“Yeah, sure,” Taylor said without enthusiasm. He looked at his notes again. “And then we have Julie Creston.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I checked out her alibi ’cause you told me to do it. But quite frankly it was a bitch and a waste of time, and I feel bad about it ’cause I ran up a lot of expenses on it and-”
“I told you, forget the money. I just want results.”
“Well, you got ‘em, and they ain’t worth shit. Except you can cross Julie Creston off your list, which I think you could have done without going through the charade.”
Steve shook his head. “I wanted it done. Just give me what you got.”
“O.K.” Taylor referred to his notes. “Julie Creston finished filming February 24th. She caught a plane from Denver back to L.A. that night. Set down in L.A. ten-thirty P.M. Airline confirms ticket in her name was used. Now, I knew that wouldn’t satisfy you, you’d say she could have given her ticket to someone else, so I ran it down. Turns out Julie wasn’t the only one finished filming that day. There were four other actors working the same sequence who finished up at the same time. All of them took the flight back together. My man in L.A. hunted one of them down, and he confirms the fact Julie Creston did indeed take the plane back to L.A. that night.”
“That’s the 24th?”
“Right.”
“Two days before the murder.”
“Uh huh. Next confirmation, morning of the 25th, Julie Creston shows up for an audition for a Burger King commercial.”
Taylor looked at Steve. “Now, you’re not going to like what I’ve got next, ’cause you’ll say it isn’t conclusive, but it’s enough for me. The morning of the 26th, she has a luncheon appointment with her agent. Brunch, really. Eleven o’clock. Coffee and rolls. Anyway, the guy’s got an audition lined up for that afternoon and she cancels it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, but don’t read anything into it. I think it’s just what it seems. She tells her agent she’s worn out from the Denver shoot, the Burger King audition the day before went badly- she’s exhausted, she’s got bags under her eyes, she didn’t test well, she’s never going to get anything this way, she needs to take a short vacation, pull herself together.”
“And that’s the last you got?” Steve said.
“That’s the last time I can definitely place her up until the murder. But look what you got, Steve. She left her agent twelve o’clock, noon. That’s L.A. time, which makes it three P.M. here.”
“That leaves her eight hours,” Steve said.
“Right,” Taylor said dryly. “Eight hours to get to the airport, fly to New York, get to New Jersey, steal Jeremy Dawson’s gun out of his school locker, get back to Manhattan, buy a can of gasoline, find Jack Walsh on the subway, plug him and set the body on fire.”
“It could be done,” Steve said.
“Yeah, in a paperback thriller. And even then I don’t buy it. I read that and throw the fucking book across the room.”
Steve frowned. “Yeah, Mark. But there’s a difference between what works in black and white and what works in the minds of a jury. They don’t get a nice straight story. They’re sitting there listening to volumes of testimony. They gotta sift through it, piece it together. Anything that clouds the issue, doesn’t quite add up, has to be a victory for the defense.”
“Yeah,” Taylor said. “But Dirkson’s gonna summarize the testimony and make his argument. You think that sarcastic son of a bitch can’t take all that and make it sound like ridiculous bullshit?”
“I’m sure he can, Mark. You think I can’t take ridiculous bullshit and make it sound good?”
Taylor looked at him. “You mean you’re going after this?”
“I don’t know. What’s the rest of it? Your man make a pass at her?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Told her Jack Walsh was dead?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Didn’t faze her. Other than the normal shock one would expect at hearing someone was murdered, she couldn’t have cared less.”
“What about the will?”
“There’s no will.”
“You sure?”
“Not unless she’s lying-and there’s no reason why she should. Look, here’s what happened. I called my man, told him to go back up there and give her the news. So he does. She comes to the door. When she sees it’s him again, she tries to brush him off-it’s a bad time, her boyfriend’s in the shower, they’re taking a trip, she’s packing up to go, come back some other time.
“Well, my man’s a pro, he won’t brush. He hits her with the fact that Walsh is dead. That shook her up, but not the way you think. It’s just she don’t want her boyfriend coming out of the shower and hearing this. She’s not going to let my man in, but he’s not leaving, so to get him out of there she goes out and has a cup of coffee with him. So they go out to a little coffee shop and shoot the shit.”
“And?”
Taylor shook his head. “And it’s a dead end. Jack Walsh is nothing to her. She’s sorry he’s dead, but she still don’t like him. There’s no will, he never promised her any money, she doesn’t expect any money, she’s not going to claim any money. She’s got a new career and a new boyfriend, she doesn’t want the scandal. She’s been working herself ragged, now she’s on vacation, she and her boyfriend are taking a trip together, and if my man does anything to queer it, she’ll rip his fucking eyes out.”
Steve frowned. “Did he believe her?”
Taylor looked at him. “What’s not to believe. Everything she says makes sense. If there isn’t a will and she’s got no claims on the money, why would she jeopardize everything she’s got to rush back to New York to kill a man she knew a year ago, just because she feels he let her down by not sticking up for her when his relatives ganged up on her? I mean, pardon me, but could you explain that theory to me so that it makes any sense?”
“No, I couldn’t. But it doesn’t have to make sense. We’re collecting information, Mark. When we get it all collected, then we see what we can do about it. Now, that doesn’t add up, but there’s one thing about it I like.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s packin’ to leave. Flight is an indication of guilt. Always has been, always will be.” Steve thought a moment. “Slap a subpoena on her.”
Taylor stared at him. “What?”
“If she’s taking off, I don’t want her getting away. Call up your man, we’ll get a subpoena served.”
Taylor looked at him. “Steve, don’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. There’s nothing Harry Dirkson would love better than to get you for abuse of process. You subpoena this woman with no definite purpose in mind, he’ll nail you to the wall.”
“He can try.”
“He can do more than that. You got no grounds for a subpoena. You just want to drag this woman in and make her a red herring. Which is exactly what abuse of process is all about. Dirkson will have you dead to rights.”
Steve sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“You know I’m right. So what you wanna do?”
Steve frowned and shook his head. “I gotta fight for my client, Mark.” He took a breath and blew it out again. “Serve the subpoena.”
28
Tracy Garvin was pissed. She sat in Steve Winslow’s overstuffed clients’ chair, folded her glasses, tapped them into her other hand, unfolded them, and folded them up again, a sure sign that she was really steamed.
Steve Winslow took no notice. He had just finished giving Tracy a complete rundown of the facts of the case as he knew them. Now, utterly exhausted, he was sitting tipped back in his desk chair, his arms hanging limply at his sides, his eyes staring blankly at some small imperfection in the ceiling. He closed his eyes, raised his arms and rubbed his head as if to clear it.
“All right,” he said. “Ask me questions.”
This was no idle exercise on Steve’s part. Tracy Garvin was sharp and he valued her input. In his previous case, she’d asked the key question, the one that turned the whole thing around. In this case, frankly, Steve didn’t know what the hell to do. So he was eager to hear what Tracy had to say.