The Anonymous Client

244 Pages·2012·0.87 MB·English

by  Hall Parnell

Praise for Parnell Hall’s The Anonymous Client
“The trial sequence is flashy and great fun.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“[Hits] the bull’s eye.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Another winner from the author of The Baxter Trust.”
—Library Journal
“This is a slick novel [that keeps] reader interest at a peak.”
—Bangor Daily News
“Hailey is very good with his courtroom scenes. Steve Winslow [wins] the day
with daring and boldness.”
—Asheville Citizen Times
The Anonymous Client
Parnell Hall
Copyright © 1989, 2011 by Parnell Hall (writing as JP Hailey)
Published by Parnell Hall, eBook edition, 2011.
Published by TOR, 1993.
ISBN:0-812-51388-6
Originally published by Donald I. Fine, Inc., 1989.
ISBN: 1-55611-124-X
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior
written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN (Kindle): 978-1-936441-21-1
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-936441-22-8
Cover design: Elizabeth DiPalma Design
For Lynn, Justin and Toby
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Books by Parnell Hall
1.
STEVE WINSLOW RODE UPTOWN IN the back of a cab and thumbed through the
casting calls in Backstage. They were, as he’d expected, much the same as in last
week’s issue. Most of the open auditions were for chorus work. Steve Winslow
was neither a singer nor a dancer. Not that he hadn’t done musical comedy in his
time—in summer stock you did all the shows, and when a musical came along
you faked it. Steve could carry a tune, and laboriously learn a dance step by rote
if pressed, but no one was ever going to hire him to do it. Not with the wealth of
legitimate singers and dancers New York City had to offer.
Steve sighed and flipped the page.
The cab pulled up in front of an office building on West 48th Street. Steve
paid the fare, over-tipping as usual. After years of driving a cab himself, Steve
had a soft spot for cab drivers.
Steve folded the paper under his arm, went into the lobby, took the elevator
up to the seventh floor, got off and walked down the hall. It was a little after
nine, and a mailman with a pushcart was making his morning rounds, sliding
letters through the mail slots in the office doors. He had just stopped in front of a
door and taken two letters from the cart when Steve walked up.
“I’ll take those,” Steve said.
The mailman gave him a funny look. Steve wasn’t surprised. It was
October, and Steve was seasonably dressed in brown corduroy pants, a blue T-
shirt, and a tweed sports jacket. That, coupled with his shoulder-length dark hair,
made him look somewhat younger than his thirty-five years.
The mailman glanced at the office door. On the frosted glass were the
words, “STEVE WINSLOW, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW.” The mailman looked back at Steve,
hesitated a moment, then handed him the letters, and pushed his cart off down
the hall.
Steve smiled. There was no way the mailman thought he was the lawyer.
Probably some office boy hired by the attorney. Steve turned the knob, pushed
open the office door.
Tracy Garvin was seated at her desk reading a book. Without looking at the
cover, Steve knew it would be a murder mystery. It was all she ever read.
Tracy was about twenty-four, with long blonde hair that always seemed to
be falling in her face, and large, round-framed glasses that had a habit of getting
tangled in the hair. She was dressed in blue jeans and a sweater, her usual office
attire. Steve didn’t mind. How could he, the way he dressed? And it wasn’t as if
he had any clients he wanted to impress.
Tracy looked up from her book when Steve came in.
“Good morning, Tracy,” Steve said. He held up the two letters. “Mail’s
here.” He tossed the letters on her desk, smiled, and went into his inner office.
Steve sat down at his desk, tipped his chair back, and unfolded the
Backstage.
“Mr. Winslow.”
Steve looked up.
Tracy Garvin was standing in the doorway. The first thing he noticed was
that her glasses were folded and in her hand. Steve frowned. In the little he’d
seen of Tracy Garvin, one thing he had observed was that when she took off and
folded her glasses it usually meant that she was upset about something.
“Yes,” Steve said.
Tracy Garvin took a breath. She seemed to be controlling herself with an
effort.
“Mr. Winslow, I haven’t seen you in over two weeks.”
“I know,” Steve said.
“Then you come walking in here, toss the mail on my desk, and say, ‘Good
morning,’ as if nothing had happened.”
Steve looked at her. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Tracy said.
Steve frowned. This was not one of his days. But then, he reflected, not
many of them were. “So what’s wrong?”
Tracy took a breath, blew it out again. “Mr. Winslow, I sit at that desk eight
hours a day, five days a week.”
“I know. That’s what I hired you for.”
“Yes, but nothing happens. I open the mail and answer it. That takes a good
fifteen minutes. And I answer the phone calls, a particularly demanding job,
since most days there are none. I sit here all day long and I don’t do anything.”
“I know,” Steve said. “I have no law practice. I have one client, Sheila
Benton. Handling her affairs doesn’t amount to much. She’s in Europe now, so it
amounts to even less. There’s no work. I told you that when I hired you.”
“I know that, but ..”
“But what?”
“I don’t know.”
Steve smiled. “I do. You didn’t believe me. You figured it was a law office,
so something had to happen. Well, you’re wrong. I have no clients, and I see no
prospects of getting clients. But I still need someone to hold down the office. To
hang out here and read books all day long. Some people would kill for the job.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“So what are you trying to say?”
Tracy took a breath. “I’m saying I can’t take it. I need something to do.
So ... well, I’m giving two weeks’ notice. I’ll stay on till you get a replacement.”
“I see,” Steve said. “So where you gonna go?”
“I thought I’d try some of the larger law firms.”
Steve nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say. You may have some
trouble there.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You’re not a paralegal, you’re just a secretary. You have no legal
training or education.”
“I know. But ...”
“But what?”
“I hate to ask, but I need a recommendation.”
“I’m afraid my recommendation won’t cut much ice with the larger law
firms. But you’re welcome to it. But I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”
“You think I won’t get a job?”
“No, I think you might. But if you do, I think you’ll be disappointed.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, what do you think you’d do in one of those law firms?”
“I don’t know. Assist the lawyer. Take notes. Look up things for him.”
Steve frowned. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”
“What is?”
“It’s those books you read. Those murder mysteries. Murders, clients,
chases. Real life isn’t like that. It isn’t even like L.A. Law. You might as well
work for a business firm.”
Tracy set her jaw, defensively. “Oh yeah?” she said. “You know that for a
fact?”
“No, I’m just telling you what I think. And I think you’d be bored silly.”
“Well, it couldn’t be worse than here.”
“Yeah. It could. Here you have no expectations. You sit and read your
books all day. There you start off with high hopes, and wind up a bored file
clerk.” Steve sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to argue with you, and I don’t want
to disillusion you, but I don’t want to send you out of here with false hopes,
either. ’Cause you don’t really want work. What you want is to play Della Street
to my Perry Mason. And real life isn’t like that. Now, if you want to leave, I
can’t stop you. You’re welcome to my recommendation and I wish you good
luck. I just think you’re going to be disappointed.”
Tracy stood looking at him for a moment. She frowned and went out,