Sue Grafton - I is for Innocent

"So you're having drinks…"

"That's right. We're having these drinks and he's got this little old gal in the kitchen making up a tray of snacks. That green stuff. Guacamole and salsa and these triangle-shape chips that're gray. I said, 'What the hell are them?' and he said, 'They're blue corn tortilla chips.' Looked gray if you asked me. We set there and drank and carried on until almost midnight."

"What about dinner?"

"Wasn't any dinner. Just snacks is all, which is how we got so loaded."

"And then what?"

"And that's when he said what he said, about he done her."

"What'd he say exactly?"

"Said he knocked on the door. She come downstairs and flipped on the porch light. He waited until he seen her eye block the light in the little peephole? Then he fired away. Boom!"

"Why didn't you tell me this story to begin with?"

"It didn't look right," he said righteously. "I mean, I went up there to ask if he'd lend me some money. I didn't want it to seem like I was mad he turned me down. Nobody'd believe me if I told the story that way. Besides, he was nice about it and I didn't want to look like a dick. Pardon my French."

"Why would he admit he killed her?"

"Why not? Once he's acquitted, he can't be retried."

"Not in criminal court."

"Shoot. He's not going to worry about a damn civil suit."

"And you're prepared to go into court with this?"

"I don't mind."

"You will testify under oath," I said, trying to make sure he understood what this was about.

"Sure. Only… you know."

"Only you know what?"

"I'd like a little something back," he said.

"As in what?"

"Well, fair is fair."

"Nobody's going to pay you money."

"I know that. I never said money."

"Then what?"

"I'd like to see a little time off my parole, something like that."

"Curtis, nobody's going to make a deal with you. I have no authority whatsoever to do that."

"I never said make a deal, but I could use some consideration."

I looked at him long and earnestly. Why didn't I believe what he was telling me? Because he looked like a man who wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit him. I don't know what made me blurt out the next question. "Curtis, have you ever been convicted of perjury?"

"Perjury?"

"Goddamn it! You know what perjury is. Just answer the question and let's get on with this."

He scratched at his chin, his gaze not quite meeting mine. "I never been convicted."

"Oh, hell," I said.

I got up out of the booth and walked away from him, heading for the rear of the restaurant. Behind me, I could hear him spring to his feet. I glanced back in time to see him fling some bills on the table as he hurried after me. I stepped out into the parking lot, nearly recoiling from the harsh sunlight on the white gravel.

"Hey! Now, wait up! I'm telling you the truth."

He grabbed at me and I pulled my arm out of reach. "You're going to look like crap on the stand," I said, without breaking stride. "You've got a record a mile long, including charges of perjury-"

"Not 'charges.' Just the one. Well, two, if you count that other business."

"I don't want to hear it. You've already changed your story once. You'll change it again the next time somebody asks. Barney's attorney is going to tear you apart."

"Well, I don't see why you have to take that attitude," he said. "Just because I told one lie doesn't mean I can't tell the truth."

"You don't even know the difference, Curtis. That's what worries me."

"I do know."

I unlocked my car door and opened it, rolling down the window to break the air lock when I shut it. I got in the front seat and slammed the door smartly, nearly catching his hand on the doorpost where he was resting it. I reached over and flipped open the glove compartment. I got out one of my business cards and thrust it through the window at him. "Give me a call when you decide to tell the truth."

I started the car and pulled away from him, flinging up dust and gravel in my wake.

I drove back to the office with the radio blasting. It was 3:35 and, of course, parking was at a premium. It didn't occur to me that with Lonnie driving up to Santa Maria, his space would be free. I circled the area, increasing one block with each round, trying to snag a spot within reasonable walking distance of the office. Finally, I found a semiquestionable slot, with my rear bumper hanging out into somebody's driveway. It was an invitation for a parking ticket, but maybe all the meter maids had gone home by then.

I spent the rest of the afternoon doing busywork. My appointment with Laura Barney was coming up within the hour, but in truth, I was marking time until I had a chance to talk to Lonnie, who Ida Ruth kept assuring me was temporarily out of service. I found myself loitering in the vicinity of her desk, hoping I'd be nearby if he should happen to call in. "He never calls when he's working," she said patiently.

"Don't you ever call him?"

"Not if I'm smart. He gets annoyed when I do."

"Don't you think he'd want to hear about it if his prime witness turned sour?"

"What does he care? That's this case. He's tied up doing something else. I've worked for him six years and I know what he's like. I can leave a message, but he'll just ignore it until this trial is over with."

"What am I supposed to do till he gets back? I can't afford to waste time and I hate spinning my wheels."

"Do whatever you want. You're not going to get anything from him until nine o'clock Monday morning."

I glanced at my watch. This was still Wednesday. It was 4:05. "I've got an appointment near St. Terry's in half an hour. After that, I think I'll go home and clean house," I said.

"What's with the cleaning? That doesn't sound like you."

"I spring clean every three months. It's a ritual I learned from my aunt. Beat all the throw rugs. Line-dry the sheets…"

She looked at me with disgust. "Why don't you go on a hike up in Los Padres?"

"I don't hang out in nature if I can help it, Ida Ruth. There are ticks up in the mountains as big as water bugs. Get one of those on your ankle, it'd suck all your blood out. Plus, you'd probably be afflicted with a pustular disease."

She laughed, gesturing dismissively.

I dispensed with a few miscellaneous matters on my desk and locked my office in haste. I was curious about David Barney's ex-wife, but somehow I didn't imagine she'd enlighten me much. I went downstairs and hoofed it the three and a half blocks to my car. Happily, I didn't have a ticket sitting on my windshield. Unhappily, I turned the key in the ignition and the car refused to start. I could get it to make lots of those industrious grinding noises, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

I got out and went around to the rear, where I opened the hood. I stared at the engine like I knew what I was looking at. The only car part I can identify by name is the fan belt. It looked fine. I could see that some little doodads had come unhooked from the round thing. I said, "Oh." I stuck ' em back. I was just getting in the front seat when a car pulled halfway into the drive. I tried the engine and it fired up.

"Can I help?" The guy driving had leaned across the front seat and rolled the window down on the passenger side.

"No, thanks. I'm fine. Am I blocking your drive?"

"No trouble. There's room enough. What was it, your battery? You want me to take a look?"

What was this? The engine was running. I didn't need any help. "Thanks, but I've already got things under control," I said. To demonstrate my point, I revved the engine and shifted into neutral, temporarily perplexed about which way to go. I couldn't pull forward because of the car parked in front of me. I couldn't back up because his car was blocking my rear.