The Anonymous Client

“That’s right.”

“Did you compare the prints on those lifts with those of any other known person?”

“Yes.”

“And who was that?”

“The decedent, Donald Blake.”

“And were any of the prints his?”

“Yes. Several.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“If I could consult my notes.”

“Certainly.”

Riker looked in the notebook. “Yes. Seven of the prints matched those of the decedent.”

“How many prints were there in all?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“And four of them were Marilyn Harding’s, and seven of them were Donald Blake’s?”

“That’s right.”

“Aside from the defendant and the decedent, did you compare those prints with those of any other known person?”

“No, I did not.”

Fitzpatrick raised his eyebrows. “You did not?”

“No, I did not.”

“Mr. Riker, you stated that four prints proved to be those of the defendant, and seven proved to be those of the decedent. Yet there were twenty-nine prints in all. Now, if my elementary school math serves me, that leaves eighteen prints that you didn’t identify. Is that right?”

“That is correct.”

“Mr. Riker, are you prejudiced against the defendant?”

“Certainly not.”

“And yet, aside from the decedent, she happens to be the only person in the whole world whose prints you compared with the prints lifted from the apartment.”

Riker smiled. “That’s hardly a coincidence, counselor. She happens to be the person charged with the murder.”

That sally was greeted with an appreciative murmur. Dirkson grinned broadly.

Fitzpatrick frowned. “Tell me this. Had she been charged with the murder when you did your fingerprint comparison?”

“As to that, I’m not sure.”

“Oh no? Is it not a fact that Miss Harding was indicted for the murder several days after you did your fingerprint comparison?”

“That may be.”

“Well, you testified before the grand jury, didn’t you? Is it not a fact that your fingerprint comparison was part of the grounds on which the prosecution based the indictment of Marilyn Harding?”

“Yes. It was.”

“So when you say flippantly, she’s the one charged with the murder, isn’t that utter hogwash? Isn’t that you trading words with me and making a smart remark that does not answer my question and has no basis in fact, seeing as how Marilyn Harding had not been charged with the murder when you did your comparison and, therefore, that was not the reason you singled her out as the only person whose prints to compare?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Counsel is badgering the witness. It’s argumentative. It’s also incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial.”

“It shows bias, Your Honor,” Fitzpatrick said.

“The objection is sustained as to form. You may rephrase your question if you like.”

“I will withdraw it, Your Honor. Then let me ask you this, Mr. Riker: Aside from the decedent, the only person whose fingerprints you compared with those in question was Marilyn Harding?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you compare the fingerprints found in the apartment with the known prints of a Mr. Steve Winslow?”

“I did not.”

“You did not? Even though Steve Winslow was found in the murdered man’s apartment?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“You found no prints on the murder weapon?”

“That’s right.”

“The prints you found of Marilyn Harding indicate merely that she was in that apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“The prints that you made no attempt to identify indicate that at least one other person was in that apartment?”

“That’s right.”

“And yet you made no attempt to match those prints with those of any other known person?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, thank you for such a fair and impartial evaluation of the evidence.”

“Objection, Your Honor. I characterize that remark as misconduct.”

Judge Graves banged the gavel. “Mr. Fitzpatrick,” he said, sternly. “Such remarks are uncalled for.”

“I apologize, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any further questions of the witness?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“Call your next witness.”

“Call Jason Fisher,” Dirkson said.

In the back of the courtroom, Tracy Garvin grabbed Steve’s arm. “Look,” she said, pointing to the man making his way to the witness stand. “Isn’t that one of the detectives?”

Steve looked. It was indeed one of the men they had observed that night on the Binghamton.

“Sure is,” Steve said. “This is going to be fun.”

After the witness had been sworn in, Dirkson said, “Your name is Jason Fisher?”

“That’s right.”

“What is your occupation?”

“I’m a private detective.”

“For what agency?”

“The Miltner Detective Agency.”

“Directing your attention to the ninth of this month, were you employed on that day?”

“Yes, I was.”

“What were you employed to do?”

“My instructions were to keep Marilyn Harding under surveillance.”

There was a gasp of surprise from the courtroom. Judge Graves banged the gavel.

“What time did your surveillance start?”

“I picked her up at four o’clock that afternoon.”

“Were you alone?”

“No. I was with my partner, Michael Reed.”

“You picked her up at four o’clock?”

“That’s right.”

“Why four o’clock?”

“That’s when our shift began. We took over from two detectives who’d had her under surveillance earlier in