Catch a Falling Knife

would happen if somebody threw a match into the middle of the courtroom.
    Fortunately, Mark didn’t look like a defendant as he sat beside Burt at the defense table. Since he had been kept in the holding cell over the weekend, instead of being transferred to the county jail, he still wore his own clothes. Burt had taken him a suit from my apartment and the two of them, dressed alike and sitting side by side, could have been fellow attorneys.
    The prosecuting attorney was a pretty young lady. I felt initial relief when I saw her, I suppose because she didn’t look like someone who would throw the book at Mark, but then she got up and proposed a bail amount so high that I couldn’t possibly afford it. My feelings about her changed abruptly and I wished that a California-style earthquake would send the ceiling crashing down on her.
    Burt argued in a logical manner that Mark wasn’t dangerous, nor was he a threat to skip town. His family resided here. At least his surrogate family, I thought. Burt said that Mark had no prior criminal record and he had always been a model citizen. Well, except for the harassment charge. However, Burt was able to get the bail amount reduced to a figure that I could handle, but high enough so that if Mark did decide to take off Albert would probably become a bounty hunter and go after him.
     
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    “Stay in the car, Mark. Your presence might prejudice the results we hope to get.”
    Mark reluctantly acquiesced to Burt’s request, acknowledging that he would be more of a hindrance than a help.
    Burt had parked a few doors from Donna’s apartment because he didn’t want her to be able to look out her window and see Mark. Detective Johnson, on the other hand, parked right in front of her door and he was waiting for us when Burt and I walked up.
    “Donna’s car is here, so she must be home,” I said, pointing the old Chevy out to the two of them.
    “I called her and made sure she would be home,” Detective Johnson said, the coldness in his voice indicating what he thought of my reservations about his competence. “You just better not be wasting my time.”
    He rang the bell and as we waited I noted that the broken front window had been replaced. Donna opened the door; she seemed surprised to see me and even more surprised to have Burt introduced to her as Mark’s attorney. However, she shook hands with Burt and led us into the main room of the apartment.
    When she offered us seats, Detective Johnson said, “We’re not going to stay long. We want to talk to you briefly about your role as the Shooting Star.”
    “Is that going to be brought out at the trial?” Donna asked, looking from one of us to another.
    “Your own testimony will bring it up,” Detective Johnson said. “That’s where you were the night of Elise’s murder. Right?”
    “But if you answer our questions now,” Burt said, smoothly, “maybe we can downplay it. Do your parents know you were the Shooting Star?”
    Donna shook her head.
    “How long did you dance as the Shooting Star?” Detective Johnson asked.
    “About…three months. I started in December.”
    “How did you get to and from Club Cavalier?”
    “I drove my car. But I didn’t park in the parking lot.”
    “How did you get along with Lefty?” Burt asked.
    Donna hesitated. “You mean the owner? Fine…we got along fine.”
    “But you didn’t give him your correct name. And you asked to be paid in cash.”
    “That was…I didn’t want people to know I was doing it.”
    “It also allowed you to avoid paying taxes on your earnings.”
    “I…”
    “We’re not going to rat to the IRS on you,” Detective Johnson said, irritably, looking at Burt. “We just want the truth. Could you please put on your wig and mask?”
    “Why?”
    “Because Mrs. Morgan saw you dance. We just want to verify that it was really you.”
    Donna looked at me, warily. “I’ve already put on my mask and wig for her.”
    “I’d like to see you in them again,” I said, trying to placate her. If she refused, could Detective Johnson force her to wear them?
    Donna hesitated, and said, “I’m not going to take off my clothes.”
    “That’s okay,” Burt said, with a smile. “We have good imaginations.”
    Actually, I wondered if I would be able to verify her identity better with her clothes off, but when she turned and went into the bedroom I figured we’d take it one step at a