“I don’t know if it was a face to face chat or a phone conversation,” Howard said. “But remember, Miss Thomas, you told us about Frye’s unique voice. Extremely deep. Scratchy. A guttural, gravelly voice. Are you saying someone could have easily imitated it on the phone?”
“If Sheriff Laurenski doesn’t know Frye well enough, he might be fooled by a bad imitation. He–”
“It’s a small county up there. A man like Bruno Frye, an important man like that, is known to just about everyone. And the sheriff has known him very well for more than twenty years,” Howard said triumphantly.
Lieutenant Clemenza looked pained. Although she did not care much what Howard thought of her, it was important to Hilary that Clemenza believed the story she had told. The flicker of doubt in his eyes upset her as much as Howard’s bullying.
She turned her back on them, went to the mullioned window that looked out on the rose garden, tried to control her anger, couldn’t suppress it, and faced them again. She spoke to Howard, furious, emphasizing every word by pounding her fist against the window table: “Bruno–Frye–was–here!” The vase full of roses rocked, toppled off the table, bounced on the thick carpet, scattering flowers and water. She ignored it. “What about the sofa he overturned? What about the broken porcelain I threw at him and the bullets I fired at him? What about the broken knife he left behind? What about the torn dress, the pantyhose?”
“It could be just clever stage dressing,” Howard said. “You could have done it all yourself, faked it up to support your story.”
“That’s absurd!”
Clemenza said, “Miss Thomas, maybe it really was someone else. Someone who looked a lot like Frye.”
Even if she had wanted to retreat in that fashion, she could not have done it. By forcing her to repeatedly describe the man who attacked her, by drawing several assurances from her that the assailant had been none other than Bruno Frye, Lieutenant Howard had made it difficult if not impossible for her to take the way out that Clemenza was offering. Anyway, she didn’t want to back up and reconsider. She knew she was right. “It was Frye,” she said adamantly. “Frye and nobody else but Frye. I didn’t make the whole thing up. I didn’t fire bullets into the walls. I didn’t overturn the sofa and tear up my own clothes. For God’s sake, why would I do a crazy thing like that? What reason could I possibly have for a charade of that sort?”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Howard said. “I figure you’ve known Bruno Frye for a long time, and you–”
“I told you. I only met him three weeks ago.”
“You’ve told us other things that turned out not to be true,” Howard said. “So I think you knew Frye for years, or at least for quite a while, and the two of you were having an affair–”
“No!”
“–and for some reason, he threw you over. Maybe he just got tired of you. Maybe it was another woman. Something. So I figure you didn’t go up to his winery to research one of your screenplays, like you said. I think you went up there just to get together with him again. You wanted to smooth things over, kiss and make up–”
“No.”
“–but he wasn’t having any of it. He turned you away again. But while you were there, you found out that he was coming to L.A. for a little vacation. So you made up your mind to get even with him. You figured he probably wouldn’t have anything planned his first night in town, probably just a quiet dinner alone and early to bed. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t have anyone to vouch for him later on, if the cops wanted to know his every move that night. So you decided to set him up for a rape charge.”
“Damn you, this is disgusting!”
“It backfired on you,” Howard said. “Frye changed his plans. He didn’t even come to L.A. So now you’re caught in the lie.”
“He was here!” She wanted to take the detective by the throat and choke him until he understood. “Look, I have one or two friends who know me well enough to know if I’d been having an affair. I’ll give you their names. Go see them. They’ll tell you I didn’t have anything going with Bruno Frye. Hell, they might even tell you I haven’t had anything going with anyone for a while. I’ve been too busy to have much of a private life. I work long hours. I haven’t had a lot of time for romance. And I sure as hell haven’t had time to carry on with a lover who lives at the other end of the state. Talk to my friends. They’ll tell you.”