The Baxter Trust

next day. That made the two ... tragedies seem unrelated. It was almost as if”—Max coughed—“as if he were in jail when it happened.”
    “He did it for the money, didn’t he?”
    “Yes. Father only had months to live. Alice would have gotten the bulk of the estate. She would have been his trustee. He thought with her gone he’d be next in line. He would have been too, if he hadn’t gone to jail.” Max coughed again. He looked at Steve. “You seem to know all this anyway.”
    “Most of it. Sheila reminded Phillip about playing doctor, and Phillip told Teddy. Teddy knew if Sheila mentioned the incident to you you’d figure it out. So he had to get rid of Sheila. But killing her was too risky. There was too great a chance he’d be connected up somehow. So he needed a more indirect method—one that would leave him in the clear. Framing Sheila seemed to be the perfect solution.”
    Max’s eyes closed, then lifted open again. “That’s right ... and the son of a bitch almost got away with it.”
    Steve looked at him. “You really love Sheila, don’t you?”
    “I should,” Max said weakly. He looked up at Steve. “I’m her father.”
    Steve just blinked at him. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Even a simple “what?” sounded wrong.
    Max’s face contorted with pain. The pain passed. The features relaxed. He looked back at Steve.
    “Sheila doesn’t know,” he said. “Even Teddy never knew. Father did. That’s why he was such a stickler for morality. That’s why he put that asinine provision in the trust.”
    “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because I know what you’re doing.” Max’s voice had fallen to a whisper. “My detectives have told me. You’re looking for Sheila’s father. You’re planning on springing the idea that he isn’t dead on the jury. That would make for a lot of sensational headlines, get you a lot of publicity, and maybe even get her off.” A pause for another spell of pain. “You don’t have to do that now. Stop looking for Sheila’s father. Go to the D.A. and explain what happened here. Except of course, what I just told you. But everything else. You handle it right, and he’ll drop the case.”
    Steve frowned. “Yeah, maybe,” he said dubiously.
    Max looked at him, and almost managed a grin. “I know what you’re thinking. That way you lose your ... your brilliant courtroom finale. But that way Sheila never has to know. You save her a lot of unnecessary grief. A lot of grief.”
    Max coughed and almost lost consciousness. He rallied, and locked eyes with Steve, taunting him, challenging him to do the right thing. “Can you do that, counselor? Whose interests come first? Your client’s or your own?”
    Max’s eyes glazed over and his head fell back.
    Steve touched his wrist, feeling for a pulse. He wasn’t sure how to do it, but he was sure that there would be none.
    He slowly got to his feet. He stood there on the roof, not looking at either of the two bodies, just looking off into space.
    So, it had come down to this. If he went back into court, he could clear the case up in spectacular fashion. He could make a name for himself. He’d be the hero, the winner, the courageous attorney who’d figured the whole thing out, who’d gotten his client off.
    But at a price. It would take time. It would drag on. And meanwhile there was a chance those trails he’d started in California would be followed up, if not by the police then by zealous reporters sensing they hadn’t gotten the whole story. They’d follow the leads in California and find out what he had—that Sheila’s father was someone from the East Coast. A whole area of speculation would open up. And maybe—and Steve knew it was a slim chance—just maybe the real truth would come out.
    If he did what Max said, if he took his story to the D.A., it would work. Steve was sure of it. The trial would be over. Sheila would be released, the case would be solved, and the cops would grab all the credit. And that would be the end of it. There would be no reason for anyone to ever find out about the California end of it at all. Sheila would be safe.
    But for a price. Because the press and the public would be left with the image of Steve Winslow that he had adopted in his client’s behalf. The clown. The fool. He would remain a joke. The inexperienced young attorney whose client would have been convicted if the police hadn’t happened to break the case. It would be, to all intents