The Baxter Trust

body about a half hour ago. Must have rousted some poor cleaner out of his bed and shook him down for his records. As soon as I get the name, I’ll start working on it, but, for your information it’s three in the morning and there’s not going to be that much I can do.”
    “What about the girl?”
    “What about her?”
    “What have you got on her?”
    Taylor stared at him. “Shit, Steve, you didn’t say anything about the girl. You said find out everything I could about the dead man. And why the hell would you want to hire me to investigate your own client?”
    Steve smiled and shook his head. “You’d know if you met her.”
    The phone rang. Taylor scooped it up.
    “Taylor ... Yeah ... Great. Thanks.”
    He hung up. “Okay. We got it The name is Robert Greely.”
    “Mean anything to you?”
    “Not a thing. I'll go to work on it.”
    Taylor snatched up the phone again and started to dial.
    “Another phone I can use?” Steve asked.
    Taylor pointed to a desk in the corner. Steve went over, pulled out his address book, picked up the phone and dialed.
    The phone rang six times before the groggy voice of Sheila Benton said, “Hello?”
    “Hi, Sheila. Steve Winslow.”
    “What?”
    “It's Steve Winslow. You know. Your lawyer.”
    “Jesus Christ.”
    “No. Steve Winslow. The cops identified the dead man. Just thought you'd like to know.”
    “What? What's that? They identified him?”
    “That's right. The name is Robert Greely. That mean anything to you?”
    “No. Who did you say?”
    “Robert Greely. You sure you never heard of him?”
    “Sure I'm sure. What the hell time is it, anyway?”
    “Three o'clock.”
    “Jesus Christ. Couldn't you have waited till morning?”
    “If you're lying to me about knowing Greely it won't make any difference.”
    “Why?”
    “’Cause you'll be arrested within the next hour.” Steve hung up the phone.

18.
    S HEILA B ENTON CAME DOWN THE stairs and checked her mailbox. As expected, the mail had not come yet. Damn, she thought. She really could have used a hit of coke, what with how things were, what with how much sleep she'd gotten.
    At least Johnny would be back. God, she needed him. He'd been so strong and understanding on the phone last night, when he'd called her. And so sorry about the mix-up about the hotel. Though that wasn't really like him, to make a mistake like that. He was usually so precise about everything, which was surprising, considering how much he liked to kid around. Well, it just showed he was human. Told the wrong hotel to her and to his secretary. Because he'd stayed there before, and he'd confused the names. Could have happened to anyone. And he was a real brick on the phone. Not to worry about anything. He'd be there and he'd take care of it.
    Sheila couldn't wait to see him.
    She came out the front door, started for the car and stopped.
    Steve Winslow was coming up the street. He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before. He'd shaved, but his hair was poorly combed, his eyes were bloodshot and his jacket looked as if he'd slept in it.
    He raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning, Miss Benton.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Oh, I was in the neighborhood, I just thought I’d drop by.”
    “You look like hell.”
    “I don’t feel so hot either. It happens that I’ve been working while you’ve been getting your beauty sleep.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah. This guy Greely. The guy you don’t know. The dead guy. Well, it happens the police don’t know him either. He has no criminal record. His prints are not on file. That’s the good news.”
    “Why is that good news?”
    “Wake up. The theory is the guy was blackmailing you so you killed him. If the guy had a police record as a blackmailer that would just about sew it up.”
    “Oh. But he doesn’t?”
    “No. And that’s gotta be worrying the police some. And at this point, keeping the police worried is about the best we can hope for.”
    Sheila looked at him. “Why do you say that?”
    Steve shrugged. “Well, that’s the bad news. The cops have located Greely’s address. It’s a dive in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. But here’s the thing. The cops have sewed it up tight. There’s no information coming out whatsoever. I’ve got detectives crawling all over the place and they can’t find out a thing. And that’s strange, ’cause we got a pipeline into police headquarters— that’s how we know the cops I.D.’d Greely and found his