The Innocent Woman

You think Branstein isn’t going to remember you showed up even before I did?”

Tracy took a long breath, then blew it out again. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He stepped out in the street, raised his hand.

“What you doing?”

“I’m putting you in a cab. I want you to go home and get some sleep while you still can.” Steve grimaced. Shook his head. “Because tomorrow, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

22

Steve Winslow was dreaming.

He’d finally gotten the lead in the Broadway play he’d always wanted. It wasn’t just any Broadway play, it was Hamlet. With him in the title role. There he was, out on stage doing the famous soliloquy. “To be or not to be.” The audience was hushed, quiet, listening to his words. But still, there were whispers. Faint but audible whispers, echoing around the theater. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier. Better than Olivier.

It was hard to concentrate, hearing that. Still, Steve was doing a great job. Not better than Olivier, but a damn good Hamlet.

But no one was watching him.

What?

That sea of faces in the audience, the same ones that had been whispering, “Better than Olivier,” weren’t even looking.

Not possible. How fickle is the attention span. But sure enough, they were all looking stage left. What the hell was stage left?

Who cares? Gotta concentrate on the part. Can’t be distracted by-

By what?

In spite of himself, Steve turned, looked, saw-

Amy Dearborn and Tracy Garvin, dressed in identical sunsuits, arms linked, tap-dancing across the stage singing a Double-Mint commercial.

Damn, that pissed Steve off. What were those girls doing? Ruining his concentration on the one hand, and stealing his audience on the other. There they were, dancing to a Double-Mint jingle.

Only it wasn’t a jingle. It was a ring. A whirring ring.

Like the ring of a telephone.

On the fold-out couch, Steve snaked his arm out from under the blanket, groped, found the phone.

“Hello.”

“Steve, it’s Tracy.”

“Huh?”

“Steve. Wake up. It’s Tracy.”

“Tracy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tracy. Jesus Christ. What the hell time is it?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but-”

“You don’t have to call to say you’re sorry. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, don’t hang up!” Tracy shouted.

Steve shook his head to clear it. “Tracy, what the hell’s going on?”

“What’s going on is I’m in jail,” Tracy said. “I only get one phone call. It was between you and pizza. I opted for you. Don’t make me think I made a bad choice.”

“What the hell?”

“Got your attention now?” Tracy said. “Good. Here’s the picture. It happens to be two A.M. I’m in the D.A.’s office. He’s here, and so is Sergeant Stams. They’re both trying to ask me questions. I don’t want to answer. I told them I wanted to call my attorney. They weren’t happy, but they had to let me. I called you. Now did I make a good choice, or should I call someone else?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Assuming they let me call someone else. I don’t know how this one phone call bit works. Do you? I mean, if the first attorney you call is a dud, do they let you keep calling until you score?”

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” Steve said. “Just hang on, I’ll be right there.”

23

Harry Dirkson looked smug. Steve Winslow could tell. He’d seen that look before. It was the look the D.A. wore when he felt he had every ace in the deck. To Winslow that look was a challenge. The phrase, wipe that smug smile off your face, came to mind. Steve wondered just how the hell to do it.

“Well, Winslow,” Dirkson said. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Cut the comedy, Dirkson. What’s going on here?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Great,” Steve said. He looked at his watch. “It’s two-thirty in the morning. A half hour ago I was sound asleep. You want to play guessing games, or you want to fill me in?”

Dirkson turned, indicated Tracy Garvin, who was seated next to Sergeant Stams. “You have this young lady to thank for it. She saw fit to visit a crime scene. But she can’t seem to see fit to tell us why.”

“Excuse me,” Tracy said. “It just so happens I was arrested. I was perfectly willing to cooperate until then.”

“You arrested my secretary?” Steve said.

“I didn’t arrest her.”

Steve turned to Sergeant Stams. “Sergeant, I know you don’t particularly like me, but don’t you think this is going a little far?”

“Don’t look at me,” Stams said. “I wasn’t even there. She was picked up snooping around a crime scene. You wanna tell us why?”

“I don’t think you get the picture, Sergeant. I told you, I was asleep in bed.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dirkson said. “This woman is your confidential secretary. As such, she’s considered to be your agent, and her actions reflect upon you.”

“Is that so?” Steve said. “Does that mean I’m also under arrest?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not under arrest.”

“No, but she is. Tell me, what’s the charge?”

“So far she hasn’t been charged.”

“Then you have no right to hold her. Come on, Tracy. Let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” Dirkson said. “I’ll charge her if I have to.”

“You’ll charge her or release her.”

“I’d much prefer to release her. If she’ll answer some questions, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Nice try, Dirkson. You can’t hang some nebulous threat of a charge over someone’s head to get them to talk. Now, do you have any grounds for this arrest, or not?”

“I believe there’s plenty of grounds,” Dirkson said.

“Then what’s the charge?”

“Let’s see. Obstruction of justice, compounding a felony, conspiring to conceal a crime.” He shrugged. “This is the type of thing where the charges pile up. Aiding and abetting. Accessory to murder. Of course, it’s hard to tell when the principal won’t talk.”

“Gee, Dirkson, that sounds pretty scary. You wanna tell me what happened?”