The Baxter Trust

one thing you saw in the window at Saks Fifth Avenue.”
    “Well ...”
    “Yes?”
    “Damn it, I’m thinking.”
    “Good plan.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Keep thinking.”
    “Damn it—”
    “Thought of it yet?”
    “Yes!” She practically screamed it at him.
    “Good,” he said calmly. “What was it?”
    “A swimsuit.”
    “What kind?”
    “A bikini.”
    “What color?”
    “Blue.”
    Steve smiled, shook his head and locked his eyes onto hers.
    “The reason I asked about Saks,” he said gently, “is that I passed by there this morning. The window display is devoted to evening wear.”
    Her eyes faltered. “Well, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was Bloomingdale’s where I saw the swimsuit. Yes, I’m sure it was Bloomingdale’s.”
    He smiled again. “You see. Your story won’t stand up. Not under cross-examination. And that’s just a sample of what the D.A.’s gonna throw at you. He’ll eat you up.”
    “No fair,” Sheila said. ‘That’s just dumb luck. If you hadn’t happened to know what was in the window at Saks—”
    Steve laughed. “Are you kidding me? You think I have the faintest idea what’s in the windows at Saks Fifth Avenue? You think that’s something I would really notice? That was a bluff, and not a very good one at that. The DA’s gonna fire a million questions at you, and sometimes he’ll be bluffing and sometimes he won’t, and you’re not gonna know which is which.”
    Sheila bit her lip.
    “Now,” Steve said. “I certainly don’t want to advise you, but if I were you and I were going to tell that story, the first thing I would do would be get my ass over to Fifth Avenue and find out what’s in the goddamned windows.”
    Sheila hadn’t realized it, but she’d made a decision. She realized it now. She realized it from the sense of loss she felt when she heard him say, “I certainly don’t want to advise you.” The decision, of course, was to have him act as her attorney. She wanted him. Strangely enough, she felt comfortable with this unconventional man who made her feel uncomfortable. There was something reassuring in the way he distrusted her. Something about him she liked. She took his statement to be a rejection of her case, and from her disappointment, she realized she wanted him.
    “You don’t want to advise me?” she said.
    He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want to suborn perjury, compound a felony or conspire to conceal a crime.” He looked at her and said, pointedly, “That’s why I’m not advising you to look in those windows, and if you should look in those windows, it would certainly be without my knowledge. That advice I can’t give you. I’m perfectly willing to advise you on legal matters.”
    “Then you’ll be my attorney?”
    “Just as soon as you give me a retainer.”
    Sheila bit her lip. “You’ll have to get that from Uncle Max.”
    “All right. Get your purse.”
    Sheila looked at him. “We’re going to see Uncle Max?”
    “I’ll call on him later. Right now I want you to take me to Fifth Avenue and show me where you were window-shopping.”
    Sheila looked at him, and a light dawned. “You mean you want me to—”
    “I want to get the time element straight,” he interrupted, pointedly. “The time element’s going to be very important.”
    She stared at him, blinked. “Yes,” she said, slowly. “I can see that it is.”

13.
    D IRKSON GRABBED UP THE PHONE.
    “Yes,” he hissed.
    “Maxwell Baxter’s attorneys are Marston, Marston, and Cramden,” Reese told him.
    “Great. And could you tell me why it took so long to get that information?”
    “Because I’ve been on the phone with the Dunwoody Golf Course.”
    “Oh, yes. And?”
    “The gentlemen in question are not pleased. They seemed to take the attitude that I was preventing you from keeping your golf date.”
    “Yes, yes,” Dirkson said impatiently. “How did you resolve it?”
    “They’ll meet you in the clubhouse after the round. They didn’t mention future campaign contributions.”
    “Fuck you, Reese.”
    “Yes, sir. And Lieutenant Farron just came in.”
    “Send him in.”
    Farron didn’t look happy, but then Dirkson wouldn’t have expected him to. After all, Farron was pretty much in the doghouse over this one.
    “What now?” Dirkson asked.
    Farron shook his head. “We still haven’t traced him.”
    “You came here to tell me that? Come tell me when you have traced him.”
    “You know the girl’s prints are on