by Parnell Hall
Steve Winslow sat up straight in his chair. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “Son of a fucking bitch! Mark!”
“Yeah?”
“The phone calls.”
Mark Taylor looked at Steve in dismay. “Jesus, Steve, I can’t trace those calls. If I were the F.B.I., maybe, but you’re talking quarter calls from a public pay phone, and—”
“No, no,” Steve said. “I don’t expect you to trace them. But you got your operative’s notes there? I want to know where the calls were from.”
“From? They’re from pay phones. One was a pay phone on the corner, and one was in a drug store.”
“Right,” Steve said. “Where?”
“Hang on a minute. Let me dig it out,” Mark said. He went over to a cabinet, wrestled through some files, and pulled out a folder. “O.K., here we go. The first call was from a drug store on the corner of 3rd Street and Avenue C. The other call was from a pay phone on the corner of 3rd Street and Avenue B.”
“Those are the corners on Bradshaw’s block, right?”
“Right.”
“O.K. Good. Tracy, got your steno pad?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. We’re going to make a list.”
“What’s up, Steve?” Mark said.
“I’m not sure,” Steve said. “I want to try a little experiment.”
“To prove what?”
“That remains to be seen. I won’t know unless it happens. I haven’t figured it all out yet. But I just want to try something.”
Tracy had opened the steno pad. “All set,” she said.
“Good,” Steve said. “Now I want you to make a list.”
“A list of what?”
“Names. Names of people involved in the case. Start with David C. Bradshaw and Donald Blake.”
Tracy’s pencil flew over the pad. “Yeah?”
“Let’s see. Marilyn Harding, Douglas Kemper, and Phyllis Kemper.”
“You want them as a group?”
“No. It’s a list. One name to a line.”
“O.K.”
“Harry Dirkson.”
“What?” Taylor said.
“Sure,” Steve said. “Harry Dirkson. He’s involved in the case, isn’t he?”
Taylor shook his head. “I wish I knew what you were getting at.
“Probably better you don’t,” Steve said. “Put down Dirkson.”
“Got him. Who’s next?”
“Mark Taylor.”
“What?” Taylor said.
“Sure,” Steve said. “You’re involved in the case, aren’t you?”
“Steve, I don’t want my name on a list.”
“Relax. You feel picked on? O.K. After Mark Taylor, put down Steve Winslow and Tracy Garvin.”
Taylor stared at him. “Steve, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m having fun. It happens to be the first time in this damn case I’ve had a chance to have fun, and you’re not going to spoil it for me. How many names is that?”
Tracy counted up. “That’s nine.”
“We need a few more. All right, Charles Miltner. And you got the names of his men in your notes?”
“Yeah.”
“O.K. Copy ’em in. There are four of ’em, right?”
“Right.”
Tracy looked up the names and copied them in.
“O.K.,” Steve said. “Read me back the list.”
“David C. Bradshaw. Donald Blake. Marilyn Harding. Douglas Kemper. Phyllis Kemper. Harry Dirkson. Mark Taylor. Steve Winslow. Tracy Garvin. Charles Miltner. Jason Fisher. Saul Burroughs. Fred Grimes. Michael Reed.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “And last but not least, Pauline Keeling.”
“Steve,” Mark said. “Please. Don’t blow that for me.”
“Relax,” Steve said. “All right, Tracy, look. I want you to type up that list. One name to a line, with a space between ’em so they stand out. That should just about fill a page, right?”
“Yeah,” Tracy said. “Should be fine.”
“Good. Now, I want you to type the list twice. The second time you type it, leave off the name, Pauline Keeling. Got a typewriter she can use, Mark?”
“By the reception desk.”
“O.K. Come on. Let’s type ’em up.”
They went out to the reception area and Tracy typed the lists. Steve took them and looked at them. He nodded.
“O.K. Now you got a metal clipboard? One that looks official?”
“Yeah.”
Taylor rummaged in the desk and came out with a clipboard. Steve took the first list, the one with Pauline Keeling’s name on it, and clipped it on. He held it up and inspected it.
“Fine,” he said. “Now look, Mark, you got a female operative? One you can really trust?”
“I can scare one up, Steve, but it’s gonna take some time.”
“We don’t have time. Tracy, how’d you like to do a little detective work?”
Tracy looked at him. “You’re kidding?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re on. What have I got to do?”
“O.K. Look, Mark. Here’s what I want you to do. Take Tracy down to Bradshaw’s. Then I want you to get her in the foyer door. You won’t have any trouble, a credit card will do.”
“Are we gonna get into trouble over this?” Taylor said.
“We’re in trouble already. I’m trying to get us out. Now, the witness across the hall. What’s her name again?”
“Margaret Millburn.”
“Fine. You go in, you have Tracy knock on her door. It’s gotta be Tracy, ’cause she probably wouldn’t open it for you. You keep in the background. But when the door’s open, you’re there. See what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
Steve looked at Tracy. “All right. This is important. You don’t say you’re cops. Got it?”
“Right. What do we say?”
“Sorry to inconvenience you, it’s about the trial, you’ve been asked to verify the names on that list. That’s all you say. Don’t give her a chance to think about it, just hand her the list.
