When she went into the building, I tried to get close enough to see where she was going. I couldn’t risk following her in, but I wanted to learn all I could. I got close enough to look into the foyer. There was a row of buttons there and a call box. She pressed one of the buttons, waited, then the door buzzed and she went in. The minute she disappeared up the stairs, I went into the foyer and looked at the row of buttons. The one that she had pushed was labeled David C. Bradshaw.”
“Nice work,” Steve said. “So, to the best of your knowledge, on Tuesday the eighth, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, called on David C. Bradshaw at approximately 2:30 p.m.?”
“That’s right.”
“When did she come out?”
“About ten minutes later.”
“What did she do?”
“She got in her car and drove off.”
“So what did you do?”
“We followed her.”
“Where did she go?”
The witness shrugged. “She went to Bloomingdale’s. Shopping. We followed her through the store.”
“Then what?”
“She was still there at 4:00 p.m. when the relief arrived.”
“So,” Steve Winslow said, “if I understand your testimony correctly, when the crime lab expert, Mr. Riker, states that he found Marilyn Harding’s fingerprints in the apartment, there is every reason to believe that those fingerprints were made the day before the murder, on Tuesday the eighth.”
Dirkson lunged to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Argumentative, assuming facts not in evidence, calling for a conclusion on the part of the witness. It’s not a question, it’s an argument. Counsel is attempting to prejudice the jury by making an argument in the guise of a question. I assign that statement as prejudicial misconduct.”
“Objection sustained,” Graves snapped. “Mr. Winslow. I am not admonishing you for prejudicial misconduct at this time. I am taking the matter under advisement. However, I would caution you to use a certain amount of prudence in phrasing your questions.”
“Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.”
“No questions,” Dirkson said.
As the witness left the stand, Steve Winslow huddled with Fitzpatrick.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Steve said.
“No. Or so good, either. As a bombshell, that was a bit of a fizzle. Now we’ve shot our wad, what the hell do we do now?”
Steve sighed. “First we ask for a continuance until tomorrow. Then I’m afraid it’s time for me to do my Faust impression.”
Fitzpatrick frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
Steve smiled grimly. “I’m going to sell my soul to the devil.”
39
Dirkson put his elbows on his desk, tapped his fingers together, and surveyed Steve Winslow.
“I should tell you before we start,” Dirkson said, “I am not particularly inclined to plea bargain.”
“Neither am I,” Steve said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I thought we might talk over the case.”
“I’m afraid I have nothing to talk about.”
“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”
“Why should I listen to you?”
“You listened to me once, Dirkson. You didn’t come out of that one so bad.”
“Neither did you. You got your client released.”
“Which she would have been anyway, Dirkson. You know that.”
“Yes, but not as quickly. You got her out a day or two earlier than it would have taken with all due process. I don’t know why those two days were important to you, but they were.”
“I was looking after my client’s best interests.”
Dirkson snorted. “Sure. You gained some advantage, but you’re not going to let me know what it was. So stop talking cooperation and what a good turn you did me when I listened to you before. We’re dealing at arms- length here, and that’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Don’t I know it,” Steve said. “I heard your opening remark, Dirkson. You’re not inclined to plea bargain. What a crock of shit. You know damn well I’m not here to plea bargain. But you know and I know if I were, you’d jump at it. Because you don’t really care what charge you convict Marilyn on in this case as long as you convict her. ’Cause as soon as you do, you’re going to turn around and try her for murdering her father. And if you get a conviction here, you’re damn sure to get a conviction there. So let’s cut the shit about who’s diddling who. Let’s get down to brass tacks here.”
“Such as what? You going to tell me who killed Donald Blake?”
Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t want to talk about the murder of Donald Blake.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I want to talk about the murder of Phillip Harding.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“O.K., talk.”
Steve leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I notice you haven’t indicted Marilyn for the murder of her father.”
“No,” Dirkson said.
“But as soon as you get a conviction in the Bradshaw case, you will.”
Dirkson said nothing.
Steve looked at him. “Will you concede the possibility?”
Dirkson shrugged. “It’s your party, Winslow.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “It’s my party. Let’s concede for the sake of argument that you intend to charge Marilyn Harding with that crime. Now let’s look at the evidence. Phillip Harding dies. The doctor pronounces the cause of death to be coronary thrombosis. Phillip Harding is buried. His will is sent in for probate. All well and good.
“Then what happens? A month later the police exhume the body and find out he died from arsenic poisoning. Suddenly it’s a murder case, and his daughter, the principal heir, is the prime murder suspect.”
Winslow stopped and looked at Dirkson.
“So,” Dirkson said.
“So,” Steve said, “a little too pat, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” Dirkson said. “That’s your argument? Marilyn’s the most likely person to have done it, so therefore she must be innocent? Little convoluted, wouldn’t you say? This is not some paperback thriller. In real life the most likely person usually did it.”
“Yeah, but is she the most likely?” Steve said. “You see, the facts have to make sense. And what are the facts here? Phillip Harding dies, no one suspects anything, and a month later the body’s exhumed and arsenic’s found. The question is, why did the cops exhume the body?”
Dirkson said nothing.
“I know, I know,” Steve said. “You’re not going to tell me. So I’ll tell you. There’s only one reason that makes sense. The cops got a tip. I know you don’t want to admit that, but we’re talking informally here, so say the cops got a tip. They dig up the body and, sure enough, there’s the arsenic.” Steve shook his head. “Well, we got a big problem there. And the problem is, where did the cops get the tip? I know you’re not going to tell me, ’cause you’re not even going to concede that the cops got a tip. But ten to one it was an anonymous tip. The way I figure it, it
