The Innocent Woman

curled under and framing a face that at first glance appeared as innocent as a newborn babe.
    All except the eyes, which were calculating and shrewd.
    For Steve Winslow, who had grown adept at sizing up prospective jurors, that was his first impression—that Amy Dearborn was a young lady motivated by self-interest, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
    She wasn’t one to mince words, either. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”
    Steve Winslow smiled. Indeed he didn’t. He and Tracy both wore jeans around the office, since they had no clients to impress. Today he was also wearing sneakers, blue T-shirt, and brown corduroy jacket. That, coupled with his shoulder length hair, didn’t really conjure up the image of a lawyer.
    “Then we’re even,” Steve said. “You don’t look that much like a thief.”
    Amy Dearborn’s chin came up. “If you’re a lawyer, we’re not even,” she said. “Because I’m not a thief.”
    “I understand,” Steve said. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
    “Nothing much to tell,” Amy said. “My boss says I took some money and I didn’t.”
    “Some details might help,” Steve said. “For starters, who’s your boss?”
    “I work for F. L. Jewelry. On 47th Street.” She jerked her thumb. “Just on the next block.”
    “What’s F. L. stand for?”
    “Fletcher and Lowery.”
    “They’re partners?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Which one is accusing you?”
    “Frank.”
    “Frank?”
    “Mr. Fletcher.”
    “Frank, is it?”
    Amy’s eyes narrowed. “No, it isn’t. It’s a small firm. Everyone’s on a first name basis.”
    “I see.”
    “There’s nothing between me and Frank Fletcher.”
    “I never said there was.”
    “Don’t give me that. You said, Frank, is it? Implying there was something going on. Well, there isn’t. And I resent the implication.”
    “Noted,” Steve said. “May I assume the same is true of Mr. Lowery?”
    Her eyes widened. “Marv? Are you kidding? Of course not.”
    “I see,” Steve said.
    Her face darkened. “Just what the hell’s going on here? I’m accused of a crime. All you can think of is sex.”
    “I’m sorry if I gave that impression,” Steve said. “But in any crime, the basis is the relationship of the people involved. So if you don’t mind, could you tell me something about these two men?”
    She took a breath. “Marvin Lowery’s in his forties. He has a wife and, I think, three children. He’s always been a perfect gentleman, never made a pass at me, if that’s the way your mind’s running.
    “Frank Fletcher’s, a little younger, say in his thirties. He’s unmarried and he’s asked me out a couple of times. I didn’t go.”
    “Why not?”
    “I happened to be dating someone at the time.” Amy Dearborn took a breath. “Now, if you’re through with my personal life, would you mind if we talked about the case?”
    Steve Winslow shot an amused glance at Tracy Garvin. “Not at all,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
    “There isn’t much to tell. I came to work one day last month. Monday morning. There was a man in the office.”
    “A man?”
    “A detective.”
    “Police or private?”
    “Private. I didn’t know it at the time. The man flashed an I.D. at me, asked me if I was Amy Dearborn. When I said I was, he asked me to empty my purse.”
    “Did you?”
    “I did not. I asked Frank and Marv what the hell was going on. Frank said there’d been a robbery. Marv said he knew I didn’t do it, but would I please cooperate with the detective and help clear it up.”
    “Did they tell you what had been stolen?”
    “Not then.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I emptied my purse.”
    “What happened then?”
    “The detective went through my billfold. I had eighty some dollars in it, mostly twenties. The detective whipped out a notebook, started comparing the twenties to that. He whistled, called Frank over, Frank took a look and called the cops. They came and arrested me.”
    “On what grounds?”
    “Two of the twenty dollar bills from my purse matched the serial numbers the detective had written in his notebook.”
    “And the detective had planted those bills in the petty cash drawer?”
    “That’s right?”
    “When was that done?”
    “Friday afternoon. I’m accused of taking a hundred dollars out of petty cash when I left Friday night. The forty dollars I had Monday was supposedly what I had left.”
    “I see,” Steve said. “On the basis of that