Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests by Linda Fairstein

got?”
    With my lawyer’s blessing, I spill my guts, from my initial meeting with Eve Toscar to the night of the murder. Stone listens
     quietly. She doesn’t look impressed.
    “This is your big exposé? That Toscar’s wife wanted him dead?”
    I didn’t expect high-fives or pats on the back, but I thought she’d be more excited. “That’s right. Eve wanted his money,
     but due to the prenup, she couldn’t get it any other way.”
    “Jack, do I look stupid?” Stone’s voice drips with scorn. “Don’t you think we’d check her out?”
    “Of course, but—”
    “We put her under a microscope,” she says. “She came off smelling like a rose. Everyone we talked to—including Toscar’s friends—said
     the marriage was rock-solid. Hell, Jack, Toscar recently changed his will to dissolve their prenup.”
    The news hits me like a sledgehammer. “What?”
    Stone smirks. “Didn’t know that, huh? Here’s something else I bet you didn’t know. When we asked if her husband had any enemies,
     she gave us your name. She swore Toscar told her you threatened him when he cut you out of a business deal.”
    “That’s a lie!”
    “So you say. She also denied knowing Dexter Bass, and he confirms that.”
    “No way. I’ve got him on tape telling how Eve asked him to kill her husband.”
    Beyer grabs my arm. “Shut up, Jack. You can’t divulge anything Bass told you in confidence.”
    I jerk my arm free and look at Stone. “You want to hear it?”
    Lois Stone sits back in her chair and taps her lush lips with her index finger. “Curt’s right. Whatever Bass told you is covered
     by attorney-client privilege. It’s not admissible.”
    “Screw privilege,” I say. “The tape’s in my briefcase at home.”
    Hall clears his throat. He’s been so quiet, I forgot he’s in the room. “His briefcase is in the evidence lab.”
    Stone’s eyes narrow. “You’re kidding, right?”
    Hall can’t meet her gaze. “We, uh, brought it just in case.”
    Stone looks at me and shrugs. “I guess I can’t stop you from playing the tape.”
    Ten minutes later, over Beyer’s repeated objections, I pop open the locks on my briefcase and pull out my tape recorder. After
     I met with Bass, I never listened to the tape. Why bother? But now, with my life on the line, I’m glad I taped it. My hand
     shakes as I press the Play button. The tape spins. Nothing.
    “Are you sure it’s the right tape?” Stone asks.
    I paw through my briefcase, searching for other tapes, but the rest are still in their cellophane wrappers. I fast-forward
     the tape, hoping to hear Bass’s voice, but all I get is faint static. Then it hits me.
    “I had the tape when I went to Eve’s house after meeting with Bass,” I explain. “She would’ve had plenty of time to grab the
     tape while I was in the shower.”
    “You have anything else to back up your story?” Stone asks.
    I scour my memory but come up empty. My meetings with Eve took place after office hours, after everyone had gone home. She
     wanted to keep our meetings hush-hush, so I never logged them in my appointment book. And I never billed her, since she paid
     me in her own special way.
    “No,” I mutter. “Nothing else.”
    The door opens and a uniformed officer hands Stone several sheets of paper. She studies them, then looks at me.
    “While we’ve been talking, the police checked Rupp’s employee records. There’s no record that Bass worked for him. No job
     application, no W-2, nothing. We even checked the service records for Toscar’s pool. All the forms were signed by Dan Dorsey.”
     She hands me the sheets of paper. “See for yourself.”
    I glance through the pages. “Maybe Bass used that name as an alias.”
    Stone shakes her head. “Rupp’s secretary said Dorsey has worked there for years. We talked to Dorsey, and he confirmed that
     he did all the work on Toscar’s pool.”
    The pages slip from my hands and flutter to the floor. Stone stands up and walks to