21
“She didn’t do it.”
Steve Winslow frowned. He looked through the plexiglass at Herbert Clay, who was sitting opposite him, holding the other telephone. He remembered what Kelly said-dead, defeated. Yeah, that was Herbert Clay all right. But in Steve’s mind it wasn’t just prison. There was something about Herbert Clay that wasn’t quite right. Steve couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t handsome, but he wasn’t ugly. He didn’t look bright, but he didn’t look dull either. He just looked a little off. An inept con man. A sharpie not quite sharp enough to make it.
A loser.
That’s what it was.
Your basic loser.
“Oh yeah?” Steve said. He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know what it is with your family, but that’s what they all say.”
“Huh?”
“She says you’re innocent. You say she’s innocent. Big deal.”
“But she is. Kelly wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Well that’s reassuring. Great. You’ve made my day.”
Clay frowned. “Hey. What’s with the sarcasm?”
“This may surprise you, but I don’t exactly need you as a character witness.”
“Character witness?”
“Yeah.” Steve gestured around an imaginary courtroom. “And now, Your Honor, I’d like to call Herbert Clay, a convicted embezzler, to testify that in his opinion the defendant, his sister, did not commit the crime.” Steve widened his eyes in mock surprise. “You have
Clay scowled. “Hey, what the fuck you doin’, man. Whose side you on?”
“I’m on your sister’s side. I’m trying to help her. If you want to help her, you’ll come down to earth and answer my questions. I’ve been talking to you five minutes now, all I hear is what a great girl she is and how she wouldn’t do it. Big deal. Tell me something I want to know.”
Clay’s eyes hardened. “Son of a bitch.” He held up his finger. “Look. I want to help Kelly, but I don’t have to take this shit. A convicted embezzler. Just for your information, I didn’t do it. Maybe that’s what they all say, but in my case it happens to be true. I didn’t do it.”
“Maybe not, but if you weren’t dipping into the till and playing the ponies you wouldn’t have taken the fall. Now I’m not your lawyer. I’m Kelly’s. You want to help her or not?”
Clay glared at him a few moments, then dropped his eyes. “Yeah. Go on.”
“Tell me about the gun.”
Clay shook his head. “I can’t understand that.”
“That makes two of us. Tell me, how did David Castleton get killed with your gun?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well the cops have. Your sister took it and killed him with it. How’s that sound to you?”
“That’s ridiculous. Kelly-”
“-wouldn’t do such a thing,” Steve finished for him. “Right. So who would?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, let’s figure it out. Tell me about the gun.”
“What about it?”
“What do you think? Why did you have a gun, what were you doing with it, where did you keep it, who had access to it, who could have taken it?”
Clay took a breath. “I had it for my job.”
“Why?”
“Occasionally I had to make deposits, withdrawals, carry large sums of money. Mostly during the day, but sometimes at night after work I’d make deposits. I didn’t feel safe walking around with the money on me, so I got a gun.”
“Who knew you had it?”
“I don’t know. David Castleton, of course. He was my boss. Aside from him I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t any secret or anything.”
“How about his father?”
“Whose father?”
“David’s father. Wasn’t he in charge of that division?”
“Yeah. But he wasn’t really hands-on, you know what I mean? He was a cream puff. Only had his job because he was the old man’s son.”
“Yeah, but did he know about the gun?”
Clay frowned. “You think he killed his son?”
“We’re running possibilities here. You tell me Kelly didn’t do it. You want to tell me Stanley Castleton didn’t either?”
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe not. Tell me something. Are you innocent?”
Clay stared at him. “I told you that.”
“You didn’t steal over a hundred grand from Castleton Industries?”
“Hell no.”
“Well, someone did. If it wasn’t you, who was it?”
“I thought it was David.”
“Well, he’s dead. Who’s next on your list?”
“I don’t know.”
“How about Stanley Castleton?”
“I can’t see that. I mean, the guy’s such a wimp.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Hardly at all. But-”
“Then let’s not cross him off the list. Did he have access to the gun?”
“I suppose so. But I still can’t see it. I mean, Stanley Castleton, for Christ’s sake.”
Steve sighed. “Let’s forget the parties involved and talk about the gun. Where did you keep the gun?”
“On my belt. I had a clip-on holster. My jacket covered it.”
“You walked around all day long with a gun clipped to your belt?”
“No. Just when I had to carry cash.”
“Fine. That’s what I mean. When you weren’t wearing the gun, where did you keep it?”
“In my desk.”
“You kept the gun in your desk?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone know you kept the gun in your desk?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyone ever
“I don’t remember.”
“Or take it out and clip it on?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember.”
“Ever show off with the gun? You’re talking to someone you wanted to impress, you say, ‘I gotta make a deposit,’ you’d open the drawer and take out the gun and clip it on your belt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Any secretary there you were sweet on, you might want to impress?”
Clay flushed. “No.”
Steve held up his hand. “Hey. I’m not attacking your personal life here. I’m trying to get a handle on what’s
