He frowned to show he was serious. "How come?"

"You said you sat in on David Barney's trial-"

"Not the whole thing. I told you that. Crime might be exciting, but the law's a bore, right?"

"You said you talked to David Barney as he left court just after he'd been acquitted."

"I said that?"

"Yes, you did."

"Don't remember that part. What's the problem?"

"The problem is you were in jail at the time, waiting to be arraigned on a burglary charge."

"Nooo," he said with disbelief. "I was?"

"Yes, you were."

"Well, I'm burnt. You got me there. I forgot all about that. I guess I got my dates wrong, but the rest of it is gospel." He held his hand up as if he were taking an oath. "Swear to God."

"Cut the horseshit, Curtis, and tell me what's going on here. You didn't talk to him. You're lying through your teeth."

"Now wait. Just wait. I did talk to him. It just wasn't where I said."

"Where then?"

"At his house."

"You went to his house? That's baloney. When was this?"

"I don't know. Couple weeks after his trial, I guess."

"I thought you were still in jail."

"Naw, I'se out by then with time served and all that. My attorney cut a deal. I, like, copped to the lesser plea."

"Forget the jargon and tell me how you ended up at David Barney's house. Did you call him or did he call you?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" I said in a scathing tone of skepticism. I was being rude, but Curtis didn't seem to notice. He was probably accustomed to being addressed that way by all the hard-nosed prosecuting attorneys he'd faced in his short, illustrious career.

"I called him."

"How'd you get his telephone number?"

"Called Information."

"What made you think to get in touch with him?"

"It seemed like to me he wouldn't have many friends. I been there myself. Get in trouble with the law, a lot of people won't fool with you much after that. It's like they don't want to hang out with a jailbird."

"So you thought he needed a best friend and you were going to be it. What's the rest of it?"

His response was sheepish and he had the good grace to squirm. "Well, now, I knew where he lived-out in Horton Ravine-so I figured he was good for a meal or a couple drinks. We'd been cellmates and all and I thought he'd at least be polite."

"You went to borrow money," I said.

"You might put it that way."

So far, it was the only thing he'd said that rang true.

"I'd just got out. I didn't have no funds to speak of and this guy had lots. He's loaded-"

"Skip that. I believe you. Describe the house."

"He's living in the dead wife's house by then-up a hill, Spanish, with this courtyard and a terrace with this big black-bottom swimming pool-"

"Got it. Go on."

"I knock on the door. He's there and I say I was in the area and stopped by to congratulate him on gettin' off a murder rap. So he asks me in and we have a couple drinks-"

"What'd you drink?"

"He had some kind of pussy drink, vodka tonic with a twist. I had bourbon straight up with a water back. It was classy bourbon, too."

"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."