I is for Innocent

"I'm not cute at all. I'm a very cranky person. Now could we get down to business? I'm having a little problem with the story you told me."

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 di

"Wasn't any di

"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 Lo