Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

can’t seem to turn up anything. However”— he paused for effect— “not to worry, because the whole thing might be solved. Two new leads— after you left, Chris, I kept looking through the clips, thinking I might run across a Sean. I didn’t, but I found someone McKendrick panned who had access to your car keys; someone who could as easily have driven your car that night as you.”
    Chris and I spoke in unison: “Who?”
    “Alan Kruzick.”
    “Did I hear those three magic syllables?” Alan popped in the door, with something in his hand, probably for Chris or me to sign.
    “You never mentioned Jason McKendrick panned you.”
    “ Streetcar Named Desire. ” He shrugged. “So I’m no Brando. Big deal.”
    “Yes, but the funny thing is, that was the last play you were in before you came to work here. McKendrick broke your spirit, you realized you’d never make it in this town as an actor, so you threw in the towel and went to work. But you were bitter about it— he’d ruined your life and you decided he had to pay for it. You awaited your opportunity. One day, when Chris left her purse unattended, you took her keys and got a duplicate made of her car key. Then one night you followed her— no, better yet, you followed her a lot— but one night she went to a place very near Jason McKendrick’s apartment. You decided to do it that night.”
    “I can do better than that,” said Chris. “He knew I was going to that group. I told him. Right, Alan?”
    Alan said, “I have the right to remain silent. I am not required to say anything at any time or to answer any questions. Anything I say can be used against me in court. I have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before being questioned and to have her with me during questioning. If I cannot afford a lawyer…”
    Chris and I stared at each other. “Will it fly?” she said.
    “‘The silence often of pure innocence,” intoned Alan, “persuades when speaking fails.’”
    We ignored him. “It’s a little Perry Masonish, but sure— this is it! Rob, you’re a genius.”
    “Well, actually, it was only a theory. Don’t you think you’re being a little hasty? I mean, who’s going to type your letters?”
    “Nobody’s going to arrest Alan. We’ll just use him to point up the preposterousness of suspecting Chris. He had just as much opportunity and a better motive. Alan could even testify. Hey, how about it?”
    “Give me liberty or give me death.”
    “That means yes,” I said. “He’s never going to turn down a role like that.”
    “Wait a minute,” said Kruzick. “How did I get her name and address into his pocket?”
    “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll think of something. Or maybe we just won’t mention it. Do you have an alibi for that night?”
    “I was with— uh, no, come to think of it. Mickey wasn’t home that night.”
    “Fabulous.” Chris was beaming.
    It was at least a better theory than Martinez and Curry had. I planned to give it to them first thing in the morning; maybe it would head them off at the pass.
    Rob said, “There’s one more thing. I got a call from a woman who says she knows who killed him.”

Chapter Twelve
    Her name was Hilary Winterhalter, and Rob had arranged for us to see her at six-thirty that night. But he didn’t say much else about her, only that she sounded a little hysterical, as if she could be the crazy babe Tommy La Barre had postulated. Afterward, I thought, would be a good time to call on Sarah Byers.
    Chris waited for Rob to leave and said that was fine but not to make any plans for Wednesday, the next night— it was the regular meeting of the Raiders of the Lost Art, and Chris had had a little talk with Rosalie. They were going to work on the murder, and I was welcome to sit in.
    I was interested. I was starting to wonder if Chris had gotten “innocent” off Tommy La Barre because he’d hired someone rather than done the deed himself. Now that that idea had come up, maybe the Raiders could tell us if it was a productive direction.
    Did I mean that?
Was that me thinking that?
    Well, anyway, I’d keep an open mind.
    That night I drove. Unlike Julio, Rob liked my Jeep—liked riding up high like I did. We’d decided to treat ourselves even though it was a high-profile car for this kind of thing.
    Hilary had a ground-floor flat in Bernal Heights with a little porch outside where she was waiting. She was a very small girl and, if the truth be told, no one you’d pick out of a