Client Privilege by William G. Tapply

polite. Of course I told them the truth. I know enough to do that. Besides, I had no idea what they were getting at.” I heard her take a deep breath and let it out with a nervous whoosh. “Brady, are you in some kind of trouble?”
    “Nah,” I said, with more conviction than I was beginning to feel. “Not to worry. I didn’t do anything. It probably just looks different to the police from the way it is right now. It’ll get straightened out. Tell me what they asked you.”
    “They asked if I talked to you on the phone last night. I told them that I did. They asked if you called me or if I called you. I told them that I called first, but you weren’t in, so—”
    “I was in,” I said. “I was in the shower.”
    “Whatever,” said Gloria. “I didn’t know that. I just said that I called and left a message on your machine, and that you called me back about half an hour later.”
    “What times did you tell them?”
    “I called you at eleven. It was right before the news came on, and I was hassling Joey to go to bed but he said he had to watch the news for something he was doing in his history class. You called me back at eleven thirty-five. The news had ended and Joey thought he was going to watch Johnny Carson and I told him like hell he was. So he said okay and turned off the set. I went upstairs. He was having a piece of cake and a glass of milk. Promised he’d be right up. That’s when you called. He answered it in the kitchen, then I took it upstairs in the bedroom.”
    “You’re sure of those times?”
    “Sure I’m sure.”
    “I had them wrong,” I said, more to myself than her. “It probably looks like I didn’t get home until eleven-thirty or so, and I was lying about it.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “I think I said we talked at around eleven. I didn’t say you called and left a message and I called you back. Just that we talked at eleven.”
    “Brady,” said Gloria, “what is this all about?”
    “You heard about Wayne Churchill?”
    “Well, sure. He was murdered.”
    “I was with him last night. Right before he got killed.”
    “You mean, if you weren’t home when you said you were…?”
    “Right, hon.”
    There was a long pause. “My God, Brady,” said Gloria finally.
    “Nothing to worry about.”
    “But when you told them you talked to me at eleven…?”
    “Sure. Contradiction there. I’ll clear that up.”
    “Well, there’s one thing,” she said.
    “What’s that?”
    “I did tell them I left a message on your machine. And I did tell them that when you called me you mentioned the message. So at least they know you were home when you called me.”
    “There you go,” I said. “No problem.”
    “Is there anything I can do?”
    “Just tell the truth, Gloria. Don’t worry about this.”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “Well, it’s nice to know you’re worried, I guess.”
    “Nothing ever really changes, does it?”
    “Not really. Anyway, we’ve got a date Friday. If I’m not behind bars by then.”
    “Don’t make jokes, Brady.”
    “I should know better,” I said. “Our senses of humor never meshed very well.”
    I was brushing my teeth when the phone rang. I caught it on the third ring. My answering machine kicks in after the fourth.
    “Mr. Brady L. Coyne, please,” came a man’s voice.
    “This is he,” I said, trying to match his formality.
    “My name is Rodney Dennis, sir. I tried to reach you in your office today.”
    “I don’t make speeches.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I give lots of money to Trout Unlimited, the Nature Conservancy. That’s it for charity. I am taking on no new clients.”
    I heard him chuckle. “I’m sorry. Let me explain. I’m the station manager at Channel Eight.” He paused. He wanted me to say something. I didn’t.
    After an awkward moment he said, “You know about Wayne Churchill, of course.”
    “I heard, yes.”
    “Well, Mr. Coyne, you, I understand, were the last person to see Wayne alive.”
    Damn those cops!