Филипп Марголин - The Perfect Alibi

The doorbell woke Marsha Armstrong from a deep sleep. She looked at the clock on her end table. When she saw the time, she bolted up in her bed. Ten o’clock! How had she slept until ten o’clock? She was an early riser, out of bed by seven at the latest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept until ten. She looked at Doug’s side of the bed. It was empty, the sheets rumpled and his blankets thrown back. Doug was also an early riser, so she guessed that he was at the office.

The doorbell rang again. Marsha grabbed her robe and rushed down the steps. When she looked through the peephole, she saw Roger Dillon and Carrie Anders. She had no idea why they would be here. She opened the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Armstrong,” Roger said. “Is your husband home?”

“No. He’s probably at work.”

“I guess that means he’s feeling much better.”

“He is, but he still can’t remember what happened on the night Frank was murdered, if that’s what you’re here to find out.”

Carrie smiled. “It’s not.”

Marsha frowned. “Then what do you want with Doug?”

“Actually, we wanted to talk to the two of you.”

“Oh?”

“Can you tell me what you and Doug did last night?”

Marsha’s brow furrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

Marsha hesitated.

“It’s important,” Roger said.

Marsha shrugged. “We stayed home. I fixed dinner and we watched some episodes of Game of Thrones Doug missed when he was in jail. Then we went to bed.”

“About what time was that?”

“I don’t know. Nine, nine thirty.”

It suddenly dawned on Marsha that she couldn’t remember what time she’d gone to bed or even going up to bed. She did remember seeing the episode where the dragons burned up the army, but even that memory was hazy.

“You were together all night?”

“Yes,” she said, although she was guessing.

“Could Doug have left during the night?”

“Okay. That’s enough. I don’t think I should say anything else until you tell me why you’re here.”

“Rex Kellerman was murdered last night,” Carrie said as she watched Marsha closely for her reaction.

Marsha’s jaw dropped and she looked stunned. Then she realized why the detectives were at her door. “You think…? That’s ridiculous.”

“We have to talk to everyone who had a grudge against Mr. Kellerman, and Doug had a powerful motive to kill Rex.”

“Doug was home all night, and I don’t think we have anything more to talk about.”

“I’m sorry we upset you,” Carrie said.

“You have some nerve, coming here after what you did to Doug. So just go.”

Marsha slammed the door. The adrenaline generated by her anger had cleared Marsha’s head a little, but not completely. Why did she feel so dopey?

Marsha had told the detectives that Doug was with her all night, but had he been in her bed all night? She could never swear to that, because she had been dead to the world until the doorbell roused her at ten in the morning.

Marsha thought about the previous evening. She had been tired, but not abnormally tired. So, what was the explanation for her foggy memory and deep sleep? Marsha did take sleeping pills on occasion. She’d taken them almost every night after her miscarriage and while Doug was under arrest. But she had not taken any since Doug forgave her for having an affair with Rex Kellerman.

Marsha strained to remember what had happened during their viewing of Game of Thrones . Doug had been very sweet, she recalled. He’d bought several flavors of ice cream for her, and she’d eaten a big bowl while the dragons were flying around.

It dawned on Marsha that this was her last clear memory. She frowned. Did Doug put something in the ice cream? Why would he do that? The answer that came to her was one she quickly rejected. Doug was no killer. He was a gentle soul. It was ridiculous to think that he would drug her, sneak out of their house in the dead of night, and kill Rex—wasn’t it?

Robin had a court appearance in another county, so she had to take her car. The case finished at three. When she got back to her office a little after four, she found Everett Henderson waiting for her in Reception. Robin broke into a big grin. She hadn’t seen Everett since she’d won his case and humiliated Rex Kellerman, two very pleasant accomplishments.

“Hey, Rockin’ Robin,” Henderson sang when he stood up.

“What brings you here? Hopefully, not another run-in with the law.”

“Nah. I’m keeping my nose clean.” Henderson pointed to a man who was sitting next to him. “This is my good friend, Bill Carmody. He’s got legal problems, which I’ll let him explain. And he has money, so don’t let him off cheap.”

Carmody gave new meaning to the word disreputable. He was rail thin, dressed in stained jeans, a soiled black T-shirt, and a leather vest that displayed the colors of the Viper motorcycle gang. His beard was unkempt, as was his hair, and he couldn’t sit still. As Robin drew near, she caught a whiff of a horrible stink resembling the odor of cat piss, which she knew from experience attached itself to people who cooked speed.

“Thank you, Everett,” Robin responded, trying not to breathe.

Henderson stood. “I’ll be waiting downstairs, Bill. You’re in good hands.”

“Mr. Carmody,” Robin said, “why don’t we go to my office, and you can explain why you think you need my help.”

It was after six by the time Robin finished interviewing her new client. She was too tired to work, so she called Jeff to tell him she was on her way. He said he’d treat her to dinner at their favorite restaurant. Robin straightened her desk and headed down the street to her garage.

The lot had been packed when Robin arrived, and the first spot she’d found was far from the elevator, at the back of the eighth floor. By six thirty, most of the cars were gone and her car was the only one parked against the back wall. Robin was reaching for the driver’s door handle when she heard footsteps. As she turned, a hand shot out and jammed her against her car.

“Where is Randi Stark living?”

“She moved after she saw you outside her house, Blaine. I don’t know her new address.”

“I don’t believe you. Give me the address or I’ll hurt you.”

“You’re in enough trouble already. Don’t make it worse by piling an assault on top of a rape.”

“I never raped that lying cunt.”

“The evidence and the witnesses say otherwise,” Robin said to stall for time.

“The witnesses lied and the evidence was planted.”

“DNA doesn’t lie.”

“You moron, that scheming bitch rigged the DNA.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hastings’s features hardened. “I’m through talking. Give me the address or I’ll beat it out of you.”

Robin let her voice crack so Hastings would hear fear. She hoped he would relax enough to give her an opening.

“Okay, okay. But I don’t have it memorized. It’s on my phone. Give me some room. It’s in my pocket.”

Hastings stepped back, and Robin aimed a kick at his knee. Blaine had exceptional reflexes, and Robin’s foot missed the mark. Robin smashed her fist into Hastings’s stomach, but it was like hitting a wall. Hastings grunted. Then he swung. Robin blocked the punch, but there was enough force behind it to drive her back against her car. She raised her forearm to block the next punch, but Hastings was so strong that the blow drove her forearm into her face. The back of her head smacked into the side of her car, stunning her.