I picked up the phone, waiting briefly while he picked up the receiver on his side. I said, "I'm Kinsey Millhone."
"Do I know you?"
Our voices sounded odd, both too tinny and too near.
"I'm the private investigator your father hired. I just spent some time with your attorney. Have you talked to him yet?"
"Couple of times on the phone. He's supposed to stop by this afternoon." His voice was as lifeless as his gaze.
"Is it all right if I call you Bailey?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Look, I know this whole thing's a bummer, but Clemson's good. He'll do everything possible to get you out of here."
Bailey's expression clouded over. "He better do something quick."
"You have family in L.A.? Wife and kids?"
"Why?"
"I thought there might be someone you wanted me to get in touch with."
"I don't have family. Just get me the hell out of here."
"Hey, come on. I know it's tough."
He looked up and off to one side, anger glinting in his eyes before the brief show of feeling subsided into bleakness again. "Sorry."
"Talk to me. We may not have long."
"About what?"
"Anything. When'd you get up here? How was the ride?"
"Fine."
"How's the town look? Has it changed much?"
"I can't make small talk. Don't ask me to do that."
"You can't shut down on me. We have too much work to do."
He was silent for a moment and I could see him struggle with the effort to be communicative. "For years, I wouldn't even drive through this part of the state for fear I'd get stopped." Transmission faltered and came to a halt. The look he gave me was haunted, as if he longed to speak, but had lost the capacity. It felt as if we were separated by more than a sheet of glass.
I said, "You're not dead, you know."
"Says you."
"You must have known it would happen one day."
He tilted his head, doing a neck roll to work the tension out. "They picked me up the first time, I thought it was all over. Just my luck there's a Peter Lambert out there wanted on a murder one. When they let me go, I thought maybe I had a chance."
"I'm surprised you didn't take off." "I wish now I had, but I'd been free so long. I couldn't believe they'd get me. I couldn't believe anybody cared. Besides, I had a job and I couldn't just chuck it all and hit the road."
"You're some kind of clothing rep, aren't you? The L.A. papers mentioned that."
"I worked for Needham. One of their top salesmen last year, which is how I got promoted. Western regional manager. I guess I should have turned it down, but I worked hard and I got tired of saying no. It meant a move to Los Angeles, but I didn't see how I could get tripped up after all this time."
"How long have you been with the company?" "Twelve years."
"What's their attitude? Can you count on them for any help?"
"They've been great. Real supportive. My boss said he'd come up here and testify… be a character witness and stuff like that, but what's the point? I feel like such a jerk. I've been straight all these years. Your proverbial model citizen. I never even got a parking ticket. Paid taxes, went to church."
"But that's good. That'll work in your favor. It's bound to make a difference."
"But it doesn't change the facts. You don't walk away from jail and get a slap on the wrist." "Why don't you let Clemson worry about that?" "I guess I'll have to," he said. "What are you supposed to do?"
"Find out who really killed her so we can get you off the hook." "Fat chance."
"It's worth a shot. You got any ideas about who it might have been?"
"No."
"Tell me about Jean."
"She was a nice kid. Wild, but not bad. Mixed up."
"But pregnant."
"Yeah, well, the baby wasn't mine."
"You're sure of that." I framed it as a statement, but the question mark was there.
Bailey hung his head for a moment, color rising in his face. "I did a lot of booze back then. Drugs. My performance was off, especially after I got out of Chino. Not that it mattered. She was with some other guy by then."
"You were impotent?"
"Let's say, 'temporarily out of order.' "