I Is for Innocent

before."
    "I bet you are. You know how I know?" He tapped himself on the temple. "I'm psychic."
    "Well, then, you can probably tell me what I'm going to ask you next."
    He flushed happily. "Not really. I don't know you that well, but I'd like to."
    "Maybe you'll be able to intuit the answers to some questions I have."
    "I'll try. Absolutely. Go ahead. I'm all ears." He lowered his head and his expression became serious.
    "Tell me again what he said to you once the acquittal came down."
    "Said... let's see now. He goes, something like... 'Hey, dude. How you doin'? How about that? Now you see what a high-priced attorney buys?' And I'm like, 'Way to go, man. That's great. I never thought you done her.' He just got this big shi – pardon me – this big grin. He kind of leaned over close and said, 'Ha ha ha, I guess the joke's on them.'"
    This seemed like an improbable conversation to me. I'd never met David Barney, but I couldn't believe he'd talk like that. I watched Curtis's face. "And from that, you concluded what?"
    "I concluded he done her. You have a boyfriend?"
    "He's a cop."
    "Bullshiiiit. I don't believe you. What's his name?"
    "Lieutenant Dolan."
    "What's he do?"
    "Homicide. STPD."
    "Don't you never date anybody else?"
    "He's too jealous for that. He'd rip your head right off your neck if he found out you were hustling me. Did you talk to David Barney any other time?"
    "Besides jail and court? I don't think so. Just them two occasions."
    "It seems odd that he'd say that."
    "How come? Let's discuss that." He put his chin on his fist, ready to engage me in protracted discourse.
    "The man hardly knows you, Curtis. Why would he confide something so significant? And right there in court...." I cupped a hand to my ear. "With the sound of the judge's gavel still ringing in the air."
    Curtis frowned thoughtfully. "You'd have to ask him that, but if you're asking me, I'd say he knows I'm a jailbird. He might have felt more comfortable with me than all his high-tone friends. Anyhow, why not? Trial was over. What's anybody going to do? Even if they heard him there's no way they can touch him on account of double jeopardy."
    "Where were you when this conversation was taking place?"
    "Outside the door. It was Department Six. He come out and I clapped him on the shoulder, shook his hand –"
    "What about reporters? Wasn't he being mobbed at that point?"
    "Oh, God, yes. They was everyplace. Yelling his name, stickin' microphones in his face, asking how he felt."
    I could feel the skepticism rise. "And in the middle of it he stopped and made that remark?"
    "Well, yeah. He leaned over and spoke in my ear just like I said. You're a private detective? Is that really what you do?"
    I shrugged to myself and began to print his account of events. "That's really what I do," I said.
    "So like when I get out, if I have a problem, I can look you up in the phone book?"
    I wasn't paying much attention to him since I was in the process of converting his version into a written statement. "I guess so." If you can read.
    "How much do you charge for a service like that? What's that cost?"
    "Depends on what you want."
    "But about what?"
    "Three hundred bucks an hour," I said, lying automatically. At fifty bucks an hour he might possibly afford me.
    "Go onnn. I don't believe it."
    "Plus expenses."
    "Goddamn, I can't believe it. Are you shittin' me or what? Three hundred an hour . Every hour you work?"
    "It's the truth."
    "You sure make a lot of money. For a girl? Lord," he said. "How about if you lend me some? Fifty dollars, or a hundred. Just till I'm out and then I can pay you back."
    "I don't think men should borrow money from women."
    "Who else you gonna borrow from? I mean, I don't know dudes with dough. Unless they're drug kings, something like that. Santa Teresa, we don't even get the kings. We get more like the jacks." He snorted out a laugh. "You have a gun?"
    "Sure I do," I said.
    He rose halfway off his seat and peered down through the glass like I might have a six-shooter strapped to one hip. "Hey, come on. Let me see."
    "I don't have it with me."
    "Where's it at?"
    "My office. I keep it down there in case somebody should refuse to pay a bill. Could you read this and see if it accurately reflects your recollection of your conversation with Mr. Barney?" I passed it under the glass partition, along with a pen.
    He barely glanced at it. "Close enough. Hey, you print pretty good."
    "I was a whiz in grade school," I said. "Could I ask