"Wait a minute. Did you think Morley Shine would do something your own attorney couldn't manage?"

"Hiring Foss on this one was a big mistake. Civil work doesn't interest him. Maybe he's burned out or maybe he's just tired of representing me. He's strictly painting by the numbers, doing what's expected, as far as I can see. He's got some investigator on it-one of those guys who generates a lot of paper, but doesn't inspire much confidence."

"So why don't you fire him?"

"Because they'll claim all I'm doing is impeding due process. Besides, I've got no money left. What little I have goes to pay my attorney, plus the upkeep on the house. I don't know what Kenneth Voigt thinks he's going to get out of the deal even if he makes this thing stick."

"I'm not going to argue the merits of the case. This is pointless, Mr. Barney. I understand you have problems-"

"Hey, you're right. I didn't mean to get off on that stuff. Here's the point: This case goes into court, all it's going to do is make both these attorneys rich. But Voigt's not going to back off. The guy's after my blood, so there's no way he'll agree to walk off with a handshake and a check for big bucks, even if I had it. But I'll tell you one thing-and here's what I do have-I've got an alibi."

"Really," I said, my voice flat with disbelief.

"Yes, really," he said. "It's not airtight, but it's pretty solid."

"Why didn't it come up during the criminal trial? I've read the transcripts. I don't remember any mention of an alibi."

"Well, you better go back and read the transcripts again because the testimony's right there. Guy named Angeloni. He put me miles from the crime scene."

"And you never testified in your behalf?"

He shook his head. "Foss wouldn't let me. He didn't want the prosecution to get a crack at me and it turned out he played it smart. He said it'd be 'counterproductive' if I took the stand. Hell, maybe he thought I'd alienate the jury if I got up there."

"Why tell me about it?"

"To see if I can put a stop to this before it goes to trial. The meter's ticking. Time is short. I figure my only chance is to make sure Lonnie Kingman knows the cards he's got out against him. Maybe he can talk to Voigt and get him to drop his suit."

"Have Herb Foss talk to Lonnie! That's what attorneys are supposed to do."

"I've asked him to do that. The guy is jerkin' me around. I finally decided it's time to circumvent the man."

"So you're tipping me off to your own attorney's defense?"

"That's right."

"Are you suicidal?"

"I told you I'm desperate. I can't go through this again. You don't have to take my word for it. Check the facts yourself," he said. "Now, do you want to hear me out or not?"

What I wanted was to bang my forehead against the steering wheel till it bled. Maybe the self-inflicted pain would help me clear my thought processes. Actually, I have to confess I was hooked. If nothing else, knowing Herb Foss's strategy would give Lonnie a big advantage, wouldn't it? "Jesus, all right. What's the story?" I said.

"Look, I know people don't believe I was out jogging the night Isabelle was killed, but I can tell you where I was. At one-forty, I was at the southbound off-ramp at San Vicente and the One-oh-one, which is probably eight miles from the house. If Iz was killed between one and two, there's no way I could have done it and still ended up at that intersection when I did. I mean, I've been running for years and I'm in pretty fair shape, but I'm not that good."

"How can you be so sure of the time?"

"I was running for time. That's how I train. And I'll tell you who else was there: Tippy Parsons, Rhe's daughter, driving a little pickup, and she was very upset. She came barreling down the off-ramp and turned left on San Vicente."

"Did she see you?"

"She nearly ran me down! I'm not sure she realized it, but she nearly knocked me ass over teakettle coming off the exit. I looked at my watch because I knew my times would be screwed up and it pissed me off."

"Did anyonesee you?"

"Sure. Some guy working on a busted water main. They had a crew out there. You probably don't remember, but we had some heavy rainstorms over Christmas that year. With the ground saturated, the soil was shifting and those old pipes were disintegrating everyplace."

"You said the alibi wasn't airtight. What's that supposed to mean?"

He smiled slightly. "If you're dead or in federal custody, that'sairtight. A hotshoe like Kingman can always find a way to twist facts. All I'm saying is, I was miles away and I've got a witness. And he's an honest, hardworking guy, not some piece of shit like what's-his-face, McIntyre."

"What about Tippy? She's never said a word about this as far as I know. Why didn't you confront her?"

"What the hell for? I figured if she'd seen me, she'd have spoken up by now. And even if she spotted me, it's my word against hers. She was sixteen years old and hysterical about something. She might have just broken up with her boyfriend, or her cat might have died. The bottom line is, I was miles from the house when Isabelle was killed. I didn't even know what had happened until an hour later when I jogged past the house again. All the cop cars were there, the place was blazing with lights-"

"What about the repair crew? Will they support your claim?"

"I don't see why not. The guy took the stand before. Fellow by the name of Angeloni. He's on the list of witnesses, probably right up at the top. He saw me for sure and I know he saw her truck. She scared me so bad I had to sit on the curb and get my heart back to normal. It took me five or six minutes until I was okay again. By then, I said to hell with it and headed on home."

"And you told the cops this?"

"Go read the report. Cops figured me for the murder so they didn't pursue it."

I was silent for a moment, wondering what to make of it. Two days ago, his claims would have seemed preposterous. Now I wasn't sure. "I'll pass this on to Lonnie when I talk to him. That's the best I can do." Jesus, was I going to have to go out and corroborate his alibi?

He started to say more and then seemed to think better of it. "Fine. You do that. That's really all I'm asking. I appreciate your time," he said. Hiseyes met mine briefly. "I thank you for this."

"It's all right," I said.

He returned to his car. I watched him in the rearview mirror while he started the engine and backed out of the drive. He pulled away and I listened to the sound of his transmission as he shifted gears. Curious story. Something rang a bell, but I couldn't think what it was. Was Tippy Parsons really at the intersection? It seemed as if there must be a way to find out. I remembered reading about the storm coming through about that time.

I started the VW and pulled away from the curb, heading for the appointment with his ex-wife.

The Santa Teresa Medical Clinic, where Laura Barney worked, was a small wood-frame structure in the shadow of St. Terry's Hospital, which was two doors away. The exterior was plain-ever so faintly shabby- the interior pleasant, but leaning toward the low-budget. The chairs in the waiting room had molded blue plastic seats and metal legs linked together in units of six. The walls were yellow, the floors a marbleized vinyl tile, tan with white streaks. There was a wide wooden counter at one end of the room. On the far side, through the wide archway, I could see four desks, straight-backed office chairs, telephones, typewriters… nothing high-tech, streamlined, or color-coded. The rear wall was lined with tan metal file cabinets. I gathered, from the scattering of toddlers, pregnant women, and wailing infants, that this was a combination maternity and well-baby facility. It was almost closing time and the patients still waiting had probably been backed up for an hour. Children's toys and ripped magazines were strewn across the floor.