“And that’s where you play detective. You watch her carefully when she reads the names. See if there’s any reaction.”
Taylor’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, shit, Steve, I get it. You mean Pauline Keeling may have been lying. She may have been there more than once. You know this may fry my source.”
“Come on, Mark,” Steve said. “If Pauline Keeling killed him, you can’t expect me to hush it up. Short of that, I’m going to protect you any way I can. That’s why there are two lists.”
Steve turned to Tracy Garvin. “Look, Tracy. I know you’re going to love playing detective, and you’re going to want to make a big score. But some things work and some don’t. You can’t push it. You just do the best you can. The main thing is, get her to take the list. Put it in her hands, first thing. If you can get her to look at it, great, but if she refuses and hands it back, well, it’s not your fault, there’s nothing we can do about it, and you shouldn’t go kicking yourself in the head about it all night.”
Tracy looked disappointed. “And that’s all we do?” she said.
“Believe me, that’s a lot,” Steve said. “But, no, that’s not all. Mark, after Tracy’s done her stuff, no matter how it goes, slap a subpoena on her.”
Mark looked at him. “On a prosecution witness?”
“That’s right,” Steve said. “Only don’t play it too soon. Give Tracy every chance to do her stuff first. But make sure you get it served.”
“You’re going to put Margaret Millburn on the stand?” Taylor said. “What the hell are you going to have her testify to?”
Steve shrugged. “Anything she knows.”
43.
STEVE WINSLOW WAS LATE GETTING to court. That was because he’d had his first good night’s sleep in a week. He’d left Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin at the office making out the subpoena, told them not to call him to report anything short of Margaret Millburn positively identifying Pauline
Keeling as the murderer, gone home, flopped on his bed, and gone out like a light.
He’d slept long and late, got up, showered, shaved, had breakfast, and caught a cab to the court.
Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin were waiting for him outside the courtroom.
“Jesus Christ,” Taylor said. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”
“Never fear,” Steve said. “So, how’d it go?”
“Like a charm,” Taylor said. “Tracy wanted to call you and tell you, but I wouldn’t let her.”
“My appreciation will be reflected in your check,” Steve said.
Tracy looked ready to explode.
“O.K.,” Steve said. “Let’s have it. She took the clipboard?”
“She sure did.”
“She read the list?”
“Yes, and that’s why I wanted to call you. We got a reaction. I’m sure of it. It hit her, and it hit her hard.”
“Well, that’s what I was looking for,” Steve said. “Mark did right. I said not to call, even if you got a reaction.”
“Yeah,” Tracy said. “But it wasn’t what you wanted. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh?”
“Tracy has this theory—” Mark said.
“It’s not a theory, damn it,” Tracy said. “I know what I saw.”
“I was there too,” Mark said, “and—”
Steve held up his hands. “Hey kids, let’s not bicker. I gotta go to court. One at a time. Tracy, what did you see?”
Tracy gave Mark Taylor a look, then turned to Steve. “I saw her react. Just like you wanted. Only thing was, it wasn’t to the name Pauline Keeling.”
“Oh?”
“Mark thinks I’m crazy. But I was watching her carefully. Pauline Keeling was the last name on the list. I swear to you, she wasn’t halfway down the list when she reacted.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Taylor said. “That’s her theory, and you’re not going to shake it. Phyllis Kemper happens to be the fifth name on the list. Tracy thinks it’s a good shot.”
“And you don’t?”
Taylor shrugged. “Personally I’d love it to be true. But I just can’t see it. I mean, I’d give anything for it not to be Pauline Keeling. But Phyllis Kemper? The witness knows all about Phyllis Kemper. Why would that name cause a reaction? Whereas, Pauline Keeling’s never been mentioned, and finding that name on that list would have to be a shock.”
“I know what I saw,” Tracy said.
“Fine,” Steve said. “You serve the subpoena?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“The witness here in court?”
“She’s here.”
“Fine. Now, Tracy, I want you to sit where you’ve always sat. Will that be a problem?”
“No. I already saved the seat.”
“Fine. Now, be ready. I may ask you to stand up in court. If I do, don’t worry. You won’t have to do anything.”
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
“I know. I’m just telling you. Mark, you got the clipboard?”
Taylor tapped his briefcase. “Got it right here.”
“Is it in anything?”
“It’s in a paper bag.”
“Fine. And you switched the lists?”
“You bet I did. Just as quick as I could. The list on the clipboard does not have the name Pauline Keeling.”
“Good. Let me have it.”
Taylor opened the briefcase and took out the paper bag. Steve took it, nodded to the two of them, and pushed through the doors into the courtroom.
Fitzpatrick was pacing up and down by the defense table.
“There you are,” he said. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Never miss a court date,” Steve said.
Fitzpatrick pointed to a copy of the New York Post lying on the defense table. “HARDING MURDERED, DEFENSE CHARGES,” the headline read. “You see the paper?”
“I saw the headline,” Steve said.
“Not that,” Fitzpatrick said. “I mean this.”
