The Baxter Trust

figured with the law of averages, eventually someone would call me. It took a year.”
    Taylor nodded, chuckled, shook his head. He was amused, but he also seemed to be preoccupied with something, and Steve had a pretty good idea what it was.
    Taylor picked up the half a sandwich, took a bite, chewed it and cocked his head at Winslow.
    “So the girl hired you?” Taylor said.
    “Yeah.”
    “Not the uncle?”
    “No. The girl called me.”
    Taylor nodded. Swallowed. Pursed his lips. “I’ve dug up some information on Sheila Benton. Not much, but some. And as I understand it, her money is all tied up in trust.”
    “That’s right. Her uncle is the trustee.”
    “That’s what I heard. So she couldn’t very well hire you without her uncle’s consent.”
    “She’s over twenty-one. She can hire anyone she wants.”
    “True. But she can’t pay them. Unless her uncle authorized it.”
    “What’s your point, Mark?”
    “Well, as I understand it, a lawyer from Marston, Marston, and Cramden showed up at the D.A.’s office inquiring into the case.”
    “Oh. Sure. That’s Maxwell Baxter’s attorney. Probably trying to keep a lid on publicity.”
    Taylor seemed uncomfortable. “Could be. The way I heard it, the lawyer claimed to be representing the girl.”
    Steve smiled. “Yes. He would. Maxwell Baxter is a little impulsive. Wants to do everything himself. Don’t worry. I straightened him out.”
    Mark Taylor was surprised. “You spoke to him?”
    “I went to see him. Last night, at his apartment. Just between you and me, the man is a royal pain in the ass. But that doesn’t concern you. As far as you’re concerned, I’m your client You leave Maxwell Baxter to me.”
    “Well, that’s a relief,” Taylor said. He didn’t seem terribly convinced, but he let it drop.
    “So what have you got?” Winslow asked.
    “Well, if you’re representing the girl, nothing good. Of course, we got nothing on the dead man yet, ’cause they just made the I.D. Which leaves us with the physical evidence.”
    Taylor reached for a yellow legal pad on his desk. It was covered with what appeared to be indecipherable scrawl marks. Taylor proceeded to decipher them.
    “Autopsy report. According to the medical examiner, the guy died between twelve-thirty and one-thirty. That is not good because ...” Taylor ran his finger down the page, located another scrawl. “... the police located the cab driver who drove her back to her apartment. The guy picked her up on Madison Avenue and Fifty-eighth Street at a little after one o’clock and dropped her off in front of her apartment at around one-twenty. So even if she happens to have an alibi from twelve-thirty on—which no one can confirm she has, by the way—it’s still no good, ’cause she could have got home at one-twenty, found the guy in her apartment, killed him and then called the police.”
    Steve frowned and digested the information.
    “The saving grace,” Taylor went on, “is that the cab driver’s recollection is hazy, at best. He doesn’t give receipts. He doesn’t write down the exact times on his trip sheets. So you can probably make mincemeat of him on the witness stand.”
    “For all the good that would do,” Steve said. “What about the identification?”
    “There you’re in trouble,” Taylor conceded. ‘The identification will probably stick. The way I get it, the cabbie’s a young guy, fancies himself something an ass-man. I understand this Sheila Benton is something of a dish. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell you’re going to make a jury believe this guy didn’t take a real good look at her.”
    “It doesn’t matter anyway. The police are going to have no problem proving she was in the apartment.”
    “Her alibi’s no good?”
    “I didn’t say that. What else you got?”
    “Fingerprints. The girl’s fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”
    “Figures. It was her knife. Naturally her prints would be on it.”
    “Try telling that to a jury.”
    “I will. What else?”
    “Well, as you said, it was her knife. Came from a rack on her kitchen wall. There were three other knives in the rack. Different sizes. Same make. Not much question that it was her knife.”
    “I could raise the point.”
    “Sure,” Taylor said flatly.
    “What else?”
    “Isn’t that enough?”
    “You mean that’s all you got?”
    Mark Taylor stared at him. “What the hell do you want? I just got on the job today. The police identified the