“Peter said you might be able to get me out of here. That was a strong inducement to let you visit.”
Robin was surprised at how intelligent Yousef seemed.
“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself. Then I’ll tell you what I’m doing.”
Yousef laughed. “As you can see, I’m a prisoner serving a life sentence, so, unless you want me to tell you my daily routine, there’s not much to tell.”
Robin leaned toward Khan. “If I’m going to help you, you have to help me. No jokes, just real answers to my serious questions. You haven’t always been a prisoner, and you weren’t always homeless. Tell me what your life was like before you fell on hard times.”
Khan sobered. He looked torn.
“This can’t be easy, Yousef, and I’m not promising a thing. Getting you out of here will be very difficult, and there’s a good chance I’ll fail, but I will only succeed if I have all the information I need.”
Khan took a deep breath. He looked very sad.
“I was a history professor in Lebanon. Then the civil wars started. My wife and daughter were killed by a suicide bomber. It destroyed me. For a long time, I lost the will to live. Then I made up my mind that I would die from despair if I didn’t get away from that place.
“Eventually, I found my way to California. Unfortunately, I didn’t come legally, and there weren’t any job openings for college professors who were illegal immigrants. To make a long story short, I became homeless, developed an overdependence on alcohol and drugs, and had the misfortune to be passed out on the beach where Claire Winters was murdered.
“The bad news is that I’m stuck here for life unless you can figure out some way to get me out. The good news is that you getthree meals a day and a place to sleep in prison, and they don’t let you drink liquor or take drugs. I went cold turkey and got my health back. But I’m ready to leave, anytime you say.”
Robin felt awful by the time Yousef finished his tale, but trial attorneys learn to hide their emotions, and Robin did a masterful job of concealing her distress.
“I’m sorry about your wife and daughter,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“And I’m glad that there’s been a silver lining—if a thin one—in your sentence.”
Yousef smiled.
“Tell me about the knife. I understand that there’s no question that it’s the murder weapon and that it was found in your belongings in your tent.”
“I did not kill Claire Winters, and I have no idea how the knife got into my tent. That’s because I was passed out. I’d drunk myself into oblivion and helped the booze by using drugs. An elephant could have come into my tent and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Thank you for meeting with me. My next step is to read the files from your case and the transcript of the trial. Meanwhile, my investigator is running down witnesses we hope will break the alibi of the person who may have framed you.”
“I don’t think you’ll succeed,” Yousef said, “but I’m grateful that you’re trying.”
Robin let the guard know that they were through. Another guard took Yousef back to his cell.
“What do you think?” Dowd asked when they were heading back to the parking lot.
“I think I have a really difficult task ahead of me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Mexican coastal town of Santa Maria de la Mar’s proximity to the sea and inexpensive real estate had attracted a small ex-pat community of retirees interested in scuba diving, parasailing, bike trips, and other outdoor activities. The locals were supported by the ex-pats and the occasional tourist.
Ken’s plan didn’t depend on Rose McIntire calling Tony Clark, but it would have a better chance of succeeding if Clark knew he was coming. He arrived an hour before sunset and found a sand-colored motel a block from the beach. It had ten rooms that were fronted by a parking lot decorated with empty beer cans and trash. Ken asked for the room at the end. The clerk had no trouble granting his request, since only two other rooms were occupied.
Ken dumped his duffel bag on the bed and was rewarded by a spring serenade. The other furnishings were a scarred, wooden dresser on which sat a television that might or might not receivecolor images, a chair Ken was hesitant to sit in for fear that it would collapse, and a floor lamp with a low-watt bulb.
Robin’s investigator could use a sniper rifle, knives, and handguns, but his favorite weapon was a blackjack; a heavy, flexible leather pouch filled with lead. Ken slipped a homemade blackjack into his pocket in case his plan worked the way he hoped it would. Then he walked down the beach to Tony’s Bar.
The bar in Tony’s place was on one side of a large open patio filled with picnic tables and had a view of the beach. Two young women wearing jeans and T-shirts advertising the establishment were serving mojitos and margaritas to ex-pats and locals who were devouring empanadas, tacos, and heaping portions of guacamole.
Tony Clark was tending bar, and Ken sized him up as he took a stool at one end. Clark hadn’t worked as a stuntman for almost a decade, but he looked like he could step in on a moment’s notice. There were streaks of gray in his red hair, but he was as solid as a brick.