I Is for Innocent

just thinking about what happened the night your aunt was killed. Can I ask you a couple questions?"
    "Right now?"
    "If you don't mind. I'm just curious about what happened between the time of the accident and the time you saw David Barney."
    There was silence. "I don't know. I mean, I went up to my aunt's, but that's it."
    "You went to Isabelle's house?"
    "Yeah. I was like really upset and I couldn't think what else to do. I was going to tell her what happened and ask her for help. If she told me to go back, I would have done it, I swear."
    "Could you speak up, please? What time was this?"
    "Right after the accident. I knew I hit the guy so I just took off and headed right up to her place."
    "Was she there?"
    "I guess so. The lights were on...."
    "The porch light was on?"
    "Sure. I knocked and knocked but she never came down."
    "Was the eyepiece in the door?"
    "I didn't really look at that. After I knocked, I walked around the outside, but the place was all locked up. So I just got in my truck and headed home from there."
    "You went home on the freeway."
    "Sure, I got on at Little Pony Road."
    "And got off at San Vicente."
    "Well, yeah," she said. "Why, what's wrong?"
    "Nothing really. It narrows the time of death, but I can't see that it makes any difference. Anyway, I appreciate your help. If you think of anything else, would you give me a call?"
    "Sure. Is that all you want?"
    "For now," I said. "Did you talk to the cops?"
    "No, but I talked to this lawyer and she's going in with me first thing tomorrow morning."
    "Good. You'll have to let me know what happens. How's the opening?"
    "Really neat," she said. "Everybody loves it. They're like freaking out. Mom's sold six pieces."
    "That's wonderful. Good for her. I hope she sells tons."
    "I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow."
    I said good-bye to an empty line.
    The phone rang again before I could remove my hand. I snatched up the receiver, thinking maybe Tippy had remembered something. "Hello?"
    There was an odd breathy silence, very brief, and then I heard a man's voice. "Hey, Kinsey?" Then the breathiness again.
    "Yes." I found myself squinting at the sound. I pressed my fingers to my ear again, listening to the quiet as I'd listened to the party noises at Rhe's opening. The guy was crying. He wasn't sobbing. It was the kind of crying you do when you want to conceal the fact. The air was bypassing his vocal cords. "Kinsey?"
    "Curtis?"
    "Uh-hunh. Yeah."
    "What's wrong? Is somebody there with you?"
    "I'm fine. How are you?"
    "Curtis, what's the matter? Is someone there with you?"
    "That's right. Listen, why I called? I was wondering if you could meet me so we could talk about something."
    "Who is it? Are you okay?"
    "Can you meet me? I have some information."
    "What's going on? Can you tell me who's with you?"
    "Meet me at the bird refuge and I'll explain."
    "When?"
    "As soon as possible, okay?"
    I had to make a quick decision. I couldn't keep him on the line much longer. Anybody monitoring the call would get cranky. "Okay. It might take me a while. I'm already in bed so I'll have to get dressed. I'll see you down there as soon as I can make it, but it might be twenty minutes."
    The line went dead.
    It wasn't nine o'clock yet, but there wasn't much traffic around the bird refuge at night. The preserve encompasses a freshwater lagoon on a little-used access road between the freeway and the beach. The twenty-car parking lot is usually used by tourists looking for a "photo opportunity." There was a tavern across the street, but the property was currently without a tenant. I wasn't going to go down there alone and unarmed. I picked up the phone again and called the police station, asking for Sergeant Cordero.
    "I'm sorry, but she won't be in until seven a.m."
    "Can you tell me who's working Homicide?"
    "Is this an emergency?"
    "Not yet," I said tartly.
    "You can talk to the watch commander."
    "Just skip it. Never mind. I can try someone else." I depressed the button and tucked the telephone in against my shoulder while I checked my personal address book. The "someone else" I called was Sergeant Jonah Robb, an STPD cop who worked the missing persons detail. He and I had had a sporadic relationship that fluctuated according to the whims of his wife. Theirs was a marriage of high drama and long duration, the two having met at age thirteen in the seventh grade. Personally, I didn't think they'd progressed much. At intervals, Camilla would leave him – usually without notice