O Is for Outlaw

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    I held up my McDonald's bag, the contents getting colder by the minute, as were my hopes. "I gotta eat first. I'm half dead."
    "Have at it."
    I crossed to the kitchen, moving around the counter to the refrigerator. I took out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and sorted through the junk drawer until I found the opener. "You want wine? I'm having some. You might as well join me."
    The two exchanged a look. It was probably against regulations, but they must have thought I'd be easier to get along with if I were all likkered up.
    "We'd appreciate that. Thanks," Claas said.
    I handed him the wine bottle and the opener, and he got to work while I set out three glasses and a paper plate. I dumped the fries out of the carton and fetched the ketchup bottle from the cabinet. "Help yourself," I said.
    Detective Claas poured the wine and we stood there, eating lukewarm french fries with our fingers. They were completely limp by now, and we dropped them in our beaks like a trio of birdies eating albino worms. Ever gracious, I cut the QP into three equal parts and we gulped those down, too. After supper, we walked the six steps into the living room. This time I took the couch and let them settle into my director's chairs. I noticed Detective Claas kept his briefcase close at hand as he had before. I knew he had a tape recorder in there, and it made me want to lean down and address all my comments into the opening.
    "So now what?" I said, crossing my arms against my chest.
    Detective Aldo smiled. "We have some news we thought you might want to hear firsthand. We picked up a partial print on the Smith and Wesson and matched it to some prints that showed up in Magruder's place."
    Claas said, "You remember a gray metal box concealed in the bottom of a chair?"
    I could feel my mouth go dry. "Sure." No sound. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Sure."
    "We got a real nice set on the inner rim of the lid, like someone pulled it open with their fingertips."
    I was going to call his attention to the matter of subject-pronoun agreement, but I held my tongue. Instead, I said, "Who?" Was that an owl I heard Aldo spoke up again, clearly enjoying himself. "Mark Bethel."
    I stared at him, blinking. "You're kidding. You gotta be kidding."
    "He went in there Sunday night and left prints everywhere."
    "That's great. I love it. Good for him," I said.
    "We're not sure what he was looking for, "
    I held a hand up. "I can tell you that," I said. I gave them a hasty summary of the work I'd done, including the discovery of Duncan Oaks's credentials in Mickey's jacket lining. "I can't believe he was dumb enough to leave his fingerprints. Has the man lost his mind?"
    "He's getting desperate," Claas said. "He probably saw the print dust on all the surfaces and figured we were done."
    "You dusted again?"
    "Tuesday morning," Aldo said.
    "But why? What possessed you?"
    "We got a call from Cordia Hatfield. She'd seen lights on Sunday night. You swore it wasn't you, so she suspected it was him," Claas said.
    "But how'd he get in?"
    "With the key she'd given him. He'd stopped by last week and introduced himself as Magruder's attorney. He said he'd be paying Mickey's bills till he was on his feet, and he was hoping to pick up insurance policies and bank deposit slips. She gave him a key. Of course, he returned it later, but probably not before he'd had a copy made for himself," Claas said.
    Detective Aldo spoke up. "I don't think the computer would have caught the match without the fresh set he left. Of course, we wasted a lot of time eliminating yours."
    I could feel my cheeks heat. "Sorry about that."
    Aldo wagged his finger, but he didn't seem all that mad.
    Claas said, "We can also place Bethel in the area at the time of the shooting."
    "You guys have been busy. How'd you do that?"
    Claas was clearly pleased with himself. "On the thirteenth, Bethel was in Los Angeles for a TV appearance. The taping finished at ten. He checked into the Four Seasons on a late arrival and then went out again, returning in the early hours of the fourteenth. He might have slipped in unnoticed, but as it happened the valet car park was a supporter and recognized his face."
    "Tell you what else," Detective Aldo said. "We got somebody saw them together that night."
    "No."
    "Oh, yes. We went through a bunch of matchbooks Magruder kept in a fishbowl. We found seven from a dive on Pic'o near the Pacific Coast Security offices. A gal at the bar remembered seeing