Free The Fall by John Lescroart Page A

what it was about?”
    “No. They just had a few more questions. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Maybe I know something more than I’m aware of. If it’ll help them find who killed Anlya . . .”
    This was pure naïveté on the hoof, Rebecca thought. “Have you thought of anything that you didn’t mention last night?”
    “Not really. But maybe something new will come up and prove to be important.”
    Or maybe, she thought, you’ll tell them something that will hang you. “So, not to be aggressive, but what I said on my message, it’s the truth. We know from Liam Goodman’s little speech on TV yesterday that they’re looking for a suspect—”
    “They can’t think that I’m—”
    “They absolutely could, Greg. That’s what I’m saying. My father just brought up the same point ten minutes ago in his office. If nothing else, they can use you as a placeholder until they focus on the real guy, but in the meantime, in the eyes of the public, you’re the real guy. You will not enjoy that experience, I promise you.”
    He hesitated. “You’re telling me I shouldn’t talk to the inspectors?”
    “Not necessarily. Then you’re not being cooperative, and why would that be if you have nothing to hide?”
    “So what am I supposed to do? What do you suggest?”
    “I suggest,” she said, “that you get yourself a lawyer and have him or her there with you.”
    “How about ‘her’ as in ‘you’?”
    “I’m not pushing for the job here, Greg. I’m swamped with my regular work, though I appreciate your confidence in me. I could recommend—”
    “But to whoever that is, I’d be a bona fide suspect, wouldn’t I? I mean, a regular client who probably did it.”
    This, Rebecca knew, was the unvarnished truth.
    “I don’t think I’d like to start off on that foot,” he said.
    She sighed and said, “You’d really want me?”
    “You might not have been trying, but you sold me. How expensive are you, by the way?”
    “Too. Meaning too expensive, not two hundred an hour. But I’d cut you a deal just to be a presence, at least until they decide they’re going to leave you alone and move on. Say a hundred for this first interview, maybe two-fifty an hour if it goes any further.”
    “Two-fifty an hour. I can’t do two-fifty for an hour.”
    “Don’t worry, it’ll probably only be the first hundred, assuming you don’t get arrested. I can bring a standard retainer contract with me and make it official.”
    “What if I—it sounds ridiculous even to say it—what if I . . . if they do arrest me? Could that really be possible?”
    “Let’s not worry about that now. All we want now is to be cooperative without saying anything that would incriminate you. Do you have an alibi, by the way, for Wednesday night around eleven o’clock?”
    “An alibi?”
    “You know. Where you were. If you were with somebody else, or in a public place where people could have seen you?”
    “That’s ridiculous. Eleven o’clock on a school night, I was home.”
    “Can you prove it? Did you make any phone calls? Lend a neighbor some sugar, anything like that?”
    “Rebecca. Repeat to yourself: ‘Eleven o’clock on a school night.’ I promise I was in bed. Alone, more’s the pity. And I live by myself.”
    “So ‘no’ would be the alibi answer?”
    “I guess so. And I’ve got to say, you’re worrying me here.”
    “I don’t mean to. We just don’t want to get surprised. What school are you at again?”
    “Everett Middle. It’s down in the Mission.”
    “I’ll find it. What time does school get out?”
    “Three.”
    “Okay, if they get there first—they probably won’t, but if—tell them you’ve brought me aboard, and then don’t say a word until I get there. Not one word, even to be polite, ’cause they’ll try to keep you talking, and you’renot allowed to talk, lawyer’s orders. You think you can do that?”
    “It’ll be a little weird, don’t you think? ‘Hi, guys, come on