The Anonymous Client

noble, romantic leading man who cheerfully takes the blame to save his ladylove. The problem is, you don’t fit the part. Gallant? Noble? Shit, give me a break.”
    “You son of a bitch.”
    “No. You sit there and take it, ’cause you have to. I’m going to tell you what happened. The bit about you finding Bradshaw’s body is all wrong. You made it up from what you heard in court—from the testimony of the detectives who were following Marilyn, and the testimony of the witness who heard a voice in the apartment. You put that together and you say, ‘Hey, I’ll shade my story a little bit and I’ll be the gallant hero and I’ll give her an alibi.’ So you say you got there first and found him dead. You figure your statement, coupled with the testimony of the detectives who were following Marilyn, will put her in the clear. Bradshaw was dead before she got there. Of course, that puts your ass right on the line, but that’s what the romantic hero’s supposed to do, right?
    “And it doesn’t really put your ass on the line, because your story’s so bad no one will believe it. You got to the coffee shop after Marilyn left, but you want me to believe you got to Bradshaw’s first.”
    “She had to pick up her car.”
    “Sure she did, but you got in and out before she even got there? Bullshit. And then you’re just turning the corner when you saw her go in. And then you race around the block and you just see her come out. But you miss her both times. And you’re about to go after her, but then you spot a car tailing her.”
    Steve Winslow stopped and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. I mean, here you are, a poor fucking real estate salesman. You just found a dead body. You just had a huge emotional shock, and you’re suddenly in the worst mess you’ve ever been in in your life, and what do you do? In the midst of all this hysteria, in the midst of racing after your girlfriend to warn her about what has happened, in the midst of New York City traffic, you spot a detective tailing her in a car.” Steve shook his head in mock wonderment. “Wow! What powers of perception! What ice water must run in your veins! This is not just your ordinary romantic hero. This is fucking Superman here.”
    Kemper merely glared at him.
    “No,” Steve said. “Here’s what happened. You missed Marilyn at the coffee shop just like you said, and then you beat it down to Bradshaw’s, went in and found him dead. But you didn’t get there before Marilyn, you got there after. You never saw her there at all. You found Bradshaw dead, you figured Marilyn killed him, you were in a total panic, and you got the hell out of there. I don’t know if you still think she killed him, but you probably do, even if she’s denied it. As far as you’re concerned, it’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s why you’re telling this bullshit story, and acting noble like you were willing to take the rap.”
    Steve leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s what happened. The only thing I don’t know is whether you were the guy who searched Bradshaw’s body, found those bills on it, assumed they were Marilyn’s, and hid ’em in the upstairs hallway.”
    “I didn’t do that.”
    “No, I don’t think so. You’d only have done that if you were trapped there by the arrival of the cops. You weren’t, ’cause they didn’t get you. But the rest of it’s just like I said.”
    “No, it isn’t.”
    Steve nodded sarcastically. “Right, right, noble to the end. Including holding out on your lawyer. Good move. All right, tell me about the dollar.”
    Kemper, startled by the change of subject, said, “What?”
    “The dollar. The half a dollar. The one you sent me in the mail. Why did you do it?”
    Kemper said, “Oh. Well, after I sent you the bills I got back from Bradshaw, I got to worrying.”
    “About what?”
    “Well, Bradshaw’d been too agreeable. Too willing to sell. I got to thinking about it, and it occurred to me maybe he’d pulled a switch.”
    “On the bills?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You got this thought after you bought the bills?”
    “Yeah.”
    “After you sent them to me?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Little slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”
    “Hey, give me a break.”
    “Yeah, sure. You deserve all the breaks. So what about the torn dollar?”
    “Well, if Bradshaw’d switched the bills, there was no way for Marilyn to prove she was your client. So I sent you the half a dollar as a means of