Peter got up and crossed over to the door and opened it.
Clint stood in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently. The second he saw Peter he started talking.
“I’ve been thinking, going over it in my head again and again and it makes sense. I was looking at the photos of your apartment and I realized how you can help prove that-” By this point Clint had made it into the apartment and stopped short, catching sight of Matt.
“Clint, this is my agent Matt. Matt, this is Clint Morgan a…” There was a very long pause. “Friend.”
“Really?” Matt looked from one to the other doubtfully. “It’s good to meet you Clint.”
There was a heavy silence until Matt stood up. “Well, I should be going Peter. I have a meeting over at Paramount.” He shook Peter’s hand before leaving and muttered out of earshot of Clint. “Just be careful Peter.” Peter could have sworn he saw Matt’s eyes flick to Clint and then back to the drawer of photos before leaving.
Peter picked his glass up off the coffee table and took a long drink before sitting back down. “What did you come for?”
“Well, I was looking over the photos I took of your apartment again. And I had an idea. It’s not going to be enough just to prove that Layla had an affair with Alan. She had affairs with a lot of people.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m aware.”
“Of course if we can prove that beyond a doubt, then we basically prove as well that those text messages you showed me were sent to Alan. By proving their connection that is a start, however wouldn’t it be even better if on top of that, we could also place him in the apartment the evening of the murder?”
Peter glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “And how would we do that?”
“I remembered your trial. Your lawyer made a big deal about the fingerprints the police recovered in the living room that they were never able to match with anyone.”
Peter frowned and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t really remember. The trial is mostly a haze for me.”
“Well the police compared them with you, Layla, the maid, anyone they’d known who’d had access recently to the apartment.”
“And they never found who they belong to. Yeah, I vaguely recall them taking my prints at the time.”
“Your lawyer argued that the maid came that day to clean the apartment so any fingerprints left before she came would have been wiped, as proven by the fact the general lack of any other prints found except yours, the maid’s and Layla’s. So the lawyer argued they had to belong to someone that came into the apartment after the maid cleaned so sometime in the afternoon or evening, meaning it was possible they belonged to Layla’s killer. Of course the prosecuting attorney just said the maid missed a spot, but it was a pretty convincing case by your lawyer and most people think that’s what got you off the hook.”
Peter poured another drink. “Where’s this going?”
“Well for the sake of argument, let’s say Alan really is guilty here. What if those fingerprints found at the scene matched his? The argument that those fingerprints were left the evening of the murder are pretty solid. And if they’re his, it means we have a disgruntled lover on the scene of the crime, evening of.” Clint sat back triumphantly, crossing his arms with a certain sense of satisfaction.
“Bravo Columbo. Except what good does all that do me? I can’t prove they were Alan’s.”
“But you could.”
“How?” Peter scoffed.
“It wouldn’t hold up in court, but you said it didn’t have to. So you just need to send Alan’s prints and a copy of the prints found by the police over to an independent lab, I have a friend who could help us with that and you find out if they match.”
“Great plan. Except for the part where I don’t have Alan’s prints or the one’s from the apartment.”
“Getting Alan’s might be a little tricky. But the ones from the police: easy. Your lawyer will have them.”
Clint nodded. “Sure. The police would have legally had to hand over a copy of them to your defense team as evidence. Lawyers keep very good records. I’m sure he still has your file, it should be in there.”
“So what? I just drop by and ask him for a copy of my file?”
“Yeah,” Clint grinned. “And then you just have to find a way to get Alan’s prints. And you find out if they’re the same. If you want evidence that’ll convince your girl, that seems like it would go far. And it gets better.”
“You don’t say.”
“You get the file from the lawyer with all the evidence against you, you know what else is going to be in there? The security tapes. If Alan went out during the day, they could potentially help us pinpoint what time he got back and narrow the window of opportunity for those fingerprints even further.”
Peter could help but chuckle at how pleased Clint was looking with himself.
“What?” asked Clint, defensively. “It’s a good plan.”
“Except I’m going to have to call my lawyer. That’s not going to be fun.’