“Steve, this is getting screwy.”
“You’re telling me, Mark? Did you pick up Bradshaw?”
Taylor waved it away. “Yeah, yeah, he’s covered. Never mind him. I just got a call from the guys tailing the girl. She left Bloomingdale’s and they’re tagging along. But get this. There’s another agency on the job.”
“What?”
“That’s right. There are two other guys tailing her.”
“No shit! Any idea who it is?”
“My man didn’t recognize them, but he got the license number. I’m running it down now.”
The phone rang. Tracy was so fascinated with what she was hearing that it rang twice and Steve had to give her a look before she answered it. She listened, then handed the phone to Mark Taylor. “It’s for you.”
Taylor took the phone, listened, said, “Uh huh,” and hung up. “Got it, Steve. It’s the Miltner Detective Agency.”
“Know anything about them?”
“I’ve heard of them. They’re a fairly reputable small agency. They mainly handle routine stuff. You know. Divorce cases, accident claims, stuff like that.”
Steve rubbed his head. “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah. Look, Steve, I don’t like this at all. We were just looking to I.D. the girl and drop her. Then we run into this. It’s crazy.”
“Yeah.”
“And if we spotted them, it’s a cinch they spotted us. I just don’t like it.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. If she’s being tailed, she’s important. We gotta tag along and find out why.”
Taylor sighed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“So what’d you get on Bradshaw?”
Taylor shook his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to get. He’s got no driver’s license, Social Security number, credit cards, birth certificate, marriage license, or what have you. My man pulled the old credit rating line on Bradshaw’s landlady and drew a blank. The guy moved in two months ago. He pays his rent in advance and in cash. That’s all she knows and all she cares to know. The bank can’t give us any more information than it already has.”
“What I.D. did he use with the bank?”
“Cold hard cash. After he deposited it the bank made him up a nice little photo I.D. with his signature, but for our purposes it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it. So the odds are, David C. Bradshaw isn’t your client’s real name.”
“That figures.” Steve frowned. “Look, Mark. You got a fingerprint kit in your office?”
Taylor stared at him. “We got one. We never use it, but we got it.”
“But you know how to use it, right?”
“Hey, give me a break. That’s TV stuff, and it never happens, but I can do it all right. Why?”
“When Bradshaw got mad, he leaned over the desk to tell me off. I think we might have a pretty good set of latent prints.”
Taylor shook his head. “Jesus.” He went out and came back ten minutes later with an old leather satchel.
“Found it. I had to turn the office upside down, but I got it. Where are the prints?”
Steve pointed. “Right here on the top of the desk.”
Taylor opened the satchel. “O.K. The surface doesn’t look bad, but I’m not promising anything.”
Tracy was hardly able to contain herself. She kept quiet, but her eyes sparkled as Mark Taylor pulled powders, brushes, a magnifying glass and a fingerprint camera out of the bag. He dusted powder on the desktop, and whistled.
“Well, wrong again. I got ten beauties, Steve.”
“Gonna lift ’em or photograph ’em?”
“I’ll photograph ’em first, then I’ll lift ’em.”
Mark Taylor busied himself with the prints. He’d finished photographing them and begun lifting them and transferring them to fingerprint cards when the phone rang. Tracy reluctantly tore herself away to answer it.
It was for Mark Taylor. He took the phone, listened, and hung up.
“You’re client’s an honest man, Steve,” he said.
“How so?”
“He went straight home, just like he said he would. He’s there now.”
“How many men you got on him?”
“Right now I’ve got four men and two cars. If he has any more visitors, I’ll throw in two more men and another car. This time he’s gonna stay put.”
“Good. Can you trace those prints?”
Taylor sighed. “If he’s got a record, we can trace them. It’s a bitch, but I can do it. But it’s gonna take time.”
The phone rang again. Tracy picked it up, listened, said, “Just a minute,” and handed it to Mark Taylor.
“Mark Taylor here … Uh huh … The Binghamton? … descriptions … Uh huh … O.K., if they leave separately, split up and tail ’em. I may send another man. Whatever you do, don’t lose the girl. Stick with her and keep me posted.”
Taylor hung up the phone.
“Is that our girlfriend?” Steve asked.
“Uh huh. She’s at the Binghamton. It looks like she’s gonna have dinner with a young couple who joined her in the cocktail lounge.”
“What about the couple?”
“Best bet is they’re married.”
“To each other?”
“More than likely. The guy’s about thirty, and the wife is a few years younger. They seem to know our young lady pretty well, and the meeting seems to have been arranged rather than accidental. The couple came in together, and I assume they’ll leave together, so I told my men to split up and have one take the girl and the other take the couple. Now then, do you want another man on the job in case the couple splits up?”
Steve frowned thoughtfully. “If they’re married, they’ll probably go home together. Where is the Binghamton, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s in Jersey. Right across the river. On the river, actually. It’s a boat. An old ferry boat. It’s permanently docked and outfitted as a restaurant. Kind of nice. You can sit and have dinner on the river.”
“How’d the girl get there?”
“In a taxi.”
“What about the couple?”
“I don’t know. They were there first. The girl walked in and joined them. I would assume they came in a car, but until they leave, there’s no way to find out.”
“I see. Assuming they have a car, you would expect the girl to leave with them. But we can’t count on it. All right. Let’s assume the couple’s gonna leave together. So we don’t need another man. But what about cars? Are your two men in one car?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you better get another car down there then. I don’t want to take a chance on the couple getting away without our finding out who they are.”
“Do you think it’s that important?”
Steve shrugged. “That’s the hell of it. I don’t know. I’m in a very tricky position, ethically, and I’m being forced to do a lot of things I don’t want to do.”
“Why?”
“All right, look,” Steve said, “Either David C. Bradshaw’s my client or he isn’t.”
“And either I’m a detective or I’m not.”
