Neither did you. You got your client released.”
“Which she would have been anyway, Dirkson. You know that.”
“Yes, but not as quickly. You got her out a day or two earlier than it would have taken with all due process. I don’t know why those two days were important to you, but they were.”
“I was looking after my client’s best interests.”
Dirkson snorted. “Sure. You gained some advantage, but you’re not going to let me know what it was. So stop talking cooperation and what a good turn you did me when I listened to you before. We’re dealing at arms-length here, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Don’t I know it,” Steve said. “I heard your opening remark, Dirkson. You’re not inclined to plea bargain. What a crock of shit. You know damn well I’m not here to plea bargain. But you know and I know if I were, you’d jump at it. Because you don’t really care what charge you convict Marilyn on in this case as long as you convict her. ’Cause as soon as you do, you’re going to turn around and try her for murdering her father. And if you get a conviction here, you’re damn sure to get a conviction there. So let’s cut the shit about who’s diddling who. Let’s get down to brass tacks here.”
“Such as what? You going to tell me who killed Donald Blake?”
Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t want to talk about the murder of Donald Blake.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I want to talk about the murder of Phillip Harding.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“O.K., talk.”
Steve leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I notice you haven’t indicted Marilyn for the murder of her father.”
“No,” Dirkson said.
“But as soon as you get a conviction in the Bradshaw case, you will.”
Dirkson said nothing.
Steve looked at him. “Will you concede the possibility?”
Dirkson shrugged. “It’s your party, Winslow.”
“Fine,” Steve said. �
�It’s my party. Let’s concede for the sake of argument that you intend to charge Marilyn Harding with that crime. Now let’s look at the evidence. Phillip Harding dies. The doctor pronounces the cause of death to be coronary thrombosis. Phillip Harding is buried. His will is sent in for probate. All well and good.
“Then what happens? A month later the police exhume the body and find out he died from arsenic poisoning. Suddenly it’s a murder case, and his daughter, the principal heir, is the prime murder suspect.”
Winslow stopped and looked at Dirkson.
“So,” Dirkson said.
“So,” Steve said, “a little too pat, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” Dirkson said. “That’s your argument? Marilyn’s the most likely person to have done it, so therefore she must be innocent? Little convoluted, wouldn’t you say? This is not some paperback thriller. In real life the most likely person usually did it.”
“Yeah, but is she the most likely?” Steve said. “You see, the facts have to make sense. And what are the facts here? Phillip Harding dies, no one suspects anything, and a month later the body’s exhumed and arsenic’s found. The question is, why did the cops exhume the body?”
Dirkson said nothing.
“I know, I know,” Steve said. “You’re not going to tell me. So I’ll tell you. There’s only one reason that makes sense. The cops got a tip. I know you don’t want to admit that, but we’re talking informally here, so say the cops got a tip. They dig up the body and, sure enough, there’s the arsenic.” Steve shook his head. “Well, we got a big problem there. And the problem is, where did the cops get the tip? I know you’re not going to tell me, ’cause you’re not even going to concede that the cops got a tip. But ten to one it was an anonymous tip. The way I figure it, it would have to be. The question is, who gave ’em the tip? If Marilyn Harding killed her father, it sure wasn’t her. And if she killed her father, who else would have known?”
Steve looked at Dirkson. “Any comments?”
Dirkson shrugged. “You’re talking, Winslow. I’m listening. That’s all.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “You listen. The way I see it, if Marilyn Harding killed him, it doesn’t make any sense. She had the most to gain, she had the opportunity, she fed him the lunch that killed him. For Christ’s sake, if you want a suspect, she’s it.
“Now, let’s assume she didn’t kill him. In that case, she’s been beautifully framed. The murderer set her up. Arsenic’s introduced into the sugar, Marilyn is the one to serve it to him, she’s the one who gained. All well and good.