Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

the Chronicle, remember? The same as Jason McKendrick did; he was a friend of mine.”
    “Oh, Rob, I’m sorry. I never knew that.”
    “Well, he wasn’t the kind of friend I saw outside the office. Or he wasn’t by the time I met you. Jason had a lot of enthusiasms— one after the other.”
    “He had fights with people?”
    “No, he just got tired of them— and it’s to his credit that he never seemed to make anybody mad. A very popular guy, Jason. Brilliant. Very complex. He was hard to know, but not at all hard to like. It wouldn’t be far off the mark to say that everybody loved him.”
    Nobody mentioned the obvious. “Did you know him, Chris?”
    Chris never looked so much like a racehorse— aristocratic and powerful, tightly wound, dangerous— as when she was angry. Her nostrils quivered. I half expected her to toss her head like Silky Sullivan. “Rob, you’re pissing me off.”
    He backed off— literally— turned toward her, and slid his butt toward the end of the booth. But he never lost eye contact. “You’re in trouble, Ms. Nicholson. Those idiots at the cop shop want to try to hang it on you. Would it interest you to learn the coroner found a piece of paper with your name and address on it in McKendrick’s shirt pocket?”
    “What!”
    “I thought so. You think Alan told me where you are because I want to help them? Trust me, okay?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. I’d be a fool not to.” But she laughed. That was something she hadn’t done lately.
    “Listen, the Chronicle 's pulling out all the stops on this one. Jason was one of our own. I’m assigned to the story, but it’s been made clear to me that it isn’t only a story— we’re out to get the bastard who did this.” Though we didn’t protest, he held up a placating hand. “A little conflict there, but we’re only human. Corporately human, I mean. When I found out you’re the number-one suspect, I made a deal with city desk. Someone else is covering the police story, and if you tell me anything that gives me the slightest bit of hope, I’m doing my own investigation. With the blessing of the powers that be, I might add.”
    Chris sat straight, and she was at least two inches taller than Rob. She spoke in staccato sentences, the way I’d seen her do in court: “I never met the man. I didn’t kill him. I appreciate your confidence.”
    “Good. Then let’s work together on this.”
    “Why should we?” I asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s a serious question. What’s in it for us, and what’s in it for you?”
    “I have access to things you need— that little piece of information I just gave you, for instance. And Jason McKendrick’s Rolodex, for another thing (Xeroxed, of course— the cops probably have the original by now.). Would you find that useful?”
    “We certainly would. And what can we do for you?”
    Chris blurted, “Am I in it?”
    Rob smiled. “If you had been, the cops wouldn’t have got the original.” He was a charmer, and he knew Chris well, but I didn’t quite believe it; I thought it more likely he didn’t suspect her because he hadn’t found her name there. He turned to me. “As for what you have that I want, it’s information, of course. You have the one piece I need.”
    “And what’s that?” I asked.
    “The name of the person or persons who’d most like to frame you.”
    “I can’t think of anybody,” said Chris disconsolately. “Everybody frickin’ loves me.”
    Rob mentioned the obvious: “Not exactly everybody. Look. Even if you don’t think you know, you know. We just have to be patient and let it surface.”
    “I don’t get this. Rosalie says I don’t have any enemies.”
    “Goddammit, Chris, how does this stuff work? How could she know that?”
    Rob looked confused.
    “I’m just letting off steam,” she said. “It’s not the most reliable thing in the world. Obviously I have an enemy.”
    “Where were you parked?” I asked.
    “A couple of blocks from Rosalie’s— I had trouble finding a space.”
    “So somebody must have followed you, stolen your car, and deliberately used it to kill McKendrick. Who they happened to know had your name and address in his pocket.”
    It was a truly malevolent thing to do, to plan so carefully, snare her so thoroughly. Somebody had it in for her in a big way. And it had to be someone who also wanted to kill McKendrick. Suddenly I had an idea: “I know. I’ve got it.”
    “You’ve got