“Damn right,” Steve said. “You think of something, fire away.”
“O.K.,” Tracy said. “Why didn’t Bradshaw want Pauline Keeling around?”
Steve chuckled. “Too easy. You didn’t meet the woman. You wouldn’t want her around, either.”
“Who killed Bradshaw?” Taylor said.
“Come on, Mark,” Steve said. “If we could answer that, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
“All right, then,” Taylor said, “who got there first, Marilyn or Kemper?”
“Gotta be Marilyn,” Steve said. “That’s the only way it makes any sense. Kemper missed her at the coffee shop. By the time he got downtown, Marilyn had been in and out.”
“But if that’s true,” Tracy said, “when Kemper got there he found Bradshaw dead.”
“Right,” Steve said.
“Then who was the man the witness heard arguing with Bradshaw?”
“That’s the key question,” Steve said. “Everything points to Kemper. Except he had to come second. Marilyn had already been in and out. Bradshaw was already dead. You can’t argue with a dead man.”
“What if there were two men?” Tracy said.
Steve frowned. “What?”
“Well, you say Bradshaw was already dead. The witness heard an argument. She couldn’t identify the voices. Everyone’s assuming one of them was Bradshaw, but what if it wasn’t? What if he’s already dead and the argument is between two other men?”
“One of whom is Kemper?”
“Not necessarily,” Tracy said.
Taylor grinned. “You pull this out of one of those mysteries you read?”
Tracy gave him a dirty look.
“No, no. Go on,” Steve said. “I like this. This is just what I need. Tell me about the two men.”
Tracy warmed right up to it. “The two men killed Bradshaw. I don’t know who, I don’t know why, but say they do. They just killed him, and they’re about to leave when Marilyn Harding arrives. They’re trapped in the apartment. They hide in the bedroom. The door is open. Marilyn Harding walks in and finds Bradshaw dead. As you say, she immediately assumes Kemper did it. She’s in an absolute panic, and she gets out of there.
“The two men come out of the bedroom and they have an argument. About what, I don’t know. Maybe one of them thought the girl saw them and he wanted to kill her too. The other one didn’t. Whatever. Anyway, they fight. At any rate, the witness hears the argument and calls the cops. While she’s calling them, the two men leave. Douglas Kemper arrives right on their heels, finds the dead body, assumes Marilyn killed him, and makes up the bullshit story he told you.”
Steve leaned back in the chair and frowned. “I like it. It takes everything into account and gets our clients off the hook-that’s mainly why I like it. But Jesus Christ.”
“What?” Tracy said.
“Well, look at the schedule. You got two unidentified men, Marilyn Harding, Douglas Kemper, me, and the cops all arriving at Bradshaw’s apartment in the space of about a half hour. I mean, hell, the schedule was damn tight without throwing in two unidentified men.”
“It’s damn tight, but it happened,” Tracy said.
“It did for a fact,” Steve said. He leaned back in the chair. “Go on. Ask me more questions.”
“What happened to the twelve grand?” Taylor said.
“Now there is a damn good question,” Steve said. “Ten grand found in the hallway. Ten grand found on the body. Twelve grand disappeared. So where the hell did it go? Obviously, someone took it. The question is who?”
“The two men who killed Bradshaw,” Tracy said, excitedly. “They killed him and took the money.”
“Then they’re mighty selective,” Steve said, “if they took that twelve grand and left the other twenty grand there.”
“Ten grand was in a money belt. They wouldn’t know he had it.”
“And the other ten grand. Who took it and hid it in the upstairs hallway? If you’re telling me they did that, then the question is why?”
“Yeah, but maybe they didn’t,” Tracy said. “Maybe someone else put the money there.”
“Who?”
Tracy shrugged. “Bradshaw.”
“Bradshaw?”
“Sure,” Tracy said. “He knew they were coming and he didn’t want to have the money on him.”
“But he didn’t care about the other money?” Steve said. “You see, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it does,” Mark Taylor said. “The ten grand hidden in the hallway was the ten grand stolen from you. Bradshaw had to know you had the numbers on those bills. He didn’t want to be found with them in his possession. So he hid ’em outside his apartment. The other ten grand’s in his money belt. He’s got it, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He particularly
“And Kemper’s twelve grand?”
“That was in small bills, wasn’t going to do Bradshaw any good, except as cash. So maybe he put it in the bank.”
Steve shook his head. “You checked out his bank account with the teller. If there’d been a twelve grand deposit, wouldn’t he have told you?”
“That’s right, he would,” Taylor said. “But that might not be his only account. Or he might have a safe deposit box somewhere.”
“That’s an idea,” Steve said. “And we can check into it. Make a note to see if David C. Bradshaw or Donald Blake had any other bank accounts or safe deposit boxes. O.K. More questions.”
“O.K.,” Tracy said. “Why did Bradshaw come to your office?”
“What?”
“Why did Bradshaw come to your office? That was the original question, right? Way back when we started. That was why you thought he had to be your client. Because as soon as he realized he was being followed, he came right to your office. You said the only way that made sense was if he’d sent the money.
“But he wasn’t your client. Douglas Kemper is. Douglas Kemper sent the money. So why did Bradshaw come to your office?”
“I know the answer,” Steve said. “Kemper told me. When he paid off Bradshaw, he threatened him with me. Told him I was his lawyer. That’s how Bradshaw knew.”
Tracy shook her head. “Not good enough.”
“Why not?”
“Come on,” Tracy said. “Bradshaw was a blackmailer. You know damn well Marilyn Harding wasn’t the only person in the world he was putting the bite on. Or Douglas Kemper for that matter. He was bound to have had lots of irons in the fire.
“So what happens? He walks out of his apartment. He sees he’s being followed. He immediately says, ‘Steve Winslow,’ and comes right to your office just because Kemper told him you’re his lawyer. I don’t care how smart Bradshaw is, that was a hell of a leap of logic, don’t you think?”
“It was, but it happened. The guy came here.”
“Yeah, but I still say why? I mean, look what happened. Marilyn Harding calls on Bradshaw. She leaves. Bradshaw leaves. He makes a phone call. He walks a block. He makes another phone call. Next thing you know, he’s ditched his shadows and he’s in your office demanding to know why you’re having him followed.”
Steve Winslow sat up straight in his chair. “Son of a bitch!” he said. “Son of a fucking bitch! Mark!”
“Yeah?”
“The phone calls.”
Mark Taylor looked at Steve in dismay. “Jesus, Steve, I can’t trace those calls. If I were the F.B.I., maybe, but you’re talking quarter calls from a public pay phone, and-”
“No, no,” Steve said. “I don’t expect you to trace them. But you got your operative’s notes there? I want to know where the calls were from.”
“From? They’re from pay phones. One was a pay phone on the corner, and one was in a drug store.”
“Right,” Steve said. “Where?”
