I Is for Innocent

tossed the cellophane in the trash. She was clearly engaged in the subject at hand, gesturing vigorously to make her point. She had a good face, rather plain, and she wore little makeup. One of her two front teeth had a corner clipped off and it added a whimsical note to an otherwise stern expression. While I watched, she began to doodle on a legal pad – a cowboy stabbed in the chest with a cartoon knife.
    She finished her conversation and turned her attention to me without any visible transition. "Yes?"
    "I was looking for Lieutenant Dolan, but Emerald tells me he's out sick."
    "He's got that bug that's been going around. Have you had that thing? I was out for a week. It's the pits."
    "So far I've been spared," I said. "How long's he been out?"
    "Just two days. He'll come dragging back in looking like death. Is there something I can help you with?"
    "Probably. I've been hired by Lonnie Kingman in a wrongful death suit. The defendant is David Barney. I was curious about the scuttlebutt. Were you here back then?"
    "I was still a dispatcher, but I've heard 'em talk. Man, they were pissed when he walked. He looked good for the shooting, but the jury wasn't buying. Talk about frustrated. Lieutenant Dolan was mad enough to bite through nails."
    "From what I hear, David Barney's former cellmate claims he as good as confessed once the verdict came down."
    "You're talking about Curtis McIntyre. Guy's in the county jail, and if you want him, you better make it quick. He gets out this week after doing ninety days on a battery," she said. "Did you hear about Morley Shine?"
    "Lonnie mentioned that last night, but I didn't hear the details. How'd it happen?"
    "What I heard he just keeled over dead. He'd been in bed with the same damn flu, but I guess he was feeling better. He was having dinner Sunday night? You know Morley. He hated to miss a meal. Got up from the table and dropped in his tracks."
    "He had heart trouble?"
    "For years, but he never took it serious. I mean, he was under doctor's care, but it never seemed to faze him. He was always joking about his ticker."
    "That's too bad," I said. "I'm really sorry to see him go."
    "Me, too. I can't believe how terrible I feel. Roll call somebody told me Morley Shine died? I busted out crying. I swear to God, I surprised myself. It's not like we were close. We used to talk over at the courthouse if I was waiting to testify on a case. He was always hanging around there, chain-smoking Camels, munching Fritos or something from the vending machine. It bums me out all those old guys are dropping dead. How come they didn't take better care of themselves?"
    Her phone rang and she was quickly caught up in another matter. I gave her a quick wave and moved away from her desk. In essence, she'd told me what I'd wanted to know. The cops were convinced David Barney was guilty. That didn't make it true, but it was another precinct heard from.
    I stopped off in Records and asked Emerald if I could borrow the phone. I called Ida Ruth and had a quick chat with her, asking her to set up an interview for me with Curtis McIntyre at the jail later in the morning. Visiting hours are ordinarily limited to Saturday afternoons, 1:00 to 3:00, but since I was working as Lonnie Kingman's representative, I could talk to him at my convenience. Oh, the joys of the legitimate endeavor. I'd spent so many years skulking through the bushes, I could hardly get used to it.
    With that taken care of, I asked her for Morley Shine's home address. Morley had lived in Colgate, the township bordering Santa Teresa on the north. Colgate consists largely of "lite" industry and tract housing with assorted businesses lined up along the main street. Where the area was once farmland and citrus groves, the uninhabited countryside has now given way to service stations, bowling alleys, funeral homes, drive-in theaters, motels, fast-food restaurants, carpet outlets, and supermarkets, with no visible attention paid to aesthetics or architectural unity.
    Morley and his wife, Dorothy, owned a modest three-bedroom home off South Peterson in one of the older housing developments between the highway and the mountains. My guess was the house had gone up in the fifties before the builders really got clever about differentiating exteriors. Here, the Swiss-chalet-style trim was painted either dirt brown or blue, the two-car garages designed so they stuck out in front, overpowering the entrances. Wooden shutters matched the wooden flower