Mark Taylor was just hanging up the phone when Steve Winslow walked in and tossed a wad of money on his desk.
“Here,” he said. “Credit this to my account.”
Taylor picked it up, snapped off the rubber band and riffled through it. He whistled.
“Say,” he said. “You weren’t shitting me about a big retainer.”
“Would I lie to you?” Steve pulled up a chair and sat down. “So what’s new?”
“Not much. The lid’s still on tight. Most of the stuff I’m getting is the stuff that doesn’t matter, the stuff the cops are feeding to the papers anyway.”
“Such as?”
Taylor shrugged. “Character assassination, largely. They got a next-door neighbor, a Mrs. Rosenthal. She’s got the apartment right next to Sheila Benton’s. She’s the snoopy-busybody-gossipy-old-lady type. Her story is that Sheila often had a young man up to her apartment, and that he often slept over.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, it’s bad publicity, but it’s just gossip. They can’t use it in the trial.”
“Yes, they can,” Steve said, wearily. “It goes to prove motivation. She has a trust fund she loses if she’s involved in any scandal. This would be the scandal Greely was presumably blackmailing her about. It’s totally relevant.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“The D.A. has. Give me the worst of it. Will she testify to one man, or many?”
“Apparently only one. As I understand it, Mrs. Rosenthal is somewhat disappointed at having to admit that.”
“I’ll bet. Has she identified him as John Dutton?”
“Oh sure. She’s seen him in the hall, she’s seen him going in and out. The way I get it, she’s the type of woman who sits with her door open two inches on a safety chain, and watches who goes in and out.”
Steve straightened in his chair. “What about the day of the murder?”
“What about it?”
“Did she see who went in and out?”
Taylor shook his head. “That’s the thing. The murder took place in the early afternoon. Mrs. Rosenthal’s main concern was who went in in the evening and who left in the morning.”
“Yeah. It would be. So she I.D.’s Dutton as an overnight guest?”
“On several occasions.”
“Great. What about Dutton? Are the police working on him?”
“They aren’t talking to him, if that’s what you mean. He was in Reno at the time of the murder, so they figure he’s out of it. I’m sure they’re digging around in his personal life. If so, they’re gonna get what we got. The guy’s a young hotshot stockbroker with the reputation of being a playboy. He may be divorcing his wife over Sheila Benton, but word is he’s got one or two other little romances going on the side, and if the police dig deep enough they’re sure to come up with them.”
Steve shook his head. “Wonderful.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Well, it ain’t good. You know how juries are. They judge a case half on its merits and half on whether they happen to like the defendant. The prosecution is going to play up John Dutton’s divorce and cast Sheila in the role of a home wrecker. To counter that I have to create the picture of two young people caught in the grip of an overwhelming passion so great it defied all conventional boundaries, leaving them no choice but to follow the irresistible impulse of an overwhelming love.” Steve broke off the mock oratory and said, dryly, “Johnny’s trying for a piece of tail on the side isn’t going to help.”
“This is true.”
“What about Dutton, anyway?”
“What about him?”
“Any confirmation he actually went to Reno?”
Taylor stared at him. “You picked him up at the airport. His ticket was used.”
“Yeah, but anyone could have used it.”
“You trying to prove he did it?”
“I will if I have to.”
“But he’s Sheila’s boyfriend.”
“Yeah. But he’s not my client. She is. Just find out if he really took that plane.”
“Okay.” Taylor scribbled on his pad.
“While you’re at it, check the alibis of Maxwell Baxter, Teddy Baxter and Phillip Baxter. Check Mrs. Rosenthal, too.”
“You kidding?”
“No. Check her. If we pass her up, she’ll turn out to be some frustrated old spinster that Greely did out of her life savings. Check her out.”
“Okay. Anyone else?”
“Yeah. Tony Zambelli.”
“What?”
“You know him?”
Taylor stared at him. “I don’t know him. I know of him.”
“Well, don’t look so surprised. You told me Carboni was connected. Zambelli’s the connection. It happens he had a perfectly good motive for the murder. Check him out.”
Taylor gawked. “Do the police know this?”
“No. And they mustn’t find out. Be discreet about it.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Taylor shook his head. “Look, Steve, I’m working for you. I’ll do anything I can. But Tony Zambelli? Guys who check him out have a habit of not being seen again.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Steve said. “Zambelli wants us to check him out.” Steve took out the list of names and handed it to him. “This is a list of people who were allegedly playing cards with Zambelli at the time of the murder. It don’t mean shit, ’cause if Zambelli did it, he wouldn’t have done it himself, he’d have ordered it done. But check it out just the same. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell you can find out if Zambelli ordered the hit, but if you should stumble over that information in the course of your investigations, please don’t throw it away.”
Taylor looked at Steve with frightened eyes. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. There’s a chance the police may have these names too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. The list was in my pocket when the cops picked me up and searched me last night.”
“When they what?”
Steve grinned. “Oh, your detectives missed that too. Your pipeline into police headquarters isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Taylor was incredulous. “They arrested you?”
“A slight misunderstanding. I’m not surprised your boys missed it. Sergeant Stams thought he’d cracked the Benton case. I’m not surprised they played it very hush-hush.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. The point is, the cops had access to that list, so they may be running it down too. Only they don’t know what it is, so they won’t know what questions to ask. In case your boys should stumble over them in the course of the investigation, they should try not to give ’em a hint. Particularly since Zambelli would take it to mean we had spilled the information to the cops, and probably wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“So? Anything else?”
Taylor laughed nervously. “Yes. Yeah, there is. I saved the best for last. I have a bombshell. At least I thought it was a bombshell. After that, it’s gonna seem like a firecracker, but I got it.”
“What?”
“Well, like I said, nothing’s coming out of police headquarters except the shit they’re feeding the papers. But one of my boys got lucky.”
