The Anonymous Client

from the District Attorney’s office, haven’t you?”
    Fitzpatrick looked somewhat taken aback. “Well, I—”
    “Sure you have. Now I’ll tell you what’s going on here. Yesterday I testified before the grand jury. I didn’t give ’em squat, but what I did give ’em, they don’t like. Dirkson’s pissed off and he’s ready to throw the book at me at any given opportunity. And now you come here in the spirit of cooperation. And what do you want to know? If your client ever consulted me. And why? Because I told the grand jury she didn’t. Which means if you can just get me to admit she did, that’s all Dirkson needs. He’ll get me for perjury and obstructing justice, and he’ll have me disbarred. He’s so eager to get me, I bet he offered to let Marilyn cop a manslaughter plea if you could trap me into an admission. That’s what you were talking to Dirkson about, and that’s why you’re here.”
    Fitzpatrick’s eyes faltered. “Oh now, look here—”
    “No. You look here. This interview is over.” Steve pointed his finger in Fitzpatrick’s face. “So if it wouldn’t be presuming too much upon our mutual interests, would you please take your spirit of cooperation and get the fuck out of my office.”

21.
    T HE EXPERT SHOOK HIS HEAD . “They’re not the same.”
    Steve frowned. “You sure?”
    He nodded. “Of course I haven’t done a thorough analysis, but just from a preliminary look I can tell. They’re very similar—probably both Smith Corona—and both in very poor condition. But the alignment’s different. The two letters were both done on the same typewriter, but the note about ‘all good men’ is different. For one thing, the t is broken on the note. It shows up in ‘the,’ ‘time,’ ‘to’ and ‘party.’ Whereas in the letters it’s not broken. That alone is conclusive.”
    “Couldn’t it have been broken after the letters were typed?” Steve asked.
    “No. That’s just one instance. There are others. Of course, I’m just giving you an off-the-cuff answer. If you want a careful analysis it will take some time. But believe me, it’s conclusive.”
    Steve nodded grimly. “Thanks.”
    “You want a complete analysis?”
    Steve shook his head. “What do I owe you?”
    “If that’s all you want, fifty bucks.”
    Steve nodded.
    “How you gonna pay?”
    “In cash.”
    “Fine. What name you want on the receipt?”
    “No receipt.”
    Steve walked out of the office building into the din of Broadway. A crew with a jackhammer was tearing up the sidewalk. Steve detoured around them, stood on the corner, and looked around.
    Damn. Was it the jackhammer that was giving him the headache?
    Or the letters?
    Steve took the letters and the note out of his jacket pocket. Well, at least this time he was prepared for it. He took a stamped, self-addressed envelope out of his other pocket. White, business size. No perfume this time. Steve put the letters and the note in the envelope, sealed it, and dropped it in the mailbox on the corner.
    Steve sighed and rubbed his head.
    What a fucking mess. Bradshaw hadn’t sent the letters. Bradshaw wasn’t his client. Somewhere out there was a person with a half a dollar bill. A person who held Steve’s fate in his hands. A person who could walk up to him at any minute and suddenly turn his world upside down.
    Steve shook his head angrily. Damn it. Snap out of it. Think.
    Steve realized he hadn’t been thinking clearly at all so far. He’d been too caught up in the events, events so bizarre and outlandish they seemed straight out of one of Tracy Garvin’s detective thrillers. That was the problem. The whole thing just didn’t seem real. I mean, come on. Anonymous letters, ten thousand dollar cash retainers, and mystery clients, for Christ’s sake. It just couldn’t be.
    But it was. That was the thing Steve had to concentrate on. It could happen and it had happened. Someone had sent him ten thousand bucks in the mail.
    And there had to be a reason why.

22.
    “S HEILA B ENTON .”
    Mark Taylor leaned back in his desk chair, cocked his head at Steve Winslow, and said, “What about her? I thought she was in Europe.”
    “She is.”
    “So?”
    Steve shifted position in Taylor’s overstuffed clients’ chair. He rubbed his head. “I want you to dig into her background.”
    Taylor stared at him. “What?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You want me to investigate a client in a case that’s been closed for months?”
    “I don’t