The Innocent Woman

what they found, and we’re waiting to hear.”

“Would Amy know?” Tracy said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s one way to go. I could rush down to the lockup, ask her what is there in her apartment she wouldn’t want the cops to find that would absolutely clinch the case against her. Interesting as hell to hear what she says to that.”

“You really think it’s that bad?” Tracy said.

“Dirkson was smug. At the time I thought it meant he could nail us. Now, I hear this, I figure he must have got the goods on her.”

“So what’s the word, Mark?” Tracy said. “What’s your source giving out?”

Taylor shook his head. “Lid’s on tight. I didn’t even get the report they picked you up.”

Steve fished a doughnut out of the paper bag, dunked it in the coffee, took a bite. “So what have you got, Mark? How we doing on the other fronts?”

Taylor shrugged. “I got a lot of information coming in. But it’s not that helpful. The partner, Marvin Lowery, lives in Great Neck. He was home last night. At least from eight-thirty on. Which isn’t good enough. So far there’s no word from the medical examiner, so we don’t have a time of death. But there’s no way eight-thirty’s going to do it. Let him out, I mean.”

“How long’s the drive to Great Neck?”

“Under an hour. Say, forty-five minutes.” Taylor flipped a page of his notebook. “And I can do better than that, actually. Lowery’s car’s in a garage on 48th Street. According to the attendant, he picked it up somewhere around seven-thirty, quarter to eight.”

“Wait a minute,” Steve said. “Why’s his car on 48th Street?”

“It’s near his office.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t at his office. He was in court. He spent the whole day downtown on Centre Street. So why would he park there?”

“I have the answer,” Taylor said. “Because it’s paid for. He has a monthly rental. The way I see it, he drives in from the island, parks near the office, goes up, checks the answering machine and the mail. Though, probably the mail’s not there that early, but still. According to the garage he parked between eight-thirty and nine yesterday morning, same as usual. When’s court, ten? So I figure he went up to the office, took care of business, then took the subway downtown to court.”

“Interesting,” Steve said. “No matter how you slice it, if his car’s in that garage, that puts him in the neighborhood when the crime took place.”

“Right,” Taylor said.

“And, as you say, the mail probably hadn’t arrived when he was there in the morning, so what would be more natural than that he would go there and check it after court?”

“Sound’s good to me,” Taylor said. “I haven’t made a pass at him directly because he’s on the other side. But if you want me to try it, just say the word.”

Steve shook his head. “No, he’ll just clam up on you. That’s the type of thing, I’d rather spring it on him in court.”

“Okay,” Taylor said. “Anyway, that’s Lowery. Now the detective-what’s his name? — Macklin-he’s another story. He’s a bachelor, lives alone, claims he was home last night.”

“Claims?”

“Yeah, my man spoke to him directly.” Taylor shrugged. “Only way to do it, really. The guy lives in a brownstone, no doorman to verify it with. And his agency’s a one man show. So who you gonna ask? He happens to be the only source of information on his whereabouts. Which cuts both ways. He’s got no alibi on the one hand. On the other, it’s hard to prove he doesn’t.”

“Was he cooperative?” Steve asked.

“Yes and no,” Taylor said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s not like he was cooperative, but he gave a lot of information.”

“How is that?”

“Well, my man played it smart. Calls him up, asks him if he’s the Samuel Macklin just did a job for F.L. Jewelry. Macklin’s suspicious, wants to know why, my man says he heard he’d just got a raw deal in court. Macklin falls all over himself agreeing with that. Before you know it, he’s spilled his guts.”

“Good work, Mark.”

“Yeah, but what have you got? According to Macklin, he left right after court, didn’t go uptown with Fletcher and Lowery. Don’t jump to conclusions-he doesn’t know if they went uptown. He’s just saying he split from the court, doesn’t know where they went and doesn’t care. According to him, he went home, hot, tired and pissed off, changed, showered, put on sloppy clothes, then got some Chinese takeout and rented some video tapes.”

“Any help there?”

“Not a lot. The clerk in the video store knows him, thinks he was in around eight o’clock. Chinese restaurant doesn’t know him and doesn’t remember. Not that it would do any good, since it was right around the same time. Giving him plenty of time to have bumped Fletcher off for making him look like a fool in court. Though if that’s the motive, I don’t see why he’s not killing you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Then we got the boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend or friend?”

“He says he’s the boyfriend. I don’t know what she says, but according to him they’re an item. Anyway, he’d like to help but can’t. He had dinner with her, was supposed to go to the movies with her, something came up and he had to work. He left her at the restaurant, took a cab and went home.”

“I thought he had to work.”

“He works at home. An apartment on East 84th Street. Set up like an office. He had a client with a problem, so he agreed to meet him there. He left her right around seven-thirty, which will probably screw us when we get the autopsy report. For what it’s worth, he’s willing to shade the time.”

Steve Winslow looked at him sharply. “Oh?”

Taylor held up his hand. “Hey, don’t blame me. He volunteered it. Apparently, the guy’s really sold on her, willing to do anything to get her out of a jam.”

“Did you encourage him in this manner?”

“I didn’t do squat. In fact, I haven’t even talked to him, it was one of my men. But he’s home now, in case you want to talk to him.”

“Sure do.”

26

Larry Cunningham was on the phone when Steve and Tracy got there. He was a bookish looking young man with short brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He met them at the door with a phone glued to his ear. He ushered them into the living room at the same time he was advising a client on a stock transaction.

It was actually more office than living room, dominated by a huge computer setup, boasting a printer, a modem, a fax machine, and other electronic equipment the purpose of which Steve and Tracy could only guess at.

While they stood gawking, Larry Cunningham moved papers to unclutter chairs, and gestured to them to sit, never once missing a beat in his phone conversation. He finished his call, sat on the couch, and said, “Isn’t this awful.”

“It is,” Steve said. “But it’s not the end of the world. An arrest is not a conviction. I’m sure Amy is innocent, and we’ll find a way to prove it.”

“But in the meantime she’s in jail.”

“It shouldn’t be long,” Steve said.