A fool for a client, p.3
A Fool for a Client, page 3
And Richard was beginning to look guilty.
7
“Did he do it?”
I gawked at my wife in surprise. “Alice, how can you ask me that?”
“Well, it seems a relevant question. It might influence how you approach the case.”
“Alice, can you imagine Richard killing someone?”
“Stanley, it’s sex. People get crazed over sex.”
My mouth hung open. Alice has no sympathy at all when I get crazed over sex. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if he was jealous, if it turned out she was seeing someone else, or decided to dump him and told him that.”
“There was semen involved.”
“What’s your point?”
“You think they had sex and she said get the fuck out of here?”
“She might have phrased it better.”
Alice was looking good in one of my pocket t-shirts over what was obviously nothing. Let me rephrase that. Over what was obviously no underclothing. Anyway, I admired the result. My old pocket-t had never looked better.
“What’s MacAullif say?”
“Says it’s not his case.”
“Yeah, it’s Thurman’s case. I’m not going to ask you what he says.”
“It’s just as well.”
“So, you finessed him out of the doorman’s address, interviewed him, and came up empty.”
“I didn’t come up empty.”
“Did you come up full?”
“Alice.”
“Well, what did you get?”
“The guy was nervous about his relationship with the super.”
“You think the doorman and the super killed her?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“I got the feeling he and the doorman had something going on. Something illicit. Like running call girls or peddling cocaine.”
“Typical.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mind immediately goes to sex and drugs. It’s a wonder you missed rock and roll.”
“Didn’t seem logical.”
“Sex and drugs does? I hope Richard isn’t depending on you to save him.”
“What are you blaming me for not doing?”
“Did I say I was blaming you?”
“You don’t have to. I can always tell.”
“How?”
“For one thing, it’s your default position. In this case there were subtle clues. A tip of the head. A slope of a breast.”
“You infer blame from the slope of my breast.”
“Why not? You always do.”
“Let’s not be juvenile. What is it you think I’m trying to tell you?”
“Usually it’s something I missed. Though, in this case there’s nothing to miss.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“All right. What did I miss?”
“I wasn’t there.”
I took a breath. “Okay. I apologize for whatever slight I may have given you by whatever I did or didn’t do. I’m not going to try to figure out what that was. I’m sure you’ll tell me in your own good time. I’m a little upset because Richard’s life is on the line. So if you want to chalk this one up as a victory, I concede defeat. Just tell me what the hell you’re getting at.”
Alice was unruffled. “I was just pointing out that if you hadn’t gone off on your predictable tangent about sex and drugs, what could you have inferred from the doorman’s reluctance to talk about the super?”
“They’re gay?”
“Oh, for god’s sake.”
“Alice, I have no idea what you’re getting at. What are you getting at?”
Alice explained as if to a small child. “You’re really halfway there. The doorman’s reluctant to talk about the super being in the lobby when he locked the door and left, right? When was that?”
“Midnight.”
“Says who?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Looked at Alice. “He’s lying about the time?”
Alice shrugged. “He’s lying about something. Richard says he was out at eleven fifteen. The driver says he was out at eleven forty-five. The doorman says he was out at eleven forty-five. What does that tell you?”
It might have told me more had Alice not leaned over when she said that. The neck of my pocket t-shirt was old and stretched by years of washing. It gaped. To a middle-aged married man, such pleasures are few and far between. I found myself distracted. “Um . . .” I ventured.
Alice was getting tired of the Socratic method, which I’m sure worked much better for Socrates without cleavage. “Come on, Stanley. This isn’t that hard.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I’m not. What can you tell from that?”
“You can tell a lot of things. That doesn’t make ’em true.”
“I disagree. You can draw a lot on inferences. But there’s one thing you absolutely know.”
“Alice, I’m not in the mood. Just tell me what.”
“Both times can’t be right.”
“Huh?”
“Richard says eleven fifteen, the other two say a quarter to twelve. Someone is wrong.”
“Most likely Richard.”
“Why, because it’s two against one?”
“For one thing. He’s also got a horse in the race. He’s an interested party. He’d have a reason to lie.”
“And the other two wouldn’t?”
“No. Why would they?”
“I have no idea. But that’s no reason to categorically reject it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.”
“No, but it isn’t probable. Come on, we’re talking rational here. What logically could have happened. We’re not building a hypothetical. We’re not saying, yes, it could have happened even though it’s an astronomical long shot.”
“What’s an astronomical long shot?”
“That two men could have independently picked the exact same wrong time, a half hour different than the correct time it actually happened.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, that defies the laws of probability.”
“So?”
“So what if they didn’t?”
My head was coming off. “I beg your pardon?”
“What if they didn’t independently pick it?”