Fitzpatrick took the paper and flipped it open. Steve looked. It was a cartoon, a caricature of the two of them, standing in court side by side like some singing duo, Fitzpatrick in a three-piece suit, and Winslow in close to rags. A word balloon coming out of both of their mouths said, “Your Honor, we object.” The caption beneath the cartoon read: “THE ODD COUPLE.”
“I missed that,” Steve said.
“Oh, did you?” Fitzpatrick grumbled. “Well I’ll bet you none of the partners in my firm did. I’m a senior partner, for Christ’s sake, and I’m going to be lucky to get out of this with my job.”
Fitzpatrick tossed the paper back onto the table. He pointed to the paper bag. “What the hell is that?”
“That’s our defense,” Steve said. “Don’t open it. I don’t want anyone to see what’s inside.”
Fitzpatrick looked at him. “What the hell are you up to? What’s going on? I understand you served a subpoena.”
“That’s right.”
“On Margaret Millburn. A prosecution witness.”
“Yeah. Is she here?”
“She’s here all right, but she’s hopping mad. So is Dirkson, for that matter.”
“Is he charging us with abuse of process?”
“Not yet, but he isn’t happy, and he wants to know what the hell is going on.”
“I hope you didn’t tell him.”
“How could I tell him? I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” Fitzpatrick mopped his brow. “Tell me, do you do this deliberately, or does it just happen that the people you work with wind up having nervous breakdowns?”
“Relax, Fitzpatrick. I’ll handle the questioning.”
“Yeah. That’s fine. But if you don’t come up with some good questions, and if she doesn’t come up with some good answers—if you can’t show a definite purpose for calling this witness—then Dirkson is going to hit us with abuse of process. And from what I know of Judge Graves, that charge is going to stick.”
Harry Dirkson lumbered over. “You subpoenaed Margaret Millburn.”
“That I did,” Steve said.
“Why?”
“Because I want her to testify.”
“She’s already testified. She was a prosecution witness.”
“And now she’s a defense witness.”
Dirkson shook his head. “You can’t do that. She was a prosecution witness. You had a chance to cross-examine her. You can’t call her as your witness just to cross-examine her some more. Unless you have new evidence, unless you have a definite plan in mind, that’s abuse of process.”
“I’m familiar with the law,” Steve said. “You want anything else?”
“I just wanted to warn you,” Dirkson said.
Steve smiled. “Thanks for your concern.”
Dirkson bit his lip, turned, and stalked back to the prosecution table.
Judge Graves entered and the bailiff called court to order.
“Call your next witness,” Judge Graves said.
Steve rose. “Your Honor, we call Margaret Millburn.”
Judge Graves frowned, but said nothing.
Margaret Millburn entered the courtroom from the back. She looked angry and tight-lipped. She strode down the aisle and took her place on the stand.
“Now, Miss Millburn,” Judge Graves said. “You have already been sworn. I remind you that you are still under oath. Mr. Winslow, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Millburn, you have already testified in this case, as to hearing an altercation in the decedent’s apartment?”
“Objected to,” Dirkson said, “as already asked and answered. I submit, Your Honor, that Miss Millburn has already given her testimony in this case, and unless counselor has some definite purpose in mind, his calling this witness to the stand borders on abuse of process.”
“I have a definite purpose in mind, Your Honor,” Steve said. “But this is a prosecution witness, and I see no reason
to disclose the purpose to her. Some of the questions I am asking are necessarily preliminary, and may in essence already have been asked and answered, but I do have a point, and if allowed to proceed, I intend to connect the matter up.”
Judge Graves frowned. “You may proceed, Mr. Winslow. But before you do so, let me add my caution to that of Mr. Dirkson. In the event that you do not connect the matter up, I trust you are aware of what the consequences might be.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor. Now. Miss Millburn, you testified as to an altercation in the decedent’s apartment, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“You also testified that you knew the decedent only slightly. As his next door neighbor, you had seen him a couple of times in the hall. But you’d never spoken to him other than to say hello. Is that right?”
“Yes it is.” Margaret Millburn drew herself up. “And I know nothing about this case other than what I have already testified to in court, and I object to being dragged through it again.”
Harry Dirkson grinned.
“I’m sure you do, Miss Millburn,” Steve said. “And I’m sorry to inconvenience you. I’ll try to make this as brief as possible.”
Steve Winslow walked to the defense table. He reached into the paper bag and detached the list of names from the metal clipboard. “Your Honor, I ask that this piece of paper be marked for identification as Defense exhibit A.”
Harry Dirkson stood up. “May I see that?”
“Certainly,” Steve said, and passed the paper over to him.
Dirkson took it, frowned, and said, “No objection, Your Honor.”
The court reporter took the paper and marked it. Steve took it back from him and approached the witness.
“Now, Miss Millburn, I hand you this paper marked for identification as Defense exhibit A, and ask if you have ever seen it before.”
The witness took the paper, looked at it, then glared at Steve Winslow.
“Well?” Steve said.
“Yes, I have.”
“I want to be sure of this,” Steve said. “Will you look at the list again? And read it over to yourself?”
The witness glared at him. Then looked down at the list. A few moments later she looked up. “Yes,” she said.
