Genuine Lies

out. Nina, I know the police have questioned you.”
    “Over and over,” she said with a sigh. “And now the D.A. He seems certain I’ll have to testify in court, about the argument. About Julia.”
    He heard the way her voice changed, tightened. “You think she did it, don’t you?”
    She looked down at the tattered tissue, tossed it away and picked up a fresh one. “I’m sorry, Paul, I understand you have feelings for her. But yes, I don’t see any other explanation. I don’t think she planned it. I don’t even think she meant it. But it happened.”
    “Whatever you think, Nina, you may be able to help me. I’m trying out a little theory. Can you tell me who came to see Eve the day she was killed. Even the day before.”
    “Oh, God, Paul.”
    “I know it’s hard, but it would help.”
    “All right then.” Briskly, she dried her eyes, tucked away the tissue, then reached for the date book not yet packed. “Drake was here, and Greenburg. Both Maggie and Victor were by the evening before. Oh, and you, of course. Travers mentioned you’d come to see Eve, so I jotted it down in her book.”
    “Always efficient, Nina.” He toyed with another possibility. “Did Eve have anything going with the chauffeur?”
    “Lyle?” For the first time in days, Nina really laughed. “No! Miss B. had too much class for his kind. She liked the way he looked with the car. That was it.”
    “One more thing. The day it happened. Did you have any trouble with the alarms. Anybody check them?”
    “The alarms? No, why should there have been trouble?”
    “Just tapping all the bases, Nina. Listen, let me know when you’re settled. And don’t worry about Travers. I’ll look after her.”
    “I know. I’ll keep in touch. Paul … I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “Sorry about everything.”
    “So am I.” He hung up, still wondering. He made the next call more slowly, more deliberately, then waited to be put through to Frank.
    “Only got a minute, Paul. Things are hopping.”
    “Julia?”
    “Mostly. She’s got some big gun coming in from back east.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “Oh, yeah, guess you do. Anyway, he wants every goddamn scrap of paper we’ve got on the case. He casts a pretty big shadow, even out here, so the D.A.’s making sure we’ve got everything all nice and tight. He’s already got some stiff-necked P.I. looking over our shoulders.”
    “Hathoway works fast.”
    “Yeah.” He lowered his voice. “So the D.A.’s working faster. He wants this one, Paul, bad. It’s got it all—money, power, glitz, scandal. It’s going to give him some great press.”
    “Tell me something, Frank. Is there any way you can check if the security system had been turned off that day?”
    Frank frowned and pushed through his papers. “It was on when we did our check.”
    “But could it have been turned off earlier, then turned on again?”
    “Christ, Paul, you’re spitting in the wind.” When he got no response to that, Frank muttered under his breath. “Okay, I’ll talk to a couple of the electronics boys, but I don’t think you’ve got a shot.”
    “Then give me another. Are you going to talk to the chauffeur again?”
    “Studly Doright? What for?”
    “Hunch.”
    “Shit, spare me from mystery writers.” But he was already making a note. “Sure, I can give him another shake and rattle.”
    “I’d like to tag along when you do.”
    “Sure, why the hell not? What do I need a pension for when I can live on good deeds?” “And one more thing.”
    “Fire away. You want me to turn over the files to you? Lose some evidence? Badger a witness.”
    “I’d appreciate it. While you’re about it, why don’t you check the airlines? See if anyone connected with Eve took a quick trip to London last month. Around the twelfth.”
    “No problem. That should only take me, oh, about ten or twenty man-hours. Any particular reason?”
    “I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
    And now, Paul thought as he hung up the phone, he’d wait for the answers, stir them around and see if he had a workable plot.

It was a long trip from Philadelphia to L.A. Even flying first class didn’t eliminate jet lag and travel fatigue. But Lincoln Hathoway looked as though he had just stepped out of his tailor’s. His navy gabardine suit with its subtle chalk stripes showed nary a wrinkle. His hand-sewn shoes shone like a mirror. His blond, conservatively cut hair was perfectly in place.
    Paul liked to think it was the seamless