“You mean they were in on it and conspired to frame Richard?”
“Of course not. I mean, it could have happened, but it’s a hell of a long shot too. No, I mean what if they didn’t independently pick the time?”
“Then they conspired together. You can’t have it both ways, Alice.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“If they didn’t conspire together, how did they pick the same time?”
“Easy.”
8
It was easier with the car service. Richard was the customer. He hired them, he paid them, they would want to give him service.
At least that was the theory. In practice the desk was manned by a sour-looking dispatcher with suspicious eyes. She’d already been questioned by the police, and what the hell was I doing back?
I was quick to assure her I was not the police, I was the representative of her valued customer. If that warmed her heart, she hid it well.
“Can’t talk to you,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It’s a police investigation.”
“Exactly.”
“And you’re not the police.”
“I’m the representative of Richard Rosenberg.”
“He’s not with the police either.”
“No, he’s not. But he’s your customer, I’m his representative, and he wants me to ask you some questions.”
“He’s got no right to do that.”
“Actually, he does. He’s a customer, and he’s entitled to review the bill. He hired your car service last night, and he wants to know what he’s being charged for it.”
“That was prenegotiated.”
“I’m sure it was. That doesn’t alter the situation.”
“Yes, it does. He’s being charged exactly what he agreed to pay.”
“That’s all well and good, but I can’t take your word for it.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.”
“No, I’m not. If you can’t understand why, Mr. Rosenberg is a lawyer and I’m sure he’ll be able to explain it to you. It’ll be better if you don’t make him do it in court, because that will mean that he’s suing the company and will probably name you as a codefendant.”
She blinked.
“Which is totally ridiculous,” I said. “Unless, of course, the police instructed you not to cooperate with Mr. Rosenberg. If the police specifically asked you to withhold information you have from Mr. Rosenberg, that is a perfectly defensible claim, and you’re completely off the hook. It might get a cop or two suspended, but I’m sure they won’t hold it against you.”
That should have done the trick. I wasn’t asking for anything to which I wasn’t entitled, and there was no reason the woman shouldn’t show it to me.
Apparently logic was not her strong suit. I’m not sure what was—most likely not charm and grace, but logic was definitely off the table. The woman set her lips in a firm line and glared at me.
I whipped out my cell phone, called Rosenberg and Stone.
Wendy or Janet answered. Richard employs two switchboard girls who happen to have identical voices. “Rosenberg and Stone,” said Wendy or Janet.
“It’s Stanley,” I said, my standard greeting, since I never know who to say hello to.
“Stanley. Glad you called. I was just about to beep you. I’ve got a case.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I need you to type a summons.”
“Huh?”
“Hang on, I’ll get you the information.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“What, you have to get a form? Go ahead, I’ll hold.”
Wendy/Janet was baffled. “Stanley, didn’t you hear me? I have to give you the name of the client.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you the name.”
“No, I have to give you the name.”
“Right. Hang on, I’ll get you the name.” I covered the phone, said to the dispatcher, “I’m going to need your name.”
The woman was baffled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m hauling you into court. So I can get the information.” I pointed at her plastic name tag. “Your name is Rose. Wanna give me your last name? Or should I add that to the list of charges?”
“Charges?”
“Yeah. They’re adding up. At the moment we have conspiracy to defraud, theft, accessory before and after the fact of a felony. Most of those you should be able to beat. Unless Richard’s been overcharged. He hates to be overcharged. I think he gets more pleasure out of the criminal conviction than the money he makes in the civil case. So if you cooperate in filling out the summons, it’ll probably go better for you. If we have to get it through independent investigation, Richard is apt to be annoyed.”
She showed me the report. Richard had been charged for an hour of overtime.
9
Joey Dodge fancied himself quite the lady’s man. Maybe he was, in a cheap, obvious way, with greasy hair, flashy dress, men’s cologne, an image that fought hard to say masculine and not gay. I wasn’t sure he was winning the battle.
Joey lived in a bachelor pad on the Upper East Side, a one-room walk-up bachelor pad but an East Side address nonetheless. Which is probably what he kept it for. I couldn’t imagine him bringing a woman there. I’m sure he always talked his way into her apartment, when and if that ever happened.
Are you getting the impression I don’t like the guy? Good guess. And I didn’t just begrudge him his youth. I begrudged him his cocky assurance, born of a lack of inhibiting intelligence that might embarrass a smarter person into feeling self-conscious about the macho, arrogant stupidity with which he was making a horse’s ass of himself. Oh, to be single, young, and stupid.
“So,” I said, “you’re the guy who actually drove them around?” I figured buttering the guy up couldn’t hurt.
I figured right.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Pretty amazing, huh? Gorgeous thing like that. Hard to believe she’s dead.”
