by Parnell Hall
The witness hesitated. Looked around. “I ... I...”
“It’s a simple question,” Steve said. “Do you or do you not deny receiving those calls?”
“It’s not a simple question,” she said. “You ask me if I deny receiving any calls from David C. Bradshaw. I may have received calls from someone else.”
Steve shook his head. “Nice try, Miss Millburn, but it’s no good. You forget. Bradshaw was being followed by detectives. Those detectives were in Mark Taylor’s employ and reported back to him. And those detectives reported the times and places of Bradshaw’s phone calls. If you received those calls, they could only have been from him.”
Margaret Millburn bit her lip.
Steve gave her time to think. He bored right in. “You see, Miss Millburn, it’s no use. We can prove you got those calls. Through the phone company, and the testimony of Mark Taylor’s men. If you want to try to deny what was said on those calls, that’s entirely up to you, but we can prove you got them all right. If we give you enough time, I’m sure you can come up with some plausible explanation for what was said during those calls, but you know and I know what was said, and it’s just what I told you. Bradshaw called you, told you he was being followed, and asked you to find who was doing it. Which you did.
“And if you did, it means you and Bradshaw were no casual strangers, as you would like to make it seem. You knew Bradshaw. You knew him well. You knew him before he even moved out here. When the apartment across the hall was about to be vacated, you called him and he snapped it up.
“Now, you’ve done a good job of keeping your relationship a secret. I happen to know that that was at his insistence, and I happen to know why.
“The fact is, you knew Bradshaw very well, you were in fact intimate with Bradshaw, and you’ve been in his apartment many times. Is that not a fact?”
“No. No, it’s not.”
“And is it not a fact that you knew all about the blackmail of Marilyn Harding? That you were in fact Bradshaw’s partner in the blackmail of Marilyn Harding?”
Margaret Millburn’s face was ashen white. “No. No, it’s not.”
“Oh isn’t it? I think it is. I’m going to tell you what happened, and then you can deny it if you like. You and Bradshaw were close. Damn close. You were his partner. You helped him out. Like tracing the license plate for him. You worked with him. You were a team.
“But no one knew it. Bradshaw insisted on that. Here he moved in across the hall from you and you thought everything would be hunky-dory. Except he didn’t want to be seen with you. He wanted your relationship to be a secret. You accepted it. You bought the reason he gave you—that if your relationship was known it would ruin some scam or other.
“But after a while that wore thin. You demanded to know the real reason. And after a while you found out why.
“He was two-timing you, wasn’t he? He had another woman on the side. And that wasn’t all. He was also cutting you out. He was two-timing you as a woman, and cutting you out as a partner. He was raking in money he wasn’t telling you about, and spending it on another woman. When you found out you were furious, and for good reason.”
Steve broke off the attack. He stood there looking at the witness for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said gently, “And that’s why you killed him.”
Margaret Millburn sat stunned. Steve’s casual, flat statement was harder to deal with than a shouted accusation would have been. Then she could have shouted her denial back. But what he’d said wasn’t even a question. It was just a simple statement of an assumed fact. She was like a batter expecting a fast ball and getting a change-up. Suddenly off-stride, she had to supply all the power, put all the force into her denial. “No!” she said. “I didn’t!”
Steve immediately jumped back on the attack. “Yes, you did, and I can prove it. I’ll tell you how you did it.
“You knew he was shaking down Marilyn Harding. That was one of the things you managed to find out, but you didn’t know for how much. But you knew she was calling on him. And you knew she was being followed by detectives—Bradshaw had spotted them when she came to his apartment, and he’d told you that much, probably as another reason why you shouldn’t be seen with him. So you knew Bradshaw had the goods on her, and you knew he was still shaking her down, and so you waited for your chance.
“Which brings us to the day of the murder. From the window of your apartment you saw Marilyn Harding enter the building. You even spotted the detectives she had on her tail. You listened at your door while she called on Bradshaw. You heard her go in. And you heard her go out. And that’s when you knew you had the perfect frame. Marilyn Harding was being blackmailed—she called on the blackmailer and she killed him.
