The Anonymous Client

want you to investigate the case. Just her.”
    “Why?”
    Steve took a breath. “Let’s look at this case objectively, Mark.”
    “O.K.”
    “To begin with, someone sent me those letters.”
    Mark Taylor laughed nervously. “What letters, Steve? I don’t know about any letters, remember?”
    “Right, right,” Steve said impatiently. “You don’t know about any letters. It’s just you and me talking here, Mark. But if it makes you nervous, we’ll have a hypothetical conversation. Suppose someone sent me some letters.”
    Taylor groaned. “Oh Jesus, cut the comedy.”
    Steve shrugged. “You’re hard to please. All right. Either way you want it, start with the letters. Someone sent them to me. And the question is why?”
    “And the answer is I don’t know. And I bet you don’t know either.”
    “Right. I don’t know who and I don’t know why. But I do know one thing. They were sent to me.”
    Taylor frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “That’s the key to this whole thing. I don’t know who this person was. And I don’t know what sort of trouble they were in that made them feel they needed an attorney. But I do know that when they did decide they needed an attorney, they thought of me. And that’s mighty interesting.”
    “Why?”
    “Figure it out. I’ve only been an attorney for one year. I’ve had one case and one client. Sheila Benton. And after the showing I made in court on that case, there was no reason for anyone to assume I was any good.
    “And then someone sends me a retainer. Why me? How would they hear of me? How would they know?”
    Taylor frowned. “I see.”
    “Right,” Steve said. “It’s not as if I were William Kunstler or something. Nobody knows me. The only person in the world who would have any reason to think I’m a good attorney would be Sheila Benton. She’s the only person I could think of who could possibly recommend me to someone who was in a jam.”
    “That makes sense,” Taylor said. “So why don’t you ask her?”
    “Because I don’t know where she is. She’s in Europe, that’s all I know. Her itinerary was deliberately vague. She wanted to travel, forget, and not be reached for anything. I have complete power of attorney to handle her affairs. She trusts me completely. With everything. Except knowing where she is.”
    “I see.”
    “So start digging around. See if there’s anyone connected with this case that you can link with Sheila Benton.”
    “Right.”
    “Start with Marilyn Harding’s circle of acquaintances.”
    Taylor grimaced. “I knew you were going to say that.”
    “Well,” Steve said, “they both come from money. It’s a logical assumption.”
    “That’s just it,” Taylor said. “Steve, I’m your friend, and I want to help you. And I need the work. I’m not in business for my health. But, Jesus.”
    “What?”
    “Well, if I go sticking my nose around Marilyn Harding’s business, the cops are going to get onto it. They’re not going to be pleased.”
    “You’re a private investigator. You have every right to investigate, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So I’m hiring you to investigate. If the cops give you a hard time, you refer them back to me.”
    “I know. It’s just the whole letter business. I don’t want to be interrogated again.”
    “You and me both,” Steve said.
    Steve walked back to his office. Tracy Garvin was at the desk. She looked at him when he came in the door. He couldn’t make out her mood behind those large-rimmed glasses. The girl, Steve realized, was something of an enigma. How could one girl be so old in so many ways, and so immature in others, so smart in so many ways, and so slow in others. Just what was her story anyway?
    For the moment, Steve realized, he didn’t care. He had too much on his mind to deal with her. He gave her a noncommittal nod and plodded into his inner office.
    He sat at his desk to think things over. Though, he realized, there was nothing much to think about. Just let Mark come up with something. Anything. Something that got him off the hook. A lead. A human being he could go to and say, “Damn it, you’re my client, now what the hell is going on?”
    And even if they wouldn’t tell him, it wouldn’t matter. Because just knowing who the client was would be enough. Because, Steve realized, it didn’t really matter who the client was. All that mattered was that it wasn’t Marilyn Harding.
    It was three hours later when the phone rang.
    “Got it,