Small Town

There had to be some way to get him to call her, some way to get past the velvet rope and into his life. That was all she needed. If she was right in what she sensed, he’d be drawn to her as fiercely as she was to him. If not, that would be almost as good; she’d get over her obsession and be free to live her life.

All she had to do was get one small foot in the door. But how?

In the morning, when the answer came to her, she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to think of it.

She gave her name to the receptionist, and seconds later Maury Winters was on the line. “Your jury duty’s not until October,” he said, “and yes, you can get out of it. All you have to do is move to Australia.”

“They’ve got all these poisonous spiders there.”

“Spiders? I thought kangaroos.”

“Kangaroos I wouldn’t mind. Spiders I can live without.”

“What’s your source for these spiders that I never until this minute heard about?”

“The Discovery Channel.”

“If they say spiders,” he said, “there’s spiders. Don’t move to Australia. Go do your civic duty. Three days and you’re done.”

“That’s not what I called about, Maury.”

“It figures.”

“I’m interested in one of your clients.”

“I’ve got dozens of clients,” he said, “and believe me, you’re not interested in any of them. And if they were interested in you, you know what I’d tell you? Go to Australia. Spiders, schmiders, go to Australia.”

“John Creighton,” she said.

“Oh, him,” he said. “The gambler.”

“Does he have a gambling jones? I didn’t know that. Because there’s no hint of it in his books.”

“As far as I personally know,” he said, “he couldn’t tell you if a straight beats a flush. No, this is a different kind of gambling. The DA’s office offered him an easy out. Plead to involuntary manslaughter, do no time, case closed. He turned them down.”

“He wouldn’t have to go to prison? Is he crazy? Why did he turn it down?”

It made sense when he explained it. By taking the plea, he’d be stating for the record that he’d killed Marilyn Fairchild. He couldn’t take the deal and go on maintaining his innocence.

“My opinion,” he said, “it’s a good gamble. Odds are they’ll drop the charges if he doesn’t take a plea and give them an out. Everybody’d be just as happy to put this one on the Carpenter’s tab, and there’s a lot of circumstantial chazerai to support it. The connection with Pankow, the kid who cleaned all three bars and the whorehouse, and also cleaned for Fairchild and discovered her body. Cleaned the whole apartment first, incidentally, which is why they didn’t find any of the bastard’s fingerprints there. One print in that apartment and they’d drop all charges and shake his hand in public.”

“That’s what it would take?”

“To make this go away? That, or a couple good sightings of the son of a bitch in the right place at the right time. I let my detective go, he couldn’t come up with anything, but he tried. Went to the bar, the Fish Kettle, showed the picture, like they haven’t all seen the schmuck’s picture a thousand times already. There are plenty of people who think they saw him in the Village, but nobody can put him in the bar.”

“But you think they’ll drop the charges anyway.”

“I think so, and if we have to go to trial I think we’ll get a Not Guilty, but it’s still a gamble. Now I’ve got a question. Why the hell do you care?”

“I want to meet him.”

“You want to meet him. Creighton? Or the Carpenter?”

“God forbid. Creighton, of course.”

“You said you read his books.”

“All of them.”

“They any good?”

“You haven’t read them yourself?”

“I’m his attorney, not his editor. What does he need me to read his books? Are they any good?”

“They’re excellent.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. Maybe he’ll be able to pay my fee.”

“You must know about—”

“About the contract he signed, yes, of course I know about it. He’ll be a rich man, which makes it that much more of a gamble. Most prisons, they don’t let you take your computer with you. Some of ’em they don’t even give you a pencil. Why do you want to meet him?”

“Actually,” she said, “I did meet him. He was at a table at Stelli’s last month and I went over and introduced myself. I gave him my card, said I’d like for him to call me.”

“And he didn’t.”

“No.”

“And you could call him, but how would that look?”

“Exactly.”

“Susan, what? You read his books and you fell in love with him?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t know.”

“So I call him and tell him what? Here’s this girl, take her to a restaurant and you’ll get a nice surprise.”

“You can tell him that if you want.”

“I can tell him anything, just so he calls you.”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Susan, he swears he never killed nobody, and he’s my client, so of course he’s telling God’s own truth. But just between you and me, and the fact notwithstanding that nobody’s gonna prove this in court, it’s entirely possible he killed that woman.”

“He didn’t kill her, Maury.”

“You know this because you read his books.”

“Yes.”