“We have a small communication problem.”
Amy Dearborn looked at Steve Winslow through the wire mesh screen. “Oh?”
“I’ve been talking to your boyfriend. Larry Cunningham.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He seems to think he is.”
“Larry takes a lot for granted.”
“Yeah, he does,” Steve said. “Can’t seem to talk him out of lying for you.”
“Lying?”
“You left the restaurant right around seven-thirty, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you told the cops?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Larry’d like to say it was eight. That’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. You know it’s a lie. Larry knows it’s a lie. Everyone in the whole fucking courtroom will know it’s a lie. In case he should come to visit, you might point out that’s a poor idea.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, the guy’s so eager to lie it’s kind of hard to find out what really happened. I was hoping you could fill me in.”
“About what?”
“My Dinner With Larry. I’d appreciate any details you’ve got.”
“Like what? Just ask questions, will you, I’m too upset to think.”
“Okay. What restaurant were you at?”
“The Abbey Pub. It’s on a hundred and fifth near Broadway. It’s a bar and restaurant. I eat there now and then.”
“And you went there with Larry Cunningham?”
“That’s right.”
“Pick you up at your apartment?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m trying to get the facts straight. What time did he pick you up?”
“Around six-thirty.”
“Take you long to get to the Abbey Pub?”
“No. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
“You went in and ate dinner?”
“That’s right.”
“You have cocktails first?”
“He had a martini. I had a glass of wine.”
“At the bar?”
“No. We sat in a booth, got menus and ordered a drink. It a fairly simple menu. Good burgers, a few basic dinner entrees and then they have specials.”
“What did you have?”
“Salmon. That was one of the specials. Salmon steak.”
“What about Mr. Cunningham?”
“He had the shepherd’s pie. That’s a special too.”
“Did you have appetizers?”
“No.”
“Salad and bread?”
“Sure.”
“Before the main course?”
“Of course.”
“What about dessert?”
She shook her head. “No dessert. We had coffee, though.”
“You were going to the movies?”
“That’s right.”
“What movie were you going to see?”
“Some romantic comedy. I don’t remember which.”
“That’s not good.”
“Well, they all sound alike.”
“It was playing at the Olympia?”
“That’s right.”
“Uh huh. What time did it start?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“No kidding,” Steve said. He chuckled. “Tell me, do you know what else was playing at the theater? It wouldn’t he a rap music picture, would it?”
She frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“It’s not important,” Steve said. “Anyway, you were going to an eight o’clock show?”
“That’s right.”
“And the only reason you didn’t was because Mr. Cunningham had to work?”
“That’s right.”
“When did he find that out?”
“After dinner. He called his answering machine.”
“And what time was that?”
“Around seven-thirty.”
“Before or after?”
“Probably before.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we got out of there around seven-thirty. So he must have called earlier. Seven-twenty. Seven twenty-five.”
“So you were in the restaurant no more than an hour?”
“I would say so.”
“And you were out of there by seven-thirty?”
“That’s right.”
“Larry Cunningham took a cab home?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He walk you home first?”
“No. He said the client was very upset and he had to go. He went right out on Broadway and hailed a cab.”
“And you walked home?”
“Right.”
“Did you go straight home?”
“Actually, I think I stopped at the store.”
“What for?”
She gave him a look. “Tampons.”
“Uh huh. And after you bought them, you went right home?”
“That’s right.”
“What was the first thing you did when you got home?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Listen to the messages on your answering machine?”
“I may have.”
“And,” Steve said casually, “would one of those messages have been from Frank Fletcher, asking you to come
