I is for Innocent (Kinsey Millhone 9)

"Do whatever you want. You're not going to get anything from him until nine o'clock Monday morning."

I glanced at my watch. This was still Wednesday. It was 4:05. "I've got an appointment near St. Terry's in half an hour. After that, I think I'll go home and clean house," I said.

"What's with the cleaning? That doesn't sound like you."

"I spring clean every three months. It's a ritual I learned from my aunt. Beat all the throw rugs. Line-dry the sheets…"

She looked at me with disgust. "Why don't you go on a hike up in Los Padres?"

"I don't hang out in nature if I can help it, Ida Ruth. There are ticks up in the mountains as big as water bugs. Get one of those on your ankle, it'd suck all your blood out. Plus, you'd probably be afflicted with a pustular disease."

She laughed, gesturing dismissively.

I dispensed with a few miscellaneous matters on my desk and locked my office in haste. I was curious about David Barney's ex-wife, but somehow I didn't imagine she'd enlighten me much. I went downstairs and hoofed it the three and a half blocks to my car. Happily, I didn't have a ticket sitting on my windshield. Unhappily, I turned the key in the ignition and the car refused to start. I could get it to make lots of those industrious grinding noises, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

I got out and went around to the rear, where I opened the hood. I stared at the engine like I knew what I was looking at. The only car part I can identify by name is the fan belt. It looked fine. I could see that some little doodads had come unhooked from the round thing. I said, "Oh." I stuck ' em back. I was just getting in the front seat when a car pulled halfway into the drive. I tried the engine and it fired up.

"Can I help?" The guy driving had leaned across the front seat and rolled the window down on the passenger side.

"No, thanks. I'm fine. Am I blocking your drive?"

"No trouble. There's room enough. What was it, your battery? You want me to take a look?"

What was this? The engine was running. I didn't need any help. "Thanks, but I've already got things under control," I said. To demonstrate my point, I revved the engine and shifted into neutral, temporarily perplexed about which way to go. I couldn't pull forward because of the car parked in front of me. I couldn't back up because his car was blocking my rear.

He turned his engine off and got out. I left mine rumbling, wondering if I had time to roll up my window without seeming rude. He looked harmless enough, though his face was familiar. He was a nice-looking man, in his late forties with light brown wavy hair graying at the temples. He had a straight nose and a strong chin. Short-sleeved T-shirt, chinos, deck shoes without socks.

"You live in the neighborhood?" he asked pleasantly.

I knew this guy. I could feel my smile fade. I said, "You're David Barney."

He braced his arms on the car and leaned toward the window. Subtly, I could feel the man invading my turf, though his manner remained benign. "Look, I know this is inappropriate. I know I'm way out of line here, but if I can just have five minutes, I swear I won't bother you again."

I studied him briefly while I consulted my internal warning system. No bells, no whistles, no warning signs. While the man had annoyed me on the telephone, "up close and personal" he seemed like ordinary folk. It was broad daylight, a pleasant middle-class neighborhood. He didn't appear to be armed. What was he going to do, gun me down in the streets with his trial a month away? At this point, I had no idea where my investigation was going. Maybe he'd provide some inspiration for a change. I thought about the professional implications of the conversation. According to the State Bar Rules of Court, an attorney is not permitted to communicate directly with the "represented party." A private investigator isn't limited by the same stringent code.

"Five minutes," I said. "I have to be somewhere after that." I didn't tell him the appointment was with his ex-wife. I turned the engine off and remained in my car with the window rolled down halfway.

He closed his eyes, letting out a big breath. "Thank you," he said. "I really didn't think you'd do this. I don't even know where to begin," he said. "Let me admit to something right up front. I pulled your distributor caps. It was a sneaky thing to do and I apologize. I just didn't think you'd agree to talk to me otherwise."

"You got that right," I said.

He looked off down the street and then he shook his head. "Did you ever lose your credibility? It's the most amazing phenomenon. You know, you live all your life being an upright citizen, obeying the law, paying taxes, paying your bills on time. Suddenly, none of that counts and anything you say can be held against you. It's too weird…"