Try Fear - By James Scott Bell Page 0,50
they shipped him back to Twin Towers.
“You want to tell me about the blood now?” I said. “Or do you want to start by telling me why you didn’t tell me about the blood.”
“I didn’t think anything about it.”
“That’s quite a detail you didn’t think anything about. What happened?”
“It’s not like you think,” he said.
“Enlighten me, Eric. I really like to be enlightened.”
“It’s like this, honest. I got nicked on the webbing of my hand.” He held up his right hand to show me.
“Nicked by what?”
“The slide. On the gun.”
“So you did fire the gun. This is getting better by the second.”
“Yeah I did,” he said. “Only it was earlier that week. I went to a shooting range with Carl.”
I sat there trying to decide if Eric was telling the truth or being like a little boy who just keeps digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole.
“Can you prove this?” I said.
“Like with what?”
“A receipt or anything?”
“No way.”
“Where is this place?”
“La Cañada Flintridge.”
“Maybe somebody up there remembers you being there. What was the exact date?”
He thought about it. “Friday, I think.”
“Think harder.”
“Yeah. Friday.”
“What date?”
“Right before Carl died.”
“Carl died on Friday the thirtieth. You telling me it was Friday the twenty-third? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yeah. That’s right. That would have been it.”
“So it wasn’t earlier in the week. It was a whole week.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Did you guys check in or anything? Can somebody there identify you?”
“I don’t know. It was Carl’s thing. He asked me to go with him.”
“Look, you two are big guys. There might be somebody who’ll remember that. Can you give me any details about what the guy who checked you in looked like?”
“It wasn’t a guy. It was a chick.”
“A woman checked you in?”
“Yeah. She had long, straight brown hair and tats on her arm, her right arm.”
“Could she have seen you?”
“I don’t know. I was wandering around looking at the shelves when Carl paid up.”
This was good. This was promising. This was a fact that could be checked, and go in the credibility column for Eric.
72
SISTER MARY WAS with Kate outside the courthouse. I explained about the bindover for trial, and Kate leaned against Sister Mary for support. I suggested that Sister Mary drive home with Kate, and that seemed good to both of them. I walked down to the county law library on First Street to do a little research.
I was heading up the steps when my cell went off.
“Buchanan,” I said.
“Zebker.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Hilarious. Can you come down to the station?”
“What for?”
“Some questions.”
“Last time I was there you threw me in jail.”
“Not this time. I want your help.”
“On what?”
“A homicide.”
“Whose?”
“That guy, Morgan Barstler.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I don’t kid. They found his body next to a Dumpster behind the Egyptian Theatre. He had your card in his coat.”
73
ZEBKER MET ME in an interview room at Wilcox. He brought me coffee and gave me a few details about Barstler’s death, then said, “You talked to Barstler when everybody thought Carl Richess committed suicide. I’d like to get a few more details from you.”
“Does this mean you might have another suspect?”
“Not at all. It means I’m following up on something that needs following up on. If any exculpatory evidence comes up, it’ll be filtered through Radavich.”
“Some filter.”
“What else can you tell me about Morgan Barstler?”
“Not much,” I said. “But he did tell me Carl was involved for a while with an actor named Tim Larchmont. Who I talked to.”
Zebker raised his eyebrow.
“I’m investigating this thing, too,” I said.
“Go on.”
“I think you should follow up with Larchmont and this Sonny Moon guy. Find out where they all were before and after the killing.”
“In other words, you want me to help get your client off, after I’ve testified against him.”
“I want the truth, just like you do,” I said. “Can we agree on that?”
“With that I’ll agree.”
“Then what can you tell me about Barstler and how he bought it?”
“Close-range gunshot to the face.”
“You have a theory?”
Zebker shrugged. “Working on it.”
“You want me to work on it with you?”
He smiled, shook his head. I knew he wouldn’t bite. I was, after all, rep-ping the guy Zebker thought did it. He wasn’t going to give me any more information.
“Someday, Detective, I’m going to toss you a very important piece of evidence, and I hope you’ll remember how you treated me.”
“I’ll remember,” he said.
74
IT WAS GETTING late and I was out this way, so I decided to drop in on Nick Molina. The printout B-2 had handed me gave an address in South