“It was too good to pass up. As soon as Marilyn Harding left, you knocked on Bradshaw’s door. He let you in, of course. You made some excuse about wanting a drink, went in the kitchen, got the knife, and killed him.
“Then you searched the body. You knew he’d been shaking Marilyn down, and you knew he’d been holding out on you. You wanted your share.
“You found ten thousand dollars in one thousand dollar bills. You wanted that money, but you were scared. You knew the cops would be coming. And you knew the numbers on those bills could be traced. You didn’t dare keep those bills on you.
“So you took a chance. You hid them in the upstairs hallway, hoping they wouldn’t be found. If the cops didn’t find them, you were going to retrieve them later. If they did, well it was just too bad, but at least the bills could be traced to Marilyn, and that would clinch the case.
“And that’s when you pulled your masterstroke. That’s when you did the one thing you thought would frame Marilyn Harding and exonerate you of the crime.
“You called the police. You called up and reported an altercation in Bradshaw’s apartment. That would get the police there right away and fix the time of death as just about the time the detectives would have to testify Marilyn Harding had gone to the apartment. And you, having reported the altercation, would be the last person the police would suspect. It was brilliant.
“But then things started going wrong. First, the police found the ten grand you’d hidden in the hallway. All right, it cost you the money, but it would crucify her. Only it didn’t. Bradshaw had pulled a fiddle, and that money wasn’t Marilyn Harding’s ten grand at all. Marilyn Harding’s ten grand was found in a money belt on the body. The money found in the hallway was money Bradshaw had withdrawn from the bank himself.
“Of course, that didn’t make any sense. Not in terms of your frame-up. Marilyn might have killed Bradshaw, then panicked and ditched the bills in the hallway because she was afraid to have them on her. But why would she have paid Bradshaw, killed him, and then left her ten grand in his money belt? And if she had, who left the ten grand in the hall? It didn’t add up, despite what the cops might think.
“It was getting complicated. You’d thought the case against Marilyn Harding would be open and shut. Suddenly it wasn’t. Nonetheless, the police took the evidence at face value and arrested Marilyn Harding for the crime.
“That’s when you started getting cold feet. You didn’t want to go on the stand. You didn’t want to submit to the cross-examination you’re submitting to now. You knew you couldn’t stand up to it, just as you’re not standing up to it now.
“And that’s when you did a smart thing. Or so you thought. You wanted the prosecution to play down your testimony. In fact, if possible, you wanted them not to call you at all. You knew they were trying to make a case against Marilyn Harding. So when they asked you about the altercation, you told them it was a man’s voice you heard in the apartment. You figured if you said you heard a man, it would damage the prosecution’s case, so they’d try to keep you out of it.
“And it might have worked, except for one thing—Douglas Kemper. The police theory, as it turned out, was that Marilyn Harding and Douglas Kemper were acting in concert. Therefore, your hearing a man’s voice did
n’t bother them at all. And therefore they put you on the stand.
“But you didn’t hear a man’s voice, did you? You didn’t hear any voice at all. You testified to a totally spurious altercation. It never happened. You made it up. You killed Bradshaw, and then you tipped over some furniture so it would look like there’d been an altercation. Then you dashed back to your apartment and you called the police. That’s what you did, isn’t it, Miss Millburn?”
“No. It’s a lie. I didn’t.”
“Yes you did, and I can prove it. Miss Millburn, do you have a safe deposit box?”
The change of subject was so abrupt the witness said, “What?”
“A safe deposit box. Do you have one? Perhaps one you rented within the last month?”
Margaret Millburn looked at him. Her eyes were wide.
Dirkson came to her rescue. “Objection, Your Honor. Incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.”
Judge Graves, observing the witness’s manner, rather reluctantly said, “Objection sustained.”
