The Anonymous Client

he weaved in and out, ignoring the double yellow line and the “ KEEP IN ONE LANE ” sign. He caught the Mercedes just as it emerged from the tunnel into Manhattan.
    Marilyn Harding went down Second Avenue, across 34th Street, and pulled into a garage. Steve didn’t want to go into the same garage, but there were no others around. He pulled over to the curb and waited. About five minutes later Marilyn emerged, tucking her keys and her claim ticket into her purse. Steve hopped out of his car and tagged along behind.
    She walked down the street and went into Macy’s. Steve groaned. After hours of sitting in the car, he wasn’t up to hours of shopping. And Macy’s wasn’t really a good place to approach her.
    On the other hand, Steve realized, there was no good place to approach her. Well, what the hell. He had to take a shot.
    Marilyn hopped on the escalator. Steve hopped on behind. As soon as she lights, he told himself.
    She lit in lingerie. Just his luck. As if he didn’t have enough problems, the saleslady would think he was a masher. Well, the hell with it.
    Steve walked up behind her. “Miss Harding?”
    Marilyn wheeled around. She was holding a lacy bra. From the expression on her face, one would have thought she’d been caught shoplifting it. Then she recognized him.
    “You!”
    “Yes. Steve Winslow, in case you’ve forgotten. I thought it was time we finished our talk.”
    Marilyn’s eyes flashed. “Oh, is that so. I’ve been indicted for murder. I have a lawyer, and he doesn’t happen to be you.”
    “I sure wish you could convince some other people of that.”
    “What?”
    “Hasn’t Fitzpatrick been after you to get you to admit you hired me?”
    “Oh, that.”
    “Yeah. That.”
    “I don’t know why—Wait a minute. I’m not talking to you.”
    “Yeah. I noticed. Look, I don’t want to talk to you about the case. I just thought we could discuss a mutual acquaintance.”
    “What?”
    “Sheila Benton.”
    Marilyn frowned. “What?”
    “Yeah. Old school chum. You went to college together, remember?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Sheila was my first client. My only client, actually. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think so?”
    Marilyn said nothing, just kept staring at him.
    “So I wondered. When was the last time you two talked?”
    Marilyn kept her lips clamped tightly together.
    “Huh?” Steve persisted.
    “I have nothing to say to you,” Marilyn said.
    “Fine. Understandable,” Steve said. “You’d like to be rid of me? Want to see me walk out that door? Then just answer one question and I will. When was the last time you talked to Sheila Benton?”
    Marilyn took a breath, looked down at the floor, then looked Steve right in the eye. “I haven’t seen Sheila in years,” she said.
    Steve looked back at her and shook his head. “God, I wish I could believe that.”
    Steve turned on his heel and walked off. On the escalator down he shook his head again. Yeah, Judy. Great advice. This is really getting me somewhere.
    Steve emerged onto 34th Street just in time to see his rental car being towed away.
    By the time Steve Winslow, one hundred twenty-five dollars poorer, had retrieved his car from the pier, dropped it off at the rental agency, and hailed a cab back to the office, he was in a foul mood to say the least. He had also decided something. Fuck this. No more chasing will-o’-the-wisps. No more groping in the dark. If his client wanted to come forward, fine, but in the meantime he was through. Marilyn Harding could go hang for all he cared. Dirkson could think what he liked. Steve Winslow, attorney, was not involved in the case, and that was that.
    Having made that decision, Steve walked into his outer office fully prepared to face the wrath of Tracy Garvin.
    He didn’t. Tracy was over her snit. More than that, she was excited. It didn’t take him long to learn why.
    There was another letter. Typewritten. Unsigned. Just like the first two. And, to the best Steve could determine, written on the same typewriter.
    It said: “Sit in on the trial.”

25.
    D ISTRICT A TTORNEY H ARRY DIRKSON BOWED , smiled, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this will be a very brief opening statement, because this is a very simple case. We expect to prove that on the ninth day of October, at approximately five-thirty in the afternoon, the defendant, Marilyn Harding, did feloniously and with malice of forethought, kill one Donald Blake, alias David C.