Scam

bartender’s still not telling the truth. Well, what if he’s right?”
    “I gave you my opinion on that.”
    “Yeah. And now I’m giving you mine. What good would it be talking to me if all I did was parrot back your opinion?”
    “Yes, of course,” I said. “I’m just telling you you happen to have picked one that doesn’t thrill me.”
    “Of course not,” Alice said. “If it did, it would be your opinion. Which wouldn’t be worth talking about.”
    “Thanks a lot.”
    “You know what I mean. I mean if you already have that opinion, it’s no help to suggest it.”
    “Alice—”
    “You wanna hear my opinion, or you just wanna complain about the fact that I’m giving it?”
    I know better than to argue with Alice. At least, I always tell myself I know better than to argue with Alice. And I certainly try never to argue with Alice.
    “By all means,” I said. “What’s your opinion?”
    “Well, then,” Alice said, “what if MacAullif’s right and the bartender’s lying still? Take it another step further, and what if the bartender’s guilty?”
    “Oh, come on.”
    “You want to hear this opinion or not?”
    I took a breath. “I most certainly do.”
    “Fine. Then here it is, for what it’s worth. Say the bartender’s guilty. Not that big a stretch. We already know he was in league with the girl, at least in terms of setting you up. So what if he was in league with her in terms of setting your client up? What if he was in league with her from the beginning? What if this scam—and you still don’t know what it was—but what if this scam was something the two of them were pulling on Cranston Pritchert? And by association were pulling on you? And what if something went wrong and he had to kill?”
    “Who?”
    “What?” Alice said.
    “Who did he have to kill? Cranston Pritchert? The girl? The talent agent? When the scam went wrong, who died first?”
    “How should I know?” Alice said.
    That’s the problem with Alice’s theories. The fact they’re not entirely thought out in no way diminishes her ability to argue them.
    “But that’s the whole point, you see,” I said. “If he’s pulling a scam and something goes wrong and he has to kill somebody, then he either has to kill his confederate or the person he’s scamming.”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “And it makes a big difference which.”
    “Maybe so. But since we don’t know the answer, why don’t we move on?”
    “To what?”
    “To what happens next.”
    “Which is?”
    I was not to know immediately, for olive oil had joined the cheese, basil, pignoli nuts, and garlic, and the Cuisinart was switched on again. When the mixture had been blended to perfection, Alice switched the Cuisinart off and said, “What happens next is, whoever he killed first, now he’s gotta kill two more. He does that and hangs on to the gun, which he later plants on you.”
    I blinked. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. That didn’t happen. The cop planted the gun on me.”
    “Yeah, but what if he didn’t? What if it was actually the bartender that did it?”
    I grimaced. Sighed. “Alice. I don’t want to hear the if-my-theories-were-your-theories bit again, but that particular theory is in contradiction of known facts. This cop Belcher happens to be framing me. I can’t get away from that.”
    Alice nodded. “That’s your problem. You take something as a given and you can’t get away from it. Well, fine. Take that as a fact. Now, set it aside and say, if it wasn’t true. Because that’s what I’m doing here. I’m playing what-if. Now say, if it wasn’t true that the cop was framing me, would it be possible that this bartender planted the gun?”
    “Are you serious?”
    Alice looked like the next thing to go in the Cuisinart might be my head. “How many times do I have to say it?” she said. “Play what-if. I thought that’s what detectives were supposed to do to begin with. Consider what-if. Well, the what-if I want you to consider is, if this bartender was the killer, could he have planted the gun?”
    “No. How could he?”
    “I don’t know. I’m asking you. I’m just curious how you’re so sure. It seems to me, from what I remember, this guy showed up practically every place you were.”
    I blinked. Considered.
    “I mean,” Alice went on, “weren’t you and he constantly going over resume pictures together? At the talent agent’s office and then at her home?”
    “Yeah. That’s right.”
    “Well, there