“Miss Millburn,” Steve said, “I can lay the foundation and ask that question again. But I don’t have to. I’m just going to tell you how I can prove you killed Donald Blake. You see, when you killed him, you searched the body, and you found the ten thousand dollars, but you found something else too. Bradshaw had a lot of irons in the fire, and he’d pulled another scam. You didn’t know about it, and the police still don’t know about it, but I know about it. And I can prove it.
“You know what you found? You found twelve thousand dollars in small bills.”
Margaret Millburn reacted.
“That’s right, Miss Millburn. You found it, and you took it, and you kept it. You didn’t dare keep the ten grand. That was in big bills that could be traced. But the twelve grand was in small bills. You figured no one would have the numbers. So you took a chance. You hid it in your apartment. It was right there in your apartment when you called the cops. You figured they wouldn’t search your apartment, and you figured right.
“But you didn’t want to leave it there, not after the case broke open, not after things started going wrong. See why I asked about a safe deposit box? Either your bank account will show a twelve thousand dollar cash deposit, or you’ve got a safe deposit box somewhere with twelve thousand dollars in it. And if you do, after the showing I’m going to be able to make, a court order will open that box.”
Margaret Millburn’s mouth moved, but no words came out. She swayed slightly.
Steve bored in.
“You killed Bradshaw. You killed him and you took the money. It wasn’t in self-defense. It wasn’t in the heat of passion. It was a cold-blooded, premeditated crime. It was murder for profit. You set up Marilyn Harding, and you killed Donald Blake. You coldly, ruthlessly, intentionally—”
Margaret Millburn struggled to her feet. “No, No!” she cried. “I swear! I didn’t! It was an accident! ...”
Time stood still.
Margaret Millburn froze, petrified by what she had just said.
No one moved. No one spoke.
An electric silence hung in the air.
No one in the courtroom could quite believe what had just happened.
Steve Winslow could hardly believe it either.
“Son of a bitch,” he murmured. “A courtroom confession.”
46.
STEVE WINSLOW LOOKED LIKE A prizefighter after the big fight. He was slumped back in his desk chair, totally drained, a can of beer in his hand. He looked as if he didn’t have the strength to raise it to his lips.
On the other hand, Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin were animated. They were sitting there, drinking beer and whooping it up.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Taylor was saying. “I just couldn’t believe it. I’m sitting there in court, and you got the witness on the run, and I’m really digging it ’cause you’d been off in chambers and things looked pretty sticky and then when you came back she caved in on the fingerprints, and I’m just like everybody else in the courtroom—by that time I figured the list was just a red herring, just a ploy to get her to touch the clipboard and get her to leave her fingerprints. And I know you haven’t compared any prints, but she doesn’t, and she caves in, and I’m thinking, ‘Holy cow, score one for our side!’ And the next minute you’re back to the clipboard and the list and Phyllis Kemper, and I’m thinking, ‘Holy shit, Tracy was right after all!’ Suddenly you come out with, ‘No, the name you reacted to was Mark Taylor.’“
Taylor shook his head. “I’m telling you, I almost went through the floor. It was like someone changed the channel on me. It was like someone was gonna tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Smile, you’re on Candid Camera.’ Taylor shook his head again. “I tell you, I never saw anything like it.”
“But you knew it all along,” Tracy said. “Last night, when you had us make up the list. Didn’t you?”
Steve sighed. He hefted the beer and took a swig. “I had it in mind. But you’re the one who gave it to me. With that question about why did Bradshaw come to the office. And then mentioning the phone calls. That was the key, of course. He didn’t come to my office, he came to Mark Taylor’s office.”
“What?” Taylor said.
“Well, he didn’t, but that’s where he was headed. He had Margaret Millburn trace the license number, he looked up the Taylor Detective Agency, and he was on his way to get you.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
“Callboard in the lobby. He looked at the callboard to get your room number, and right under Mark Taylor, on the bottom of the callboard was Steve Winslow. Kemper had already told him I was his lawyer. He knew private detectives don’t work on their own, somebody hires them, so he figured it was me. That was the leap of logic, and it was one that Bradshaw could easily make. And that’s why he came to me.”
