One Shot

town. Then he added: every restaurant, diner, lunch counter, and sandwich shop, too.

    James Barr’s friend Mike called Helen Rodin back at three o’clock in the afternoon. She asked for his address and got him to agree to a face-to-face interview. He said he was home for the rest of the day. So she called a cab and headed out. Mike lived on James Barr’s street, twenty minutes from downtown. Barr’s house was visible from Mike’s front yard. Both houses were similar. All the houses on the street were similar. They were 1950s ranches, long and low. Helen guessed they had all started out identical. But a half-century’s worth of adding on and reroofing and re-siding and ongoing landscaping had made them diverge in appearance. Some looked upmarket and some still looked basic. Barr’s place looked worn. Mike’s place looked manicured.
    Mike himself was a tired fifty-something who worked the morning shift at a paint wholesaler. His wife arrived home while Helen was still introducing herself. She was also a tired fifty-something. Her name was Tammy, which didn’t suit her. She was a part-time dental nurse. She worked two mornings a week for a downtown dentist. She ushered Helen and Mike into the living room and then went away to make coffee. Helen and Mike sat down and started out with an awkward initial silence that lasted minutes.
    “So, what can I tell you?” Mike asked eventually.
    “You were Mr. Barr’s friend,” Helen said.
    Mike glanced at the living room door. It was open.
    “Just a neighbor,” he said.
    “His sister called you a friend.”
    “We were neighborly. Some folks might call that friendly.”
    “Did you spend time together?”
    “We would chat a little if he walked by with his dog.”
    “About what kind of thing?”
    “Our yards,” Mike said. “If he was decorating he would ask me about paint. I asked him who fixed his driveway. Things like that.”
    “Baseball?”
    Mike nodded. “We would talk about that.”
    Tammy came in with three cups of coffee on a tray. There was cream and sugar and a small plate of cookies with them, and three paper napkins. She put the tray on a low table and sat down next to her husband.
    “Help yourself,” she said.
    “Thank you,” Helen said. “Thank you very much.”
    They all served themselves and there was silence in the room.
    “Were you ever in Mr. Barr’s house?” Helen asked.
    Mike glanced at his wife.
    “Once or twice,” he said.
    “They weren’t friends,” Tammy said.
    “Was it a surprise?” Helen asked. “That he did what he did?”
    “Yes,” Tammy said. “It was.”
    “So you don’t need to feel bad about mixing with him before. It wasn’t something that anyone could have predicted. These things are always a surprise. Neighbors never know.”
    “You’re trying to get him off.”
    “Actually I’m not,” Helen said. “But there’s a new theory that he didn’t act alone. I’m just trying to make sure that the other man gets punished, too.”
    “It wasn’t Mike,” Tammy said.
    “I don’t think it was,” Helen said. “Really. Not for a moment. Not now that I’ve met him. But whoever the other man is, you or Mike might know him or have heard about him or even seen him coming and going.”
    “Barr didn’t really have friends,” Mike said.
    “Nobody?”
    “Not that he spoke about to me. He lived with his sister until she moved out. I guess that was enough for him.”
    “Does the name Charlie mean anything to you?”
    Mike just shook his head.
    “What did Mr. Barr do when he had a job?”
    “I don’t know,” Mike said. “He hasn’t worked for years.”
    “I’ve seen a man over there,” Tammy said.
    “When?”
    “Now and then. Occasionally. He comes and goes. All times of the day and night, like a friend would.”
    “For how long?”
    “Ever since we moved here. I spend more time at home than Mike does. So I notice more.”
    “When was the last time you saw this man?”
    “Last week, I think. A couple of times.”
    “Friday?”
    “No, earlier. Tuesday and Wednesday, maybe.”
    “What does he look like?”
    “He’s small. He’s got funny hair. Black, like hog bristles.”
    Charlie,
Helen thought.

    Eileen Hutton walked three fast blocks south from the Marriott and arrived at the courthouse at one minute to four exactly. Alex Rodin’s secretary came down to escort her up to the third floor. Depositions were taken in a large conference room because most witnesses brought their own