The Anonymous Client

tampering with evidence. I must tell you frankly, Sergeant Stams thinks you took something out of that apartment.”
    Steve gave Stams a look. “Sergeant Stams is entitled to his opinion.”
    “He is also of the opinion that Marilyn Harding is your client, and that she told you Bradshaw was dead and asked you to remove some incriminating evidence from that apartment.”
    Steve shook his head. “That’s the trouble with Sergeant Stams. He’s the type of cop who jumps to a conclusion, and then won’t listen to anything else.”
    “It’s funny you should say that.”
    “Oh?”
    “I just happened to be thinking the same thing.”
    “About Sergeant Stams?”
    “No, no,” Dirkson said quickly, before Stams could protest. “No, about jumping to conclusions. Now take our present case, for instance. Stams, here, finds you in Bradshaw’s apartment. He has you searched and finds nothing. From this he concludes that you managed to ditch the evidence.”
    “And you don’t?”
    “I don’t rule out the possibility. But to my mind, an equally logical explanation is that instead of removing evidence, you were actually planting evidence.”
    “May I quote you on that? I may have a cause of action here. You consider planting evidence to be an activity I would logically be engaged in?”
    “Let’s not quibble,” Dirkson said. “I’m making no accusations. I’m exploring possibilities. Now, I have no idea how long you were actually in that room with the body before the police arrived. And I don’t know what you did in that room. And,” Dirkson said, casting a look at the stenographer, “I am certainly not accusing you of searching Bradshaw’s body. However, I wonder if you are aware that a rather large sum of money was found on the body.”
    Steve carefully avoided looking at Tracy. “A sum of money?”
    “Yes. Ten thousand dollars in one thousand dollar bills.”
    “That’s rather a large sum of money for a person to be carrying around with him.”
    “Isn’t it? Now, without making any accusations, I’m just wondering if there is any chance you planted that money on the body?”
    “Why in the world would I do that?”
    “I don’t know. But if you did, and I can prove it, I promise you that you will find yourself disbarred.”
    “Thanks for the warning.”
    “Don’t take it lightly. There’s a good chance you could find yourself indicted as an accessory to murder.”
    Steve yawned.
    “All right,” Dirkson said. “I’m through playing games. I’ve told you what the score is, so you’re completely aware of the seriousness of the situation. This is a murder case. I want the name of your client.”
    Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
    Dirkson took a breath. “I could have you charged with obstruction of justice.”
    “Make up your mind. A minute ago you were going to charge me as an accessory. If you do, you could hardly charge me with obstructing justice for refusing to answer questions. In fact, it would be your duty to inform me I didn’t have to answer questions and anything I said might be used against me.”
    With that, Steve Winslow pulled up a chair next to Tracy Garvin, sat down, and said, “How’s it going?”
    Tracy looked at him, blinked, found herself unable to speak.
    Dirkson turned to Stams. “Bring in Taylor.”
    Stams nodded, went out, and returned escorting Mark Taylor into the room.
    Dirkson rose to meet him.
    “Mr. Taylor, is it? Please sit down.”
    Dirkson indicated a chair. Taylor sat in it. He did not look happy.
    Dirkson sat down again, settled in. “Well now, your name is Mark Taylor?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Of the Taylor Detective Agency?”
    “Yes.”
    “What brings you down here at this late hour, Mr. Taylor? Come to renew your license?”
    Mark Taylor shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
    “You heard him, Mark,” Steve said. “He’s threatening to go after your license. Go ahead. Talk. Tell him everything you know.”
    Mark Taylor took a breath. “Well, Tuesday morning Steve Winslow called me into his office—”
    “This Tuesday?”
    “Yes.”
    “What time?”
    “Around ten-thirty.”
    “Go on.”
    “He gave me a list of serial numbers he wanted traced.”
    Dirkson sat up in his chair. “He what?”
    “He gave me a list of serial numbers to trace.”
    “What kind of serial numbers?”
    “The serial numbers off of thousand dollar bills.”
    Dirkson looked at Stams. Neither man could quite believe what he’d