Perfect Alibi by Sheldon Siegel

Author:Sheldon Siegel [Siegel, Sheldon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: USA, legal thriller
ISBN: 9781596928107
Publisher: M P Publishing
Published: 2010-10-04T14:00:00+00:00

# # #

“Hey, Mike,” the familiar monotone says.

“Hey, Requiem,” I reply.

My favorite pro bono client used some of the proceeds from our victory on Friday for a makeover, including new purple spikes in her hair and a third nose ring. I'm standing at the counter of Amoeba Music at noon on Monday. Hip hop music pulsates through the sound system. An eclectic mix of high school slackers, hip young professionals, leftover hippies, and a few well-mannered street people fill the long aisles of the old bowling alley. The checkout line is where we used to rent bowling shoes. The walls behind the beat-up counter are covered with psychedelic posters from shows at the old Fillmore Auditorium. To my right is one of the largest collections of new and used CDs and vinyl LPs in the Bay Area.

“How are things?” I ask.

“Okay.”

This represents chattiness for Requiem. “Got a gig this weekend?”

“Friday at midnight. Private party in the Mission. You want to come?”

“I'll have to take a rain check. We have a new case.”

“What kind?”

Requiem isn't much for watching the news. “Murder. A judge got killed. He lived in the neighborhood.”

“No shit?”

Such a delicate way with words. “No shit. Were you working Friday night?”

“Yeah.” She says she started at five and got off at midnight.

I pull out photos of Bobby and Grace. “Did you see these people?”

She chews her gum forcefully as she studies the pictures. “Maybe,” she finally decides. “It was crowded. I don't remember.”

“This young man has been accused of killing his father. This young woman is his girlfriend, who happens to be my daughter. They said they were here on Friday night.”

“You don't believe your own daughter?”

“We need to check out their story.”

“In other words, you want me to provide an alibi.”

“If you can. I helped you. Now I need you to help me.”

The caustic smirk disappears. She studies the photos intently for another long moment. “I'm sorry, Mike,” she says. “It was busy. A lot of people come and go.”

“You hesitated,” I say.

She shrugs. “They may have been here. I just don't remember.”

Which means she can't testify that she did. “Do you have security cameras?”

“The system's been broken for a couple of weeks.”

That rules out the possibility we'll find Grace and Bobby in the security videos from Friday night. “Mind if we talk to your co-workers?”

“Be my guest. The cops were here asking questions earlier today about the people in the photo.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“A couple of beat cops and a homicide inspector—African American. Old. Deep voice.”

“Roosevelt Johnson?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The same thing that I just told you, which is the same thing that everybody else told him. The store was crowded on Friday night. Your daughter and her boyfriend may have been here—I just didn't see them. As far as I can tell, neither did anybody else.” Requiem looks at the line that's forming to my right. “I need to get back to work.”

“Did the cops talk to anybody outside?”

She gestures toward a homeless man guarding the entrance to the store.

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