“Gonna sit back and make him prove you guilty beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“No joke. That’s exactly what I may wind up doing.” Steve rubbed his head. “All right. What about the witness?”
“What witness?”
“The woman who called the police.”
“Oh. Margaret Millburn. Well, there you know as much as anyone. She heard an altercation and called the cops.”
“What kind of altercation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Physical or verbal?”
“I gather both.”
“Then she must have heard the assailant’s voice.”
“That’s right, but not well enough to identify it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the police haven’t arranged for her to hear Marilyn’s voice.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. The police finished with the Millburn woman and put her back in circulation before Marilyn Harding was picked up. She hasn’t been near the police station since. That confirms my report that Miss Millburn didn’t actually see Marilyn Harding, and indicates she didn’t hear the argument distinctly enough to recognize voices.”
“Could she hear them well enough to tell if the other party was a man or a woman?”
“If the cops know, they’re not letting on.”
“What about Miss Millburn?”
“What about her?”
“You said the cops put her back in circulation?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s to stop you from having a little chat with her?”
“Just one thing, Steve. You’re forgetting she lives next door to Bradshaw’s apartment. I wouldn’t go near the place right now if my life depended on it.”
“Right,” Steve said. “They’d figure you were after the evidence I ditched.”
“I got the dope on her anyway,” Taylor said. He referred to his notebook. “She’s twenty-eight and she’s a divorcee. Millburn is her maiden name. She was married to a used car salesman named Buckley. Apparently he tried to trade her in on a new model, so she went to Reno, established a six months’ residence, and got a divorce. That was three years ago. She moved here three months ago. She does nothing in the line of work, and seems to be living off her alimony.”
“And how the hell did you get all that?”
“From the landlady, who, I’ll save you the trouble of asking, was out shopping at the time of the murder and didn’t see or hear a thing.”
Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his head. “See, Mark, your evening wasn’t wasted after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“None of that stuff was in the morning paper.”
There was a knock on the door and Tracy Garvin slipped in, closing the door behind her. She seemed excited and her actions were furtive.
“What is it?” Steve said.
She practically put her finger to her lips. “There’s a man in the outer office,” she hissed.
“So?”
“I’m not sure, but he looks like a process server.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t tell him you were here,” Tracy said. “You want to duck out the back?”
Steve shook his head. “I’m not ducking service. Show the gentleman in.”
Tracy obviously didn’t agree, but she nodded and went out.
“Maybe I should get out of here,” Taylor said.
“No. Stick around, Mark. I want to see if he serves you too.”
Tracy returned with a rather apologetic looking individual with a briefcase.”
“Mr. Winslow?” he said.
“I’m Winslow. This is Mark Taylor.”
The man handed Steve a paper. “Mr. Winslow, there is a subpoena to appear before the grand jury at two this afternoon and to answer questions arising from the death of one David C. Bradshaw. I’m sorry to trouble you. Please understand, I mean no offense. I’m merely doing my job.”
The process server bowed himself out of the door.
Steve eyed the subpoena thoughtfully.
“Well, that’s quick work,” Taylor said.
“Yes it is,” Steve said. He looked up from the subpoena. “All right, Mark. At least they don’t want you. Get out of here and get some sleep.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. There’s nothing much you can do now. Put a man on the phones and go home.”
Taylor heaved himself out of the chair. “That’s a break,” he said. He nodded to Tracy and went out.
The minute he was gone, Tracy turned on Steve. Her eyes were flashing.
“All right,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”
Steve held up his hand. “Whoa. Back up. What do you mean, you had enough?”
“You can’t do this. It’s not right.”
“What?”
Tracy was going for righteous indignation, but she was bordering dangerously on schoolgirl pout. “You know what. I’m supposed to be your confidential secretary. That’s what you told the D.A. That’s why I’m not answering questions for the police. All right. Your detective just gave you a rundown on the case. Did you have me sit in and take notes? No. You kept me in the outer office and wouldn’t let me hear a thing.”
Steve rubbed his head. “Right. And that isn’t fair, is that it? Well, I’m sorry. But I told you. We have a delicate situation here. You’re my secretary, but you’re also a participant. The D.A. may come after you. In fact, you can consider it a lucky break that process server wasn’t after you.”
“You said they couldn’t make me testify.”
“I said it was a fine line. And it is. Maybe they can, maybe they can’t. But they can damn well try.”
“So?”
“So while you’re in the position of being a potential witness, there may be some things you’re better off not knowing.”
“Such as?”
Steve threw up his arms. “The hell of it is, I don’t know. Now I’ll tell you everything Mark told me. There was nothing you couldn’t hear. But I didn’t know that until I heard it. So I had to hear it first. See?”
“Yeah, I see. And I don’t like it at all.”
“You think I do?” Steve waved the subpoena. “You think this is my idea of a good time?” He sighed. “Well, at least now I know what we’re up against.”
“What do you mean?”
“You see this subpoena?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“It’s just an ordinary subpoena.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. I was expecting a subpoena duces tecum. You know what that is?”
“Isn’t that an order to produce a piece of evidence?”
“Right. I expected a subpoena ordering me to bring into court any or all bills in my possession bearing the serial numbers on the list I gave Stams. Since Dirkson suspects me of having taken the bills, it’s only logical for him
