I sat and looked from one to the other. I felt insulted, more than anything. If I had been lying, there was no way anyone would know about it, least of all either of these guys.
“You should be looking to get out in front of this, David,” Harris said. “Be smart. This is your last chance to do yourself some good.”
“We’ll find out later, anyway,” Gibson said. “But then it’ll be too late to help. You need to tell us now.”
“I’ve told you what I know,” I said.
“Look, I don’t believe you’re a bad guy, David,” Harris said. “But if you didn’t mean what happened, you need to let us know now. Stop wasting our time.”
I took another sip of coffee.
“Maybe the guy attacked you?” Gibson said. “Forced you into the alley?”
“Yeah-maybe it was his gun,” Harris said. “He used it to get you into the alley, you struggled, the gun went off…?”
“So it was an accident?” Gibson said. “You never meant to kill him. That would definitely help you.”
“But if that was how it happened, you need to tell us,” Harris said. “Then we can help you with your statement. Make sure it shows you in the best light.”
“You think it might have been an accident?” I said. “I’m curious. Would that be a single accident, where the gun went off six separate times? Or six individual accidents, one after the other?”
“Hey, David, we’re just trying to help,” Harris said.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “So listen to what I’m telling you. I found the body. Nothing else.”
“If that’s how you want to play it-fine,” Harris said. “But there’s something else you should know. Someone saw you.”
“Saw me find it?”
“No. Saw you kill the guy.”
“Nonsense.”
“No, David, it’s true. They called 911.”
“How do you think the radio car got there so quick?” Gibson said. “It was there before you even left the alley, right?”
“Maybe someone did call 911,” I said. “Maybe they did see who killed the guy. But it wasn’t me.”
Harris reached into his jacket and took out a tape recorder. It was a tiny, handheld one such as people use for dictation. He held it up so I could see clearly what it was, then stood it upright on the table in front of him. Both detectives were looking at me intently. Harris’s lips were glistening.
“Anything to add, now’s the time,” he said.
I picked up my cup and sloshed the dregs around for a moment.
“I could do with another coffee, actually,” I said. “This last bit’s gone a little cold.”
Harris scowled.
“This is taken from the 911 voice recorder,” he said, reaching out to the tape machine.
A synthesized female voice gave out a date. March 15. That was yesterday.
“New York Police Department Central Emergency Reception,” it said. “The time is 23:57 hours. Agent 8304.”
“Nine-one-one Emergency,” a real operator’s voice said, taking over. Her voice sounded harsh and metallic through the tiny speaker. “Your name, telephone number, and address, please.”
“Please, just help me,” a man’s voice said. It was high-pitched and trembling. “I’ve just seen a guy get murdered.” He was breathing hard, and I could hear some light traffic noise in the background.
“I understand that, sir, but I need to start with your name, telephone number, and address.”
“OK, it’s Andy Newm-”
Harris leaned forward and pressed a button. The voice on the tape squealed and jabbered for a moment, so I couldn’t make out any more details. Then Harris let go of the machine and I heard the operator speaking again.
“… me what you saw?”
“OK, well, there was, like, this guy. A big guy. He went into the alley. Up to a bum. The bum saw him. Stood up. Real slow. Shaky on his feet. Like he was drunk or something. The guy pulled a gun. The bum just stood there, looking at it. Then he backed up. Kept going back. Right back. All the way to the wall. He tried to climb on the Dumpster, but the guy… the guy just… shot him. In the chest. A bunch of times. Like, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. And that was it. The bum was dead.”
“What happened next?”
“The bum fell down. On the ground. The big guy just left him there. Then I ran. Didn’t want him to see me.”
“Where is this alley?”
“Near Canal Street. Mulberry. Off there.”
“And where were you when this was happening?”
“Right there, on the street.”
“Are you sure the man with the gun didn’t get a look at you?”
“No. I was hiding. Down from the kids’ playground.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“Yeah. I got a real good look.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Sure. He was white. Tall. Bout six four. Black leather coat. Round collar. Sort of medium length. Didn’t reach down to his knees. Black jeans. Black boots. But the weird thing about this guy was, he had a big chunk of hair missing. Back of his head.”
“What, like he was going bald?”
“No. Like it had been shaved off. Like for an operation or something. I thought maybe he was mental, or had a lobotomy or something.”
“But you said the bald patch was at the back of his head?”
“Yeah, I said the back. Had stitches in it.”
“How many stitches?”
“A lot. Maybe ten or fifteen.”
“OK, and can-”
Harris switched the machine off.
“David, I notice you’re a white male,” he said. “You’re about six four tall, wearing black boots, black jeans, and a black three-quarter-length leather coat. And the collar is… round.”
“Your point being what?” I said.
Harris got up and walked around behind me. I felt him lean his weight on the back of my chair. His breath was warm on my neck. I watched him in the mirror, making a show of examining the back of my head. I guessed he was focusing on the shaved patch. That, and the line of twelve neat stitches running across the center of it. I was beginning to resent that scar. It wasn’t the only one I had. It wasn’t even the largest. But it was causing more than its share of trouble.
“Anything you’d like to share with us, David?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “I think I will have a word with my lawyer, after all.”
Harris looked irritated. He shot a sour glance at Gibson, and dropped back into his chair.
“You can do that, David, if you want,” Gibson said slowly, as though he were talking to an imbecile. “But if you do, we can’t help you. We can’t even talk to you. You’ll stay in jail while we check into all the unsolved homicides from while you were in New York. And in D.C. It’ll take months, if you go that way.”
“But it’s not too late to talk to us,” Harris said. “Help us now, and we’ll try to keep you out of the system. Get this thing cleared up real quick. That’s what you said you wanted.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “Now I want to speak to my lawyer.”
“David, calm down,” Gibson said. “All we’re saying is, we’ve heard the caller’s side of the story. Why not tell us yours?”
“I’ve told you already,” I said. “You didn’t listen. Now I want my lawyer.”
“Let’s not be hasty, here, David,” Gibson said. “Look at it from our side. Think how this thing looks.”
“It looks like a frame,” I said. “It looks like you can’t be bothered to do your jobs. Now-my lawyer. Fourth time. I won’t ask again.”
“At least tell us why you moved the body,” Gibson said.
I folded my arms and kept quiet.
“When that guy called 911, the body was at the back of the alley,” Gibson said. “That was at 23:57.”
“Four minutes later, when the uniforms arrived, it had moved to the front,” Harris said.
“You were the only one at the scene,” Gibson said.
“So it had to be you who moved it,” Harris said.
“Only question is, why?” Gibson said.
I didn’t answer.
“Like we said before, David, we don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Harris said. “We think you felt bad about what happened. We think you dragged that body nearer the street ’cause you wanted it to be found. You wanted to put things right.”