Sleight of Hand - By Phillip Margolin Page 0,63
When Dana got out of the mental hospital and decided to work as an investigator, Zipay returned the favor by sending her work. It was one of the assignments Zipay had referred to her that eventually led to Dana’s discovery that the president of the United States was involved in a series of murders. Zipay was a very good detective and an excellent person to present with a puzzle.
Dana listened to the radio during the drive to Zipay’s office. She turned up the sound when the announcer said there was a decision on bail in Horace Blair’s case.
“Judge Gardner agreed with the defense that Mr. Blair was a prominent member of the community but he cited several reasons for denying bail. The judge held that the evidence produced by the commonwealth pointed to a strong possibility that Mr. Blair would be convicted of the murder charge. He recognized that the defense might call this evidence into question at trial but he said that he was forced to decide the issue of bail on the evidence presented in court.
“Another factor that Judge Gardner said weighed heavily in his decision was the possibility that Mr. Blair might be a flight risk. Mr. Blair’s business takes him to all parts of the world, including countries without extradition treaties with the United States. Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Rick Hamada produced evidence that Mr. Blair had homes in many foreign countries and assets overseas that would enable him to live a life of luxury as a fugitive.
“Charles Benedict, Mr. Blair’s attorney, said that he planned an immediate appeal of the court’s decision.”
Dana was a little surprised that the judge had denied bail to a person as powerful as Horace Blair, but Gardner, who had a reputation for being arrogant and self-important, also had a reputation for integrity.
Andy Zipay worked on the third floor of an older building with a respectable address. Dana was expected and Zipay’s secretary sent her into Zipay’s office as soon as she arrived. The investigator was seated behind a large oak desk in a small office cramped by metal filing cabinets and secondhand bookshelves. He was a few inches over six feet tall and had a pasty complexion. A narrow mustache separated a hook nose from a pair of thin lips, and his black, slicked-down hair was showing some gray.
“Long time no see,” Zipay said with a smile.
“Too long, and I apologize for asking a favor the first time we’re getting together.”
“You stood by me when everybody else treated me like shit, so I’m always gonna owe you. What’s up?”
“Have you heard of a lawyer named Charles Benedict?”
“Sure.”
“What have you heard about him?”
“Nothing good. When I was in vice and narcotics his name would pop up on occasion, mostly in connection with the Orlansky mob. But the guy is smooth and no one ever got anything on him. Why do you want to know?”
“His name has come up in a case. I tried doing background on him and I’ve run into a stone wall.”
“How so?”
“There’s plenty about him from college on, but I haven’t been able to find anything on him before then. I thought you might have a bright idea.”
“You looked for a birth certificate, high school records?”
“I got nada. It’s like he was born on his first day of school.”
Zipay spaced out and Dana sat back and let him think. Suddenly, Zipay smiled.
“Maybe you’re looking under the wrong name.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dana decided to talk to Barry Lester’s girlfriend before attempting to talk to his lawyer. Guilty or innocent, Arthur Jefferson, a member of the bar, would refuse to divulge attorney-client communications, or anything that could harm his client. Tiffany Starr’s only connection to bars was the time she’d spent behind them or danced in them.
Dana used false names and disguises on occasion because she had gotten a lot of publicity from the stories about her cases that had run in Exposed. Before leaving home, Dana put on glasses and a blond wig. Tiffany Starr might spot the wig, but Dana guessed that a stripper would wear one from time to time and wouldn’t think anything of it.
Dana parked on a litter-strewn street in one of D.C.’s seamier neighborhoods. Starr lived on the third floor of a five-story brick apartment house decorated with gang graffiti. The elevator was broken and the odor of garbage and bad cooking permeated the stairwell. Dana held her breath until she was in front of Starr’s apartment.
A rail-thin woman with straight blond hair opened the door an