The Baxter Trust

bullshit. You’re Sheila’s trustee. Can you really imagine her coming to you and saying, ‘There’s a blackmailer who knows something about me that you wouldn’t want to know. Unless you give him a lot of money he’s going to tell you.’”
    “That’s absurd.”
    “Well then, you explain it to me so that it doesn’t sound absurd.”
    “That’s not the point,” Max said, with a condescending smile. “The point is, your fine theory is full of holes. If Greely were blackmailing me, why would he bother with Sheila at all? You see what I mean? It’s illogical.”
    Steve smiled back. “Yes, but that’s not my problem. I don’t have to prove my theory, I just have to advance it. Then the prosecution has to disprove it. Because they have to prove Sheila guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. Reasonable doubt, that’s all I need.”
    Steve paused while Max thought that over.
    “Well, there you are,” Steve said. “You’re the perfect red herring. I’ll dangle you in front of the jury and claim you killed him. The prosecution will have to prove you didn’t.”
    “That’s ridiculous. By your own reasoning, there was no way Greely could blackmail me over the trust.”
    “That’s right,” Steve said. “I’ll claim he was blackmailing you over the will.”
    Max was genuinely surprised. “The will!”
    “That’s right. If he knew something that could upset the will, you’d be in a position to lose everything. It’d be a dandy motive for murder.”
    “You’re crazy,” Max said, shaking his head. “The will was probated twenty years ago. It’s good as gold. There’s no way on earth he could have upset the will.”
    “Oh no?” Steve said with a smile. “Try this on for size. No person convicted of murder may profit by inheritance from his victim. Suppose you killed your father. Suppose Greely knew about it. His testimony could convict you, and convicting you would upset the will.”
    For once, Max lost his cool. His face reddened. “Well you son of a bitch.”
    Steve shrugged. “Funny. That’s what Sheila said.”

31.
    I T WAS A THIRD-FLOOR walkup in a grungy brownstone east of Allen. No one seemed to be home. Steve Winslow had been pounding on the door to no response. He was just turning to go when the lock clicked back and the door opened, revealing a gaunt man with disheveled gray hair and bloodshot, sleepy eyes. “Mr. Baxter?” Steve inquired. “Yeah?”
    “Steve Winslow. I’m Sheila Benton’s attorney.”
    For the first time, there was a gleam of interest in those tired eyes.
    “Oh. Come in. Come in.”
    Theodore Baxter stepped back and ushered Steve into a small, ill-furnished living room.
    Baxter pointed to the couch. “Please sit down.”
    Steve sat. Baxter moved some papers off an old easy chair and sat too.
    “Excuse me,” he said. “But I was asleep. I work nights.”
    “I know. Castle Hotel. Night clerk.”
    “I see you do your homework.”
    “I try.”
    Baxter shook his head. “Terrible business, this thing with Sheila. I can’t imagine her doing such a thing.”
    “I can’t either.”
    “You think she’s innocent?”
    “Yes I do.”
    “And so do I. But, of course, it’s not what we think, it’s what a jury will think. So how can I help you?”
    “I hoped you could clear up a few points for me.”
    “Certainly. Would you care for some coffee?”
    “No thanks.”
    “Would you mind if I made some? I find it hard to function when I get up without coffee.”
    “Go right ahead.”
    Baxter got up, ducked into his kitchen alcove and put a pot of water on the stove.
    Steve waited patiently while Baxter clattered around in the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers.
    “Sure you won’t have some?” Baxter called. “It’s only instant, but it’s not that bad.”
    “No thanks. I’ve had my daily quota.”
    Baxter emerged from the kitchen, holding a cracked coffee mug. He sat down and took a sip. A bit of color seemed to return to his cheeks. He looked up at Steve.
    “I presume that Max has told you all about me?”
    “I believe he mentioned you, yes.”
    “I’m sure he did,” Baxter said. He sighed. “I don’t suppose I can make you see it from my point of view. My dear brother Max is a pompous, self-righteous, patronizing, moralistic snob.”
    “I don’t find that hard to see.”
    Baxter took another sip. “My father was the same way. Even more so, if that’s possible. At any rate, he was the stingiest man in the world. Except when it