The Innocent Woman

“So you were never around that part of the desk. Good. The worst case scenario was somehow or other you left a fingerprint there.”

“Well, I didn’t. Of course, Amy probably did.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s the beauty of sending her back. It accounts for her fingerprints.”

“Yeah.”

Steve looked at his watch. “Okay,” he said. “It’s been long enough.”

“For what?”

“To kiss it off. Going back there, I mean. We’re at the point where the risks outweigh the advantages. It’s probably more dangerous now to try to cover something up than just let it be. Unless it was really major. Like you suddenly remember leaving the murder weapon next to the body with your fingerprints on it.”

“What murder weapon?”

“Exactly. You didn’t happen to roll the body over, did you?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Well, neither did I. He’s lying face down, the wound’s in the chest. I didn’t see it, but most likely it’s a gunshot wound. In which case, where’s the gun?”

“The murderer took it.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding? The gun can hang him. The smart move is to drop the gun.”

“Some killers aren’t smart.”

Steve shook his head. “Bad premise. You start with the idea the killer’s stupid, your theories all collapse. You start using it to explain away everything: maybe he just didn’t think of it; maybe he’s stupid; maybe he had a reason we don’t know about; maybe it made sense to him. Bullshit. You want to figure it out, it’s gotta make sense to you.”

Tracy stuck out her chin. “Hey, I’m not a first year law student. Spare me the lecture.”

“Then help me think it out. Why does the killer take the gun?”

“Because he’s not wearing gloves, so his fingerprints would be on it.”

“Why doesn’t he just wipe it off?”

“He doesn’t want to take the time. He’s fired the gun, he’s afraid the sound of the shot will attract someone, he gets the hell out of there.”

Steve nodded. “Much better. Or, he did ditch the gun, and it’s lying under the body.”

“There’s a thought. You like that?”

“Actually, not really. I mean, you shoot a guy, he starts to fall, you realize you killed him, so you throw down the gun under the body before it hits the floor.”

“That is a bit of a stretch,” Tracy said.

“What about Amy?”

“What about her.”

“I know she’s hysterical most of the time. But was there anything she said that she used the word shot? You know, like, ‘Someone shot Frank.’”

Tracy shook her head.

“Did you use it? In your questions. Like, Did she shoot him? Does she know who shot him?”

“I didn’t say shot.”

“You sure?”

“I didn’t say it. I certainly assumed he was shot, just like you did, but I never said so.”

“That’s a break.”

“Why?”

“When Amy tells her story to the cops, it’s better if she lets them determine the cause of death.”

“I see your point.”

“She didn’t say anything? Even when she was hysterical and you had to roughhouse with her-she didn’t blurt out something then?”

“No. She’d lost it. She wasn’t at all coherent.”

“Even when you wrestled her out the door?”

“No. I was talking. Telling her to shut up. She was just making sounds.”

“Sounds?”

“Yeah. Half sob, half scream. Loud. I was afraid she’d attract someone. I kept telling her to shut up.”

“She didn’t say anything then?”

“No, she just pushed me. I fell back against the desk. I had to lunge for her, grab her, and-”

“What?”

“Jesus Christ!”

“You pushed off the desk?”

“Yeah.”

“Amy Dearborn’s desk?”

Tracy nodded wordlessly.

“Oh shit.” Steve shook his head. “No wonder it was bugging you. You left your fingerprints on the desk with the rifled petty cash drawer.”

15

Mark Taylor flopped his two hundred and twenty pounds into Steve Winslow’s overstuffed clients’ chair, cocked his head at the attorney and said, “This better be important. I happen to have a date.”

“Oh?” Steve said.

“The young lady in question was not pleased. If this terminates the relationship, it will be reflected in your bill.”

“You’re already on time and a half for after hours, Mark.”

Mark Taylor ran his hand through his curly red hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Small consolation,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a date with this girl for a month.”

“Girl?” Tracy said.

Mark Taylor looked at her. “Huh?”

“Mind if I jump in here?” Steve said. “Tracy is about to take exception to your calling a grown woman a girl. Fascinating as that might be, we do happen to have this murder on our hands.”

“Murder?” Taylor said.

“That’s why you’re here,” Steve said. “So let me give you a rundown of the facts. This evening, at approximately ten P.M., the body of Frank Fletcher was discovered in his office at F. L. Jewelry on West 47th Street by a Miss Amy Dearborn.”

Mark Taylor frowned, held up his hand. “Whoa. Just a minute. Reality check. Did you say this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Did you say the body was discovered at ten P.M.?”

“Yes, I did. You got a problem with that?”

“A small one,” Taylor said.

“And what is that?”

“Unless my watch is stopped, it happens to be nine forty five.”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

Mark Taylor shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”