“How old is he?”
“Twenty-six,” says Harry.
With this, Epperson actually rocks on his heels. He lifts his gaze in mid-signature to check Harry out, to make sure all the gum balls are still in the machine. Epperson may be flattered, but his ego doesn’t match his stature. What in the hell does a twenty-six-year-old man want with an autograph from a has-been high-school star, even if he does hold a state record?
“High-school heroes were his big thing. He’s got a collection of autographs.” I’m waiting for Harry to say, People who never made it big-a truly rare collection, but he bites his lip.
“He never forgot that game.” Harry tries to patch it up. “He’s even told his boy about it.”
“Kids of his own. Really?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s funny how some things just make an impression. Sports moments,” says Harry. ” You always remember them. Like the catch made by Clark in the end zone. The Forty Niner playoff game they beat Dallas. The one that sent ’em to their first Super Bowl. You always remember it, don’t you?”
Epperson makes a face. Nods. He remembers.
“Well, that game where you scored forty points”-Harry’s back to inflating the numbers-“that’s the same kinda thing.”
Epperson hands Harry the signed folder and his pen. “Good meeting you,” he says. He shakes Harry’s hand and heads for the door.
“You know, I wonder, cuz he’s sure to ask me. .”
“Hmm?” Epperson stops again and turns.
“Why didn’t you play in college?” Anything to keep him talking.
“Injuries,” says Epperson.
Suddenly Harry turns toward me. “I told you it had to be something like that.”
Epperson’s looking at me now, wondering who the hell I am.
“We had a bet. I told him that you’d have been in the NBA unless you got hurt. He wouldn’t believe me. Oh, excuse me. You guys haven’t met.”
The fact that Harry hasn’t introduced himself doesn’t seem to bother him.
“Paul Madriani. Bill Epperson.”
Oh, shit. I do the best I can to smile.
Epperson looks at me, thinking about the name, taking time for it to register. Then it does. He’s not sure whether to hold out his hand.
“You’re the. .”
“The lawyer,” I say.
“Yeah. Listen, I gotta run. I’m late. Really.”
“I told Paul you’d have been a major star,” says Harry. “That you must have gotten injured somewhere along the way. What was it, knees?”
“Heart,” says Epperson. He’s still looking at me.
“You know, it’s a good thing we ran into you. We’d been meaning to call you anyway. The trial,” says Harry. “You don’t mind if we talk to you, do you? I mean, in fairness.”
The vacant look on his face makes it clear he doesn’t know what to say.
Harry doesn’t even slow down to take a breath. “The D.A.’s people didn’t tell you that you couldn’t talk to us, did they? Cuz if they did, they’re gonna be in big trouble with the judge,” says Harry.
“No. No. Nothing like that,” says Epperson. “They just said I didn’t have to talk to you.”
“Well, then, in the interests of fairness. .” Harry gives him one of his better looks, arched eyebrows over the top of his half-lense cheaters, with just enough of a pause. “You do want to be fair?”
“Oh. Oh, sure.”
“Great. Then why don’t we go get a cup of coffee?”
“I can’t right now. I’ve got a meeting.”
Harry and I are thinking the same thing-Yeah, with a telephone booth or his cell phone. Hotline to the D.A.’s office.
“Well, we can talk for a couple of minutes right here,” says Harry. He’s not about to let Epperson out of his clutches.
Harry looks at the signature on the manila folder one more time. “You know, my boy really is going to be happy.”
Epperson gives him a sick smile, wishing I’m sure that he’d taken the stairs.
Harry flips the folder open, finds a legal pad and has the cap off the pen again.
“You were a friend of Kalista Jordan’s?”
Epperson looks at us shifty-eyed, not sure if he should answer, then says: “Yeah, sure.”
“How long did you know her?”
Epperson thinks for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how long you knew her?”
“Five years. Maybe six. We met in college.”
“Good,” says Harry. A little encouragement.
“Did you meet socially, or were you in the same classes?”
“It was social.”
“Did you date?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it that. We went out a few times.”
Harry with the pen in the file. “Dated,” he says.
“I didn’t say that. We had some mutual friends. We always went out with friends. I was a couple of years behind her.”
“Yeah, I always liked the older women, too,” says Harry. “Must be that maternal touch.”
If a black man can suffer from rosacea, I would say Epperson has it now.
Harry is scratching out notes on the yellow legal pad. “Why don’t we move over here?” He finds a ledge of polished granite that lines the wall of the foyer like a stone wainscot and lays the notepad on it for a harder surface.
“I really have to go,” says Epperson. “I’ll give you my card. You can call me at the office.”
Harry gives me a look like sure, and ignores him. Epperson doesn’t want to be rude. It is the only thing keeping him from walking on us.
“The night Kalista Jordan disappeared.” I cut to the chase. “You do remember that night?”
“Hard to forget,” he says. Epperson now looks down at me.
“You had dinner with her in the faculty dining room on the campus?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you overhear the conversation between Dr. Jordan and Dr. Crone that night?”
Epperson is now not sure if he should answer. “Listen, I don’t think we should be talking about this.”
“Why not?” asks Harry. “You don’t want to be unfair to the defendant do you?”
“No, but I don’t want to get in any trouble either.”
“How are you gonna get in trouble?” asks Harry. “Certainly not by telling us the truth.”
“Okay, sure,” he says. “They had a conversation.”
“Did you hear any of it?”
He shakes his head.
“Is that a no?” I ask.
“Crone took her by the arm. Moved her away from the table. I couldn’t hear any of it.”
“But you could see it?”
He nods.
“Was it a friendly conversation?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘friendly.’ He didn’t hit her, if that’s what you mean. They had some words.”
“An argument?”
“Probably. As I said, I couldn’t hear. They kept their voices down. At least Crone did.”
“So he didn’t shout at her?”
“Not that I heard.”
“But Kalista, what did she do? Did she raise her voice?”
“Might have,” he says. “I can’t remember.”
Harry can’t believe our good luck.
“Besides taking her arm to move her away for privacy, did Dr. Crone ever touch Kalista Jordan that evening? Did he put his hands on her?” I ask.
This is how I would couch the question in the courtroom, preface it with a little softening context.
“No. Not that I remember.”
I look to Harry to make sure he’s gotten every word, my question verbatim, and Epperson’s response. Harry would be the witness if Epperson says anything different on the stand, merely to verify the accuracy of his notes.
“Would you be willing to give us a signed statement to that effect?” Harry pounces on it.
“I don’t know if I could do that,” he says.
“Why not? We’d make it very brief. Just the questions we’ve asked you here. We could call to clarify over the phone if we have anything more.”
“Yeah. Right. You call me,” he says. “Right now, I have to go.”
“There is one more thing,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“Those papers. The ones Kali. .” I’m talking and suddenly I notice that he’s no longer looking at me. Instead his gaze is fixed on something in the distance, over my shoulder.