The Baxter Trust

born on June fifth.”
    Steve sat bolt upright in his chair. “Jesus Christ!”
    “What?”
    “Call them back,” Steve said excitedly. “Call your men back. Tell them to drop the investigation, dig a hole and crawl into it. Call everybody on the West Coast off.”
    Taylor frowned. “What’s the big deal? You mean because Sheila’s birthday’s earlier she comes into her trust sooner, and—”
    “No, damn it. Don’t you see? June fifth is five months after Alice Benton left New York. So she didn’t go off to California and meet someone. She went out there to have the baby.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “The difference is the father was someone from around here.”
    “So?”
    “Think about it. Suppose Sheila’s father were just a casual trifler for her mother’s affections. Suppose after Alice Baxter left town he forgot about her, never even thought about her again. And suppose about a month ago, he just happened to see something in the paper about Maxwell Baxter—there’s things about Baxter in the paper all the time.”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “So, suppose this particular article just happened to mention Sheila Benton, twenty-four-year-old daughter of Maxwell Baxter’s sister, Alice Baxter.”
    Now it was Taylor’s turn to sit bolt upright in his seat. “You mean he’d figure he’d hit the jackpot and he’d go calling on his long-lost daughter?”
    “You’re damn right he would. And then a lot of things could happen.” Steve looked worried. “If she weren’t happy to see him, he might even wind up with a knife in his back.”

45.
    S TEVE W INSLOW WENT UP THE front steps of the courthouse, just as he had every morning since the trial had begun. Only today there was a difference. Every other day he had gone up the steps alone and unnoticed. Today he was besieged by reporters.
    That should have been gratifying for a young attorney conducting his first trial. It should have been but it wasn’t. Because Steve knew why the reporters were there, and it wasn’t because of his brilliant courtroom technique. It was because of the role he had forced himself to play to try to take the heat off his client and focus the attention of the jury on himself. It was because of the image he had created, the image that was reflected in the newspaper cartoon.
    It was because they saw him as a clown.
    And if there were any doubt in his mind that that was what they thought, their questions dispelled it.
    “How about a statement, Mr. Winslow?”
    “Is it true Maxwell Baxter tried to fire you?”
    “Is it true you’ve never been in court before?”
    “Is it true you drive a cab?”
    Steve pushed by them without comment and entered the courthouse. He was later than usual due to his meeting with Mark Taylor, and when he entered the courtroom he discovered Sheila Benton was already there and was looking around anxiously for him. As their eyes met, it seemed to him he could see the relief washing over her face, as if she were a drowning person who had just grabbed a life preserver. He slid in next to her at the table.
    “Where the hell have you been?” she asked.
    “Working.”
    “Working on what?”
    “Tell you later.”
    Judge Crandell entered, called court to order, and Maxwell Baxter resumed his place on the stand.
    After the fireworks of the day before, there was an aura of expectancy among the spectators, particularly when they saw Maxwell Baxter on the stand. But Dirkson disappointed them. Today was not his day for surprises, today was his day for crisp efficiency, and point by point he methodically laid out the facts that would show that Sheila Benton had had the opportunity to commit the crime.
    “Mr. Baxter,” he began. “Going back to the day of the murder, your niece called on you that morning, did she not?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why did she call on you?”
    “I’m her uncle.”
    “I daresay you are. The point is, she wanted to borrow some money, did she not?”
    “Uh, yes, she did.”
    “One hundred dollars?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you gave it to her?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “In cash?”
    “Yes.”
    “And what time did your niece leave?”
    “I have no recollection.”
    “Well, let’s get at it another way. Was there anyone else in your apartment when your niece arrived that morning?”
    “Yes. My brother Teddy, and his son, Phillip.”
    “Who left first?”
    “My brother and his son.”
    “And Sheila remained behind?”
    “Yes.”
    “How long after your brother left did