“You recognized her on the news?”
“How could I miss her? I’ll remember that girl forever.”
“You called the police?”
“I called the car service. Told ’em that was the girl I drove.”
“What did they tell you to do?”
“Are you kidding me? Cooperate with the police. Company doesn’t want any trouble, and it certainly wasn’t our fault.”
“So, what’d you tell ’em?”
“Told ’em what I did. Picked up the guy, picked up the girl, drove ’em to dinner, drove ’em home.”
“You waited while they had dinner?”
“That was the job.”
“Kind of boring.”
“I had the game on. It went quick.”
“And after dinner?”
“I drove her home and they went in.”
“Did you know the guy?”
“Sure. Richard Rosenberg. Drove him before.”
“What about the girl?”
“Sure. Drove ’em both.” He shook his head. “How the hell does a guy like him get a girl like that?” He preened slightly, as if showing me the type of guy who ought to get a girl like that.
“And you waited while he was inside?”
“Yeah.”
“How long was that?”
“Long enough.”
He said it with a knowing leer. Whether he meant long enough for sex or murder I’m not sure.
“Police satisfied with that answer?”
“No. They wanted to know when.”
“What’d you tell ’em?”
“He was out of there at a quarter to twelve.”
“How you so sure of the time?”
“That’s my job.”
“Uh huh. You get paid by the job or the hour?”
“I get paid by the job and by the hour.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The job’s a flat rate. If it runs long I get more.”
“And this job did?”
“It did, as a matter of fact.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No. Guy’s out with a girl, it often runs long. Guy wants it to, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah. So, in this case. Wanna walk me through the time frame?”
“How you mean?”
“You get paid for the job. How long is that?”
“Six hours.”
“Starting when?”
He looked at me like why was I asking, but he wasn’t sure if he could tell me to go to hell.
“Okay. I pick him up at six o’clock. That’s when the time starts. Not when I leave my apartment, when I pick the guy up. Which is hardly fair. I mean, yeah, this was only fifteen minutes, but what if he lived in East Oshkosh? We drove uptown, picked up the girl, drove ’em to a fancy steakhouse in Brooklyn. After dinner I drove them back to her apartment, waited for him to come out, drove him home. Dropped him off at twelve twenty. That’s why there’s overtime. A guy’s got a five-, ten-minute grace period, but anything over fifteen he’s gotta pay.”
“A whole hour?”
“We don’t do half hours.”
“So he came out of the building at a quarter to twelve?”
“That’s right.”
“What was he like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he nervous? Agitated? The way he’d be if he just killed someone.”
“He was panting. But I didn’t think it was because he killed someone, if you know what I mean.”
I did. “So you saw her on TV, you called the agency, they told you to call the police?”
“That’s right.”
“Which you did?”
“Yeah.”
“Right away?”
“Damn straight, right away. You think I want to get into trouble?”
“And you told them about Richard Rosenberg going in and coming out at a quarter to twelve?”
“Of course.”
10
Richard wasn’t pleased. “Wendy said you blew her off.”
“I didn’t blow her off, Richard. She missed a signal.”
“You gave Wendy a signal?”
“She didn’t have to pick up on it. All she had to do was not scream into the phone.”
“Did she scream into the phone?”
“No.”
“So what are you griping about?”
“You said I blew her off.”
“Well, you did, didn’t you? You may have had a reason, but it’s not like you didn’t do it.”
“Richard, are you being incredibly annoying because your mind can’t handle the enormity of the situation?”
“Got me,” Richard said. “That’s exactly what I was doing. Now that you’ve seen through me, I’ll give up that shallow façade, go home, and slit my wrists.”
“Richard—”
“Stanley, I don’t know how to break it to you, but I didn’t do it. And I’m too damn good a lawyer to take the fall, even for a crime I didn’t commit. I’ve got you looking into it because I’d like to know, but I’m not particularly worried. I asked the girls to put you back on the clock because investigating this shouldn’t be a full-time job. It’s not that important.”
“You want me back on the clock?”
“Don’t you need the work?”
“I do. I thought you wanted me to do this.”
“In your spare time. It’s not a career. Anyway, that’s my assessment. Unless your investigation has turned up anything. If people are trying to frame me, that’s another matter altogether. So, is anyone trying to frame me?”
“Well—”
“Well? What do you mean, well? Either they are or they aren’t.”
“The driver of the car may have screwed with the time element.”
“I know he screwed with the time element. The guy got it wrong. I was out at eleven fifteen. The cops think it was a quarter to twelve. That’s a huge difference, considering the time of death.”
“Time of death?”
“Yeah, the medical examiner puts the time of death between eleven and one.”
“How’d you get that?”