“And on the strength of that, you figured Margaret Millburn killed him?” Tracy said.
“I figured it was a good shot. See, her story didn’t fit in with anyone’s version of what happened. Or rather, my interpretation of their stories. Or lack of them, in Marilyn Harding’s case. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure it out. The reason I couldn’t figure it out was I’d made a mistake in logic.”
“Really?” Taylor said. “What was that?”
“Douglas Kemper’s story was that he got there before Marilyn Harding and found Bradshaw dead. I knew that was a lie. I knew he’d made that up to protect Marilyn. I figured he’d got there second. And, of course, he had.
“It was Marilyn Harding’s silence I misread. I figured Marilyn Harding was keeping quiet because she believed Douglas Kemper had got there first. In other words, because she walked in and found Bradshaw dead.
“But I was wrong. I had it backwards. What was making her hysterical was that she found Bradshaw alive. She called on him, told him she didn’t have the money, he was abusive, threatened her, and she got out. Bradshaw was alive when she left. That’s the thing Marilyn was trying to conceal.
“You can see how it looked to her. As soon as she heard Bradshaw was dead, she figured Douglas Kemper arrived right after she left, had an argument with Bradshaw, and killed him. See, the cops had the time of death pinned down so well that if Bradshaw was alive when she left, then Douglas Kemper must have killed him. Marilyn figured her statement that Bradshaw was alive when she left would crucify Kemper. And that’s why she kept quiet.”
“You lost me,” Tracy said. “How does all of that point to Margaret Milburn?”
Steve took another sip of beer. “I had the benefit of hearing Douglas Kemper’s story. And most of it was bullshit, but some of it wasn’t. Some of it I believed. And the part that I believed was the fact that he walked in there and found Bradshaw dead. ’Cause that’s the way it made sense from his point of view. He came second, he walked in there and found Bradshaw dead, and therefore he thought Marilyn had killed him, and that’s why he was claiming he came first.
“Now, if that was true, Margaret Millburn�
��s story didn’t fit at all. And once you answer the key question, why did Bradshaw come to my office, the answer is Margaret Millburn. Which means Margaret Millburn knew Bradshaw well and is lying up and down the board. Once you realize that and stop taking her phone call to the police at face value, the whole thing is obvious.”
“So Phyllis Kemper had nothing to do with it,” Mark said. “She was just a red herring to throw the witness off the track.”
“She had nothing to do with the Bradshaw murder,” Steve said. “I’m sure she’s the one who hired Miltner. And the one who killed Phillip Harding too.
“You can see what happened. Here’s Phyllis Kemper, a cold, mousy, repressed woman, living in her stepsister’s shadow. The only thing she’d got going for her is Douglas Kemper. And then she starts to lose him too. To her stepsister. So she snaps. She cracks up. She frames Marilyn for the murder of her father. But it doesn’t come off. The doctor blows the diagnosis and calls it a natural death. She waits for something to happen, but nothing does. So she forces the game. She hires private detectives, hoping to get the dirt on Marilyn and her husband. I don’t know what she expected to do with it, whether she was going to throw it in Marilyn’s face, or throw it in her husband’s, or what. I suspect by that time she wasn’t that clear on what she wanted to do.
“But she doesn’t catch Marilyn and hubby going to a hotel. She gets something else. She finds Marilyn is calling on a mysterious gentleman named David C. Bradshaw under circumstances that can only be shady. Jackpot. She phones an anonymous tip to the cops to get Phillip Harding’s body exhumed. Arsenic is found. Now, if Bradshaw hadn’t been murdered, I’m sure there would have been another anonymous tip to the cops telling them to check with Miltner’s Detective Agency concerning Marilyn’s movements. They would have found out that Marilyn had been calling on Bradshaw, and then jumped to the conclusion that Bradshaw was blackmailing her. That would have put Marilyn in the embarrassing position of having to prove that Bradshaw wasn’t blackmailing her over the murder of her father—as the police actually figured—but over something else.
