sister, did you? That was serendipity, wasn’t it? You had the gun merely because it was a weapon that could not be traced to you. The police could figure David Castleton had taken it from Herbert Clay’s desk and the murderer had picked it up in his apartment and used it. What a monumental stroke of luck it must have seemed to you when you found out the defendant and Herbert Clay were actually related.
“But that’s what happened, isn’t it? You shot David Castleton, and you dropped the gun next to him on the floor. Then you took the computer disk and got out. As far as you were concerned, it was a perfect frame. Even if the gun couldn’t be traced to the defendant, there was enough evidence against her. You and Milton Castleton knew David had left to meet the defendant. Then there were the waiters, bartenders and cab drivers who could put them together. And the private detectives who could put her at the scene of the crime.
“You killed him between a half hour to an hour after she left, but no medical determination of the time of death could be that precise. And, as expected, without actually altering the facts, the medical examiner did everything possible to slant the time element in the prosecution’s favor.
“There was only one more thing, one more gap you had to plug. The original computer disk. You left David Castleton’s apartment and went straight back to Kelly Clay Wilder’s.
“The young woman detective was still on guard. She showed no signs of leaving. If she had, you might have broken in that night. As it was, you had to let it go. You went home, got what little sleep you could and reported to work the next morning at nine o’clock at Milton Castleton’s apartment. You were there when the police called to inform Milton Castleton of his grandson’s death.
“I don’t know exactly what happened after that. But Milton Castleton would be demanding immediate police reports, and being Milton Castleton he would get them. So you would know almost immediately of Kelly Clay Wilder’s arrest. Some time after that and before I talked to the defendant and went to her apartment, you broke away from Castleton’s long enough to go there and get the computer disk. You had no problem finding it-the copy had been marked X dash one. It followed the original would be marked simply X. You found it, you took it, verified what it was and then destroyed it.
“You did one more thing. You knew from what David Castleton had told you that Kelly Clay Wilder had found that memo in the backup system of the computer. You got into the backup system yourself, found the file and deleted it.
“That’s what you did, didn’t you Mr. Danby?”
Danby shook his head. “No, I did not.”
“Yes, you did, Mr. Danby. Because everyone has a weakness. I’m not sure what yours is, but I would guess it’s the stock market. I assume you gambled with speculative stocks and got overextended, even for a man with your income. Which is why you embezzled from your employer and subsequently framed Herbert Clay for the crime. Which is why that memo was so devastating to you. Isn’t that right, Mr. Danby?”
“No, it is not.”
“Well, I happen to know that it is. You know how I happen to know?” Steve smiled. “Marcie Keller. Marcie Keller proves you did.”
Phil Danby said nothing. His puzzled frown seemed quite genuine.
“That surprises you, doesn’t it Mr. Danby? I thought it would. No, there is nothing in her testimony that implicates you. What implicates you is the fact she gave it at all.
“See, here’s what happened. You had the perfect frame and everything was going fine. The prosecution was making a case, and you thought that would be that.
“But then I put the defendant on the stand and she told her story. The story about the memo.
“Which is when you panicked, Mr. Danby. The only time in the whole affair you lost your head and made a stupid move. But the bit about the memo scared you. You knew you’d erased it from the computer, but still hearing about it struck too close to home.
“So you tried to guild the lily. To convict Kelly Clay Wilder. To give the prosecution everything they needed to clinch the case.
“You phoned in an anonymous tip. A tip to the police to check out the Taylor Detective Agency for any young operatives, one male, one female, who might have had David Castleton under surveillance on the night of June twenty-eighth. The detective Dan Fuller has yet to be found, but they got Marcie Keller all right.” Steve smiled. “Probably wasn’t that hard, what with her being an actress. Probably just called SAG. Anyway, they found her and they put her on the stand.
“Which is what gives you away, Mr. Danby. Because, aside from Mark Taylor and myself, no one, the defendant included, knew those detectives were there. The only way someone could have known was if he was there too. You fingered Marcie Keller, Mr. Danby. And that puts
Steve bored in. “You killed David Castleton, Mr. Danby. Deliberately, in cold blood. You did it to cover up an embezzlement for which you had framed an innocent man. You took Herbert Clay’s gun and you shot David Castleton dead. Didn’t you, Mr. Danby?”
Danby’s look was almost amused, his smile ironic, mocking. “No, I did not,” he said.
There was a moment’s silence.
“You son of a bitch!”
The shrill voice cut through the courtroom like a knife. All heads turned to stare.
On the aisle in the second row, Milton Castleton had struggled to his feet. With one hand he was gripping the back of the bench in front of him for dear life to hold himself up. With the other he was pointing a long, bony, accusing finger straight at his associate, Phil Danby.
Everyone’s attention shifted from the pointing finger to the witness stand, where Phil Danby sat, where a transformation was taking place.
Under Steve Winslow’s cross-examination Phil Danby had been calm, unruffled, hadn’t turned a hair. But under the accusing glare of his employer, Phil Danby began to wilt. He simply could not meet the eyes of that frail, old man. Danby’s eyes faltered, his face went pasty white, and he began to tremble.
Then all at once he turned suddenly and vomited over the side of the witness stand.
44
Fitzpatrick couldn’t stop laughing. Whether it was genuine amusement, relief of nervous tension or perhaps embarrassment over the harsh things he’d said to Steve Winslow-most likely a combination of all three-the man had a pretty good case of the giggles.
“It’s too much,” Fitzpatrick said. “It’s too much. I mean, I’m not sure this has a legal precedent. I mean, is throwing up on the witness stand considered an admission of guilt?”
Steve Winslow was leaning back in his desk chair, utterly drained. Too tired to answer, he merely smiled.
Fitzpatrick didn’t mind. He was hyped with nervous energy and on a roll. “And what does the court reporter write, that’s what I want to know? I’d like to get a look at the transcript. I mean, you get, ‘Question:’ ‘Answer:’ ‘Question:’ ‘Answer:’ Then you get, ‘Question: (from spectator): “You son of a bitch.” ‘ ‘Witness barfs.’ Is that what they write? ‘Witness barfs?’ Or do they write it phonetically? ‘Blaaaaah!’”
Steve exhaled noisily, shook his head. “What a stroke of luck.”
“Luck, hell,” Fitzpatrick said. “You knew it. You had him. You were right up and down the line.”
“No, I didn’t,” Steve said. “I never could have touched him in a million years. All I had going for me was his fear of that old man.”
Fitzpatrick’s grin faded. His eyes narrowed. “You played for that to happen?”
“Yeah, I did. I knew I couldn’t break Danby myself. So I played to Castleton. Because I believed Kelly’s story, particularly what David told her. That Milton Castleton is fair, Milton Castleton is just, Milton Castleton wouldn’t let that happen.
“And Milton Castleton loved his grandson. I knew if I could sell him, he’d do the rest.”
Fitzpatrick shook his head. “Jesus Christ. A man like Danby, so afraid of a sick old man.”
The door opened and Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin came in. “News from the front,” Taylor said. “Danby
