He approached it with a quick step.
Five minutes later he was in Crockett Bluetone’s office behind closed doors.
The man-in his late thirties-had a square jaw and predator eyes. His sleeves were rolled up enough to show strong forearms and hands. At six-two, he was bigger than River expected, better looking too.
River bypassed the leather chair in front of the lawyer’s desk, instead walking to the window, looking down for a beat, then back at the lawyer.
“I’m not really here about a legal matter,” he said.
“No?”
“No. Does the name Charley-Anna Blackridge mean anything to you?”
A beat.
“No.
“No?”
“No.”
River raked his hair back.
“Let me help your memory,” he said. “I’m talking about the Charley-Anna Blackridge you went to San Francisco with four months ago.”
The lawyer didn’t move.
Then he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and said, “What’s your connection to her?”
“Nothing, just a friend,” River said. “She got murdered last weekend.”
The lawyer nodded.
“I know.”
River walked over and sat on the edge of the desk.
“Are you the one who did it?”
“Wow, that’s quite a question.”
“Yes it is.”
61
Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Afternoon
Alabama showed up late afternoon, tapped a Camel out of Wilde’s pack, lit it and handed it to him. Then she sat on the edge of the desk and dangled her legs. “I talked to Mitchum point blank and asked him where he went after he left the El Ray Club,” she said. “He said he left with a woman and they spent the night at his hotel.”
Wilde blew smoke.
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me her name,” Alabama said. “He said she was a lawyer and she made him promise to be discrete.”
“So, no name?”
“No but he was telling the truth,” Alabama said.
“How do you know?”
“Because I could tell, that’s how.”
“Well, that’s an interesting story.”
“Why?”
He told her about getting a call from the bartender, Michelle Day, who gave him the name of Gina Sophia, a lawyer at Jackson amp; Reacher. “I went over to her office to get the story straight from the horse’s mouth. She left the club with him and was with him all night. She even knew about his pinup-plane tattoo, so there was no question we were talking about the same man.”
Alabama jumped off the desk, turned around and shook her hips.
“You hate it when I’m right,” she said.
Wilde nodded.
“Luckily it doesn’t happen that often.”
“Actually it happens more than you know.”
“I’m not sure it happened this time, to be honest with you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, Mitchum was at the El Ray Club the night Charley-Anna got murdered,” he said. “He also frequented Dollface in New York, where Brittany Pratt was the night she got murdered.”
Alabama wasn’t impressed.
“No one says he was there that night,” she said. “Two people went to the same club on occasion, big whoop de do. As far as Denver goes, Mitchum was with the lawyer all night. That means case closed, end of discussion, done deal.”
“Maybe not,” Wilde said.
Alabama shook her head in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is that maybe the lawyer was lying. Maybe she’s in cahoots with Mitchum and she’s giving him a false alibi.”
Alabama wrinkled her face.
“You don’t quit, do you?”
Wilde got up, walked to the window and looked down. A hillbilly song came from the radio of a car sitting outside.
Wilde flicked the butt out the window, tapped another stick out of the pack, set a book of matches on fire and lit up from the six-inch flame.
He turned to Alabama.
“Find out if Mitchum and the lawyer, Gina Sophia, knew each other before the night in question. If they did, she’s giving him a false alibi. If she’s giving him a false alibi, it’s because he needs one.” A beat then, “Don’t let him know you’re looking into it. Don’t let him know that you know the lawyer’s name. Any questions?”
“One. Are you crazy?”
Wilde nodded.
“I am but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he said. “The more I think about it, if she went to the club so she’d be in a position to give him an alibi, that means they had to set it up beforehand. That means she’s not just giving him an alibi after the fact, she was in on the alibi from the start, meaning she’s more in the nature of co-conspirator.”
“Why would she?”
“I don’t know,” Wilde said. “In fact, the more I think about it-”
“You already thought about it more.”
He smiled.
“Right, now I’m thinking about it more a second time, and what I’m thinking is that maybe she’s not giving him an alibi at all. Maybe he’s the one who’s giving the alibi. Maybe he’s giving it to her.”
“Are you saying she’s the killer?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe I am.”
Alabama shook her head in wonder.
“Do me a favor, will you?”
He nodded.
Sure.
“Shoot me if I ever get as twisted as you.”
62
Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Night
Su-Moon made it to the roof without dropping to her death. She disappeared over the parapet, checked the access hatch to be sure it wasn’t locked, and shouted down to Waverly, “Come on!”
“Move the rope over.”
“Can’t. There’s nowhere to hook it.”
Waverly swallowed.
Su-Moon barely made it and she was stronger.
A gust of rain lashed at her face and pushed her body sideways. She waited for it to subside, then got up on the railing, shifted her weight onto the rope and climbed up hand over hand with every ounce of strength she had. At the top, Su-Moon grabbed her arm with both hands and pulled her over the parapet.
She landed on her back.
The weather pelted her face.
She didn’t care.
She was up.
She was alive.
“Come on,” Su-Moon said. “No time for naps.”
The access door led to a steel interior stairway. On squishy feet they took it down to Bristol’s floor, hearing no one, seeing no one, encountering no cleaning crews or guards. A trail of dripping water followed them.
So far, so good.
The door to Bristol office suite was locked. Su-Moon busted the glass with her foot, reached through and unlocked the bolt.
They were in.
She shut the door and relocked it.
“Which way to Bristol’s office?”
“Follow me.”
They ended up in a corner office that faced the street. The windows had blinds but they wouldn’t completely seal the lights.
“We should have brought flashlights.”
“Too late now.”
They moved a banker’s lamp from the top of the desk to under it then turned it on. That gave them enough to see by without overdoing it.
Then they searched.
They weren’t careful.
They weren’t neat.
Ten minutes into it they still hadn’t found anything of relevance. Then Waverly had an idea to pull the drawers out of Bristol’s desk and see if anything was taped on the backside or underneath.
There wasn’t.
Five minutes later they found a hidden compartment under a piece of removable wood in the top drawer. Inside was a black address book together with an envelope.
Su-Moon slapped Waverly on the back.
“Bingo.”
Suddenly a noise came from the hallway outside Bristol’s office.