The Baxter Trust

you identify the body?”
    “I don’t know what you mean by identify.”
    “Had you seen the man before?”
    “As I told the police, I thought I had.”
    “And where had you seen him?”
    “In my shop.”
    “And when would that have been?”
    “I told this to the police.”
    “And now I’d like you to tell me. When did you see him?”
    “I can’t be sure. Either the fifth or the sixth.”
    “Of June?”
    “What do you think, November? Yes, of June.”
    “To the best of your recollection the man was in your shop on the fifth or sixth of June?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And what did he want?”
    “He wanted me to make a copy of a key.”
    There was a reaction from the spectators. Dirkson glanced around. Newspaper reporters were scribbling furiously.
    Dirkson smiled. “I’d like to pin this down. Did you make this copy from a wax impression or from another key?”
    “From another key.”
    “And the man who came into your shop and gave you the key and asked you to make a copy was the man you identified at the morgue?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And what was the name of the man you identified?”
    “Robert Greely.”
    “Cross-examine.”
    Dirkson turned and walked back to his seat. As far as he was concerned, his work for the afternoon was over. Winslow would really tear into this one. The guy hadn’t identified the key. His identification of Greely was shaky at best, and those bifocals the guy wore made it look as if he could hardly see. Winslow would tear him apart.
    Dirkson looked over at Winslow. Winslow appeared bored. He waved his hand. “No questions, Your Honor.”
    That announcement drew a bigger reaction than Callen’s testimony about the key. Dirkson frowned.
    “The witness is excused,” Judge Crandell said. “Call your next witness.”
    Dirkson looked at the clock. He still had a good half hour left before adjournment. After the testimony about the key, any witness he put on would be an anticlimax. He didn’t want that. So what could he do?
    Then it came to him. All right. Go for the kill. Tie it down. If Winslow was going to let him do it, why not? Give ’em the motivation too, and tie it all together.
    Dirkson stood up. “Call Maxwell Baxter.”
    An excited murmur ran through the courtroom. Maxwell Baxter! This was the name. This was the one they’d all come to see. And it was happening now. Necks craned to watch the aloof, distinguished millionaire as he walked to the stand.
    Inside the gate, Maxwell Baxter stopped to look over at his niece. The effect that look created in the minds of the jurors could not have been a good one in terms of the defense. It was the look a stern parent might give a particularly naughty and unruly child.
    Maxwell Baxter met Steve Winslow’s eyes. The look Max gave Steve was one of pure contempt. Steve merely smiled.
    Max took the stand and was sworn in. Dirkson approached the bench.
    “Your Honor,” he said. “This is a hostile witness. He is the uncle of the defendant, and he has refused to answer any questions put to him by the police or the prosecution. Therefore I may need to ask leading questions.”
    “I will reserve that ruling until it becomes necessary,” Judge Crandell said.
    Dirkson turned to the witness. “You are Maxwell Baxter, the uncle of the defendant?”
    Max stared at Dirkson as one might stare at a particularly loathsome bug. “I am.”
    “You are, I believe, her trustee?”
    “That is correct.”
    “Is hers a large trust?”
    “That depends what you mean by large.”
    “What is the amount of the trust?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know.”
    “And yet you are the trustee?”
    “That is correct.”
    “And yet you state you don’t know the amount of the trust?”
    “That is correct.”
    “Why don’t you know the amount of the trust?”
    “A large portion of the trust is in stocks, which constantly fluctuate. It would take an accountant to tell you what they’re worth.”
    Dirkson looked at Judge Crandell in helpless exasperation.
    “Very well,” Judge Crandell said. “You have your ruling.”
    Dirkson turned back to Maxwell Baxter. “Mr. Baxter, is Sheila Benton’s trust worth more than a million dollars?”
    “It is.”
    There was a reaction from the spectators.
    “Is it worth several million dollars?”
    “What do you mean by several?”
    “You tell me. How many millions would you say the trust is worth?”
    “I’m sure I couldn’t say.”
    “More than five?”
    “Yes.”
    “More than