Evidence of Guilt by Jonnie Jacobs Page B

good one. I can't remember the last time I had anything the way I wanted it."
    Wes rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been. His hands were large and muscular, his fingers thick. His arms were thick too, and covered with curly, dark hair. A thin, satiny white scar ran diagonally across his left forearm, almost as if it had been brushed on with acrylic.
    "So which is it?" I asked. "You want me on the case or not?"
    "Sure, the more the merrier."
    I clicked my pen, cleared my throat and wondered what in the hell I was doing there.
    Wes leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head. "Kali O'Brien," he said, giving the words rhythm. "Kali-o, calico. I remember you. We went to school together."
    "For a while."
    "Until I got kicked out. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
    His eyes locked on mine. They were dark, like the rest of him, and suddenly without expression. Sorcerer's eyes was the way I'd thought of them in high school. Gypsy magic, in Sabrina's words.
    I ignored the look, and the question. "I want to go over a few things with you," I said. "I know you've covered this before with Sam, but we need to do it again. Let's start with the Friday night in question. I believe you left work about five, is that right?"
    "Yeah, more or less."
    "More or less?"
    "I tlon't punch a time clock."
    I tapped my pen against the table. The noise resonated off the bare walls and floor. "After you left work, what did you do?"
    He shrugged. "The usual."
    "I need to know the particulars, everything you did that evening from the time you left work until you went to bed."
    "Everything? You mean like when I took a leak and that kind of stuff?"
    I ignored the smirk. "If it's relevant."
    A fly buzzed overhead. Wes stood, slapped it between his palms, wiped his hands on his pant legs, then looked at me with a flicker of something close to amusement. The guy had good reflexes; I miss half the time even with a fly swatter.
    He sat down again, folded his arms across his chest. "You were part of that high school crowd that hung out near the quad during lunch period, weren't you? Always joking around with one another in Latin or some damn language no one even speaks anymore."
    "You were telling me about Friday night."
    "Veritas. That means truth, doesn't it?"
    I didn't answer.
    "How about stercus accidit; you know what that means? Shit happens. I saw it on a bumper sticker, in Latin. Which one should we choose for the motto of our case?"
    "About Friday."
    He looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. 'There's not much to tell."
    "Why don't you give it a try anyway."
    Wes leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I left work, went home, took a shower, had a beer. I watched a little of the A's game on television before meeting some friends down at the Oasis."
    "And then?"
    "And then I drank some more beer, ate a burger-- excuse me, two burgers, with cheese--shot the breeze for a while, played a little pool. Pretty much what I do every Friday night."
    "Except usually you're there to close the place down, and this particular night you left early."
    He shrugged. "I was tired. I went home and went to bed."
    "Is there anyone who can verify that? Anyone who saw
    you go into your house or called you at home that
    evening?"
    "No calls. I think the police talked to the neighbors." And one of them had heard a motorcycle on the street long after the time Wes claimed to be in bed. I decided to leave that for later. "Did you place any calls yourself? Maybe you called out for a late-night pizza, or left a message on a friend's machine."
    Wes rubbed the back of a finger along his jaw, his brows furrowed. Finally he shook his head. "Not that I recall."
    "You apparently got into an argument with a woman down at the Oasis," I said. "Can you tell me what it was about?"
    "No."
    "No?"
    "No." His eyes met mine; then he sighed. "If I knew, I'd tell you. She just pissed me off, is all. I can't even remember why. It was nothing."
    "You remember her name?"
    "Doreen, Darnelle. Something