The Innocent Woman

address?”
    “A young woman.”
    “She hailed your cab?”
    “Yes, she did.”
    “Would you recognize this woman if you saw her again?”
    “Yes, I would.”
    “Fine,” Dirkson said. “Mr. Keddie, let me ask you this? Do you keep a record of your trips?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “A written record?”
    “That’s right.”
    Dirkson marked a paper for identification, then handed it to the witness. “Mr. Keddie, I hand you a paper marked for identification as People’s Exhibit Four and ask you if you recognize it?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “What do you recognize it to be?”
    “That is my trip sheet for the night of June tenth.”
    “Now, the jurors will have an opportunity to see this, but for the purpose of your testimony, could you explain briefly what a trip sheet is?”
    “Sure. It’s a record of all the trips I was hired for in the course of the day. It records where I went, what time and how much I was paid.”
    “Now, the trip you were referring to—when you took the young woman—is that on the sheet?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Could you point it out to me and tell me where the trip was to?”
    “Yes. It was to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street.”
    “Seventh Avenue and 48th Street?”
    “That’s right.”
    “That was the address to which you brought the young woman?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Is the time of that trip noted there?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “And what is the time of that trip?”
    “Eight o’clock.”
    “Eight P.M.?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You picked up a young woman and took her to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street at eight P.M.?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “You say you would recognize this young woman if you saw her again?”
    “Yes, I would.”
    Dirkson nodded his approval. “Thank you, Mr. Keddie. Now, let me ask you this—did you communicate what you just told me to the police?”
    “I didn’t go to the police. They came to me.”
    “I understand. But once they did, did you tell them substantially what you told me?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “And did they subsequently ask you to look at a lineup?”
    “Yes, they did.”
    “And who was in the lineup?”
    “Five young woman.”
    “Was one of those young women the defendant, Amy Dearborn?”
    “Yes, she was.”
    “You recognize the defendant, Amy Dearborn, as one of the women you saw in the lineup?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “And was the defendant, Amy Dearborn, the young woman who hailed your cab that night at approximately eight P.M., the young woman you took to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street?”
    “No, she was not.”
    Dirkson frowned. “She was not?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then how is it that you’ve identified her? How did you pick her out of a lineup?”
    “I saw her.”
    “Where?”
    “Standing on the sidewalk.”
    “When?”
    “When I drove up.”
    “When you drove up where?”
    “Like I said. On 48th Street. When I drove up on 48th Street she was standing there waiting to meet the cab.”
    “Then she was not the woman in the cab?”
    “No. I just said she wasn’t.”
    “And the woman in the cab—is she present here in court?”
    “Sure. I saw her on the way in.”
    “Do you know who that woman is?”
    “Sure. I never met her, but I identified her picture. Picked it out of a bunch of others.” Keddie pointed to the back of the courtroom. “She’s sitting right there. Her name’s Tracy Garvin. She’s the secretary for Steve Winslow.” Keddie jerked his thumb. “You know. The defendant’s lawyer.”

43.
    “W HAT A FUCKING MESS .”
    “No shit,” Taylor said. The phone rang and he scooped it up. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Don’t bother ringing. Just tell them he isn’t here.” He hung up the phone. “Reporters. Media’s going nuts. They keep calling me asking for you.”
    “They’re not calling you,” Tracy said. “Call forwarding’s on.”
    “Well, maybe you should take it off,” Taylor said. “It’s not too bright to be hiding out and routing your calls to where you are.”
    “Let the switchboard filter the calls, Mark,” Steve said. “I can’t afford to miss a call right now. I really need a break.”
    “Yeah, I know. What a kick in the head.”
    “I should have seen it coming,” Steve said. “And I didn’t. What a schmuck. They subpoenaed the cab driver, I figured it was the one who took Amy downtown. It never occurred to me it would be Tracy’s cab.”
    “Why not?” Tracy said.
    Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Dirkson foxed me. Suckered me in.