“I don’t know,” Taylor said, choosing his words carefully. “I presume it was because he was retained in the matter.”
Dirkson pounced on that. “He told you he was retained by a client?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the client?”
“I don’t know.”
“Winslow didn’t tell you the name of the client?”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe Winslow instructed you to trace the list of bills, and to put Bradshaw’s apartment under surveillance, and yet he never once mentioned the name of his client?”
“That’s right.”
Dirkson frowned. “Mr. Taylor, I’d like to remind you that this is a murder investigation. Now, you’re not under oath, so there is no question of perjury here. However, I am asking these questions in my official capacity as District Attorney, and a stenographer is taking down your answers. If those answers should be incorrect in any way, you would be in a position of obstructing justice, compounding a felony, and conspiring to conceal a crime.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Steve said. “Come on, Dirkson, we know the law for Christ’s sake. You don’t have to threaten us. Just ask your questions. The guy’s telling the truth.”
Dirkson wheeled around to confront Steve, about to start an argument. He glanced at the stenographer and thought better of it. He turned back to Taylor.
“All right, we’ll let that pass. At any rate, you put Bradshaw’s apartment under surveillance on Tuesday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“How many operatives?”
“Four.”
“Four? Wasn’t that a bit excessive?”
Steve grinned. “I hope the stenographer got that Mark. He asked you that in front of a cash customer. You may have cause of action.”
Dirkson paid no attention. “Why four operatives.”
“I wanted to tail anyone who called on Bradshaw.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I was drawing a blank. I couldn’t get any information the easy way, so I was trying the hard way.”
“At any rate, you used four men?”
“Yes.”
“And what did they report?”
“A young woman called on Bradshaw early Tuesday afternoon. She was in there approximately fifteen minutes. She was shadowed when she left, and later identified as Marilyn Harding.”
“How long was she followed?”
“Only until she was identified.”
“How long was that?”
“Actually, quite a while. First she went shopping. Then she went to dinner and was joined by a couple who turned out to be Douglas and Phyllis Kemper. Phyllis is Marilyn’s stepsister. They all left together and drove to the Harding mansion. By that time my men had an identification so they dropped them.”
“Is that the only time you’ve had Marilyn Harding under surveillance?”
“Yes.”
“And the only significant thing your men learned from following her was her name?”
“No.”
“No? What else?”
“They discovered that Marilyn Harding was being followed by two operatives from the Miltner Detective Agency.”
Dirkson and Stams exchanged glances.
“All right,” Dirkson said. “So much for Marilyn Harding. What about Bradshaw?”
“Bradshaw left his apartment immediately after Miss Harding. He took a cab uptown and proceeded to ditch my shadows.”
“How?”
“Fairly routinely. Walked into a hotel and out another door.” Taylor shrugged. “It happens.”
“Did they pick him up again?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Steve Winslow’s office.”
“What?!”
“They picked him up in Steve Winslow’s office.”
“When?”
“About a half hour later.”
Dirkson was staring at Taylor with great suspicion. “And just how did this happen?”
“Winslow called me and told me Bradshaw was in his office. My men picked him up there and followed him home.”
“Then what?”
“Then Winslow called me into his office and had me dust his desk for fingerprints. I found a perfect set where someone had leaned heavily on the desktop. I ran them down and identified them as belonging to one Donald Blake, a convicted felon with a history of larceny and extortion.”
Dirkson prided himself on having a good poker face, but he couldn’t conceal his surprise. He frowned and thought that over. “I see. So what happened then?”
“Bradshaw left his apartment shortly after six.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“He ditched my shadows.”
“Again?”
“It was not one of my better days.”
Dirkson’s face darkened. “Look here, are you giving me a run around?”
Before Taylor could reply, Steve jumped in. “No he’s not, Dirkson. I told you. This man is telling you the simple truth. Just ask your questions.”
Dirkson took a breath and blew it out again. “All right. Did you pick up Bradshaw again?”
“Yes.”
“When and where?”
“At his apartment. My men staked it out, and Bradshaw returned about nine.”
“That evening?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“After that, Bradshaw stayed put and had no further visitors.”
“Until when?”
“Until Wednesday morning when I pulled my men off the job.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Steve Winslow called me into his office on Wednesday and had me dust the combination of his safe for fingerprints. I found a thumbprint that matched the right thumbprint of Donald Blake. At that point, Winslow instructed me to pull my men off the case.”
Dirkson digested that information. “All right. What did you do next?”
“Nothing. I’d been ordered off the case.”
“What about tonight?”
Taylor shrugged. “Winslow called me and asked me to meet him for dinner.”
“And told you to bring the list?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose he just casually asked you to bring it along?”
Taylor frowned. “You’re asking me for my opinion of his tone of voice?”
“No. We’ll let it pass. The fact is he asked you to bring it?”
“Yes.”
“The same list you received from him Tuesday and traced to Bradshaw?”
“Yes. The same list.”
Dirkson nodded grimly. He turned to Steve Winslow. “All right, Winslow. You’ve refused to answer questions. That’s one thing. Concealing evidence is another. Now, I want to know right now if you have that list.”
“Yes, I have the list,” Steve said. “But as far as I know, it has nothing to do with the murder.”
“Well, I’m telling you that it does,” Dirkson said. “I am hereby informing you that that list of numbers is a valuable piece of evidence in a murder case, and I am asking you in my official capacity as District Attorney to turn it over to the police. Now then, do you intend to do so?”
“Certainly,” Steve said. He produced the list and passed it over to Stams. “I’d hate to make Sergeant Stams go to the trouble of having me frisked again.”
Sergeant Stams whipped a notebook from his pocket and began comparing numbers.
“Now then,” Steve said. “You’ve got what you wanted. Tracy and I aren’t talking, and Taylor’s made his statement. I think this is where we came in.”
Dirkson shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Winslow. I warned you what would happen if I connected you with those thousand dollar bills.”
“You can’t hold me without a warrant,” Steve said.
Dirkson shook his head sadly. “I’m trying to give you a break. If you cooperate, I might be able to save you the embarrassment of a formal arrest. But if you want me to swear out a warrant, I will.”
“You don’t have the grounds to issue a warrant.”
“I didn’t before, but I sure do now. Those serial numbers clinch the case. Bradshaw withdraws the bills from the bank Monday. You get the numbers Tuesday. Bradshaw gets bumped off Wednesday. The bills are found in his pocket, and you’re found in his apartment. Now put all that together and tell me if I can get a warrant.”
Sergeant Stams cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but-”
“Just a minute,” Dirkson said. “I just want to make sure Winslow knows where he stands. Now then, Winslow, you’re not leaving here until you answer some questions. We can do it the easy way or the hard way. It’s entirely up to you.”