The Anonymous Client

the t is broken on the note. It shows up in ‘the,’ ‘time,’ ‘to’ and ‘party.’ Whereas in the letters it’s not broken. That alone is conclusive.”

“Couldn’t it have been broken after the letters were typed?” Steve asked.

“No. That’s just one instance. There are others. Of course, I’m just giving you an off-the-cuff answer. If you want a careful analysis it will take some time. But believe me, it’s conclusive.”

Steve nodded grimly. “Thanks.”

“You want a complete analysis?”

Steve shook his head. “What do I owe you?”

“If that’s all you want, fifty bucks.”

Steve nodded.

“How you gonna pay?”

“In cash.”

“Fine. What name you want on the receipt?”

“No receipt.”

Steve walked out of the office building into the din of Broadway. A crew with a jackhammer was tearing up the sidewalk. Steve detoured around them, stood on the corner, and looked around.

Damn. Was it the jackhammer that was giving him the headache?

Or the letters?

Steve took the letters and the note out of his jacket pocket. Well, at least this time he was prepared for it. He took a stamped, self-addressed envelope out of his other pocket. White, business size. No perfume this time. Steve put the letters and the note in the envelope, sealed it, and dropped it in the mailbox on the corner.

Steve sighed and rubbed his head.

What a fucking mess. Bradshaw hadn’t sent the letters. Bradshaw wasn’t his client. Somewhere out there was a person with a half a dollar bill. A person who held Steve’s fate in his hands. A person who could walk up to him at any minute and suddenly turn his world upside down.

Steve shook his head angrily. Damn it. Snap out of it. Think.

Steve realized he hadn’t been thinking clearly at all so far. He’d been too caught up in the events, events so bizarre and outlandish they seemed straight out of one of Tracy Garvin’s detective thrillers. That was the problem. The whole thing just didn’t seem real. I mean, come on. Anonymous letters, ten thousand dollar cash retainers, and mystery clients, for Christ’s sake. It just couldn’t be.

But it was. That was the thing Steve had to concentrate on. It could happen and it had happened. Someone had sent him ten thousand bucks in the mail.

And there had to be a reason why.

22

“Sheila Benton.”

Mark Taylor leaned back in his desk chair, cocked his head at Steve Winslow, and said, “What about her? I thought she was in Europe.”

“She is.”

“So?”

Steve shifted position in Taylor’s overstuffed clients’ chair. He rubbed his head. “I want you to dig into her background.”

Taylor stared at him. “What?”

“That’s right.”

“You want me to investigate a client in a case that’s been closed for months?”

“I don’t want you to investigate the case. Just her.”

“Why?”

Steve took a breath. “Let’s look at this case objectively, Mark.”

“O.K.”

“To begin with, someone sent me those letters.”

Mark Taylor laughed nervously. “What letters, Steve? I don’t know about any letters, remember?”

“Right, right,” Steve said impatiently. “You don’t know about any letters. It’s just you and me talking here, Mark. But if it makes you nervous, we’ll have a hypothetical conversation. Suppose someone sent me some letters.”

Taylor groaned. “Oh Jesus, cut the comedy.”

Steve shrugged. “You’re hard to please. All right. Either way you want it, start with the letters. Someone sent them to me. And the question is why?”

“And the answer is I don’t know. And I bet you don’t know either.”

“Right. I don’t know who and I don’t know why. But I do know one thing. They were sent to me.”

Taylor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That’s the key to this whole thing. I don’t know who this person was. And I don’t know what sort of trouble they were in that made them feel they needed an attorney. But I do know that when they did decide they needed an attorney, they thought of me. And that’s mighty interesting.”

“Why?”

“Figure it out. I’ve only been an attorney for one year. I’ve had one case and one client. Sheila Benton. And after the showing I made in court on that case, there was no reason for anyone to assume I was any good.

“And then someone sends me a retainer. Why me? How would they hear of me? How would they know?”

Taylor frowned. “I see.”

“Right,” Steve said. “It’s not as if I were William Kunstler or something. Nobody knows me. The only person in the world who would have any reason to think I’m a good attorney would be Sheila Benton. She’s the only person I could think of who could possibly recommend me to someone who was in a jam.”

“That makes sense,” Taylor said. “So why don’t you ask her?”

“Because I don’t know where she is. She’s in Europe, that’s all I know. Her itinerary was deliberately vague. She wanted to travel, forget, and not be reached for anything. I have complete power of attorney to handle her affairs. She trusts me completely. With everything. Except knowing where she is.”

“I see.”

“So start digging around. See if there’s anyone connected with this case that you can link with Sheila Benton.”

“Right.”

“Start with Marilyn Harding’s circle of acquaintances.”

Taylor grimaced. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well,” Steve said, “they both come from money. It’s a logical assumption.”

“That’s just it,” Taylor said. “Steve, I’m your friend, and I want to help you. And I need the work. I’m not in business for my health. But, Jesus.”

“What?”

“Well, if I go sticking my nose around Marilyn Harding’s business, the cops are going to get onto it. They’re not going to be pleased.”

“You’re a private investigator. You have every right to investigate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m hiring you to investigate. If the cops give you a hard time, you refer them back to me.”

“I know. It’s just the whole letter business. I don’t want to be interrogated again.”

“You and me both,” Steve said.

Steve walked back to his office. Tracy Garvin was at the desk. She looked at him when he came in the door. He couldn’t make out her mood behind those large-rimmed glasses. The girl, Steve realized, was something of an