Jesse said. “Anything you
say can be used against you in a court of law.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Feeney said.
“Wait.”
“You have the right to an attorney to assist you prior to
questioning and to be with you during questioning if you so desire.”
“Don’t arrest him,” Mrs. Feeney
said.
“There must be something we can work out,”
Mr. Feeney
said.
“If you cannot afford an attorney you have the right to have one
appointed for you prior to questioning.”
“I don’t know a lawyer,” Mr.
Feeney said.
“One will be appointed,” Jesse said.
“Do you understand these
rights, Kevin?”
Kevin was crying noisily.
“Am I going to jail,” he said.
“At least until a judge sets bail,” Jesse said.
“Mom,” Kevin said.
“Oh God, Kevin,” she said.
“If he tells you?” Mr. Feeney said.
“I might not arrest him.”
“Tell him, Kevin.”
“I can’t rat out my friends.”
“Do you want to go to jail?” Mr. Feeney said. “Tell him, for
crissake.”
“They’ll be pissed at me,” Kevin
said.
He was able to speak briefly, between sobs. Jesse picked up the
phone.
“Molly, you or Suit come back here.”
Almost at once, Simpson opened the door.
“Take Kevin down to a cell and lock him up,” Jesse said. “Then
call the public defender’s office, tell him the kid needs a lawyer.”
Simpson put a hand under Kevin’s arm.
He said, “Come on, kid.”
Kevin was crying loudly. Mrs. Feeney was crying just as loudly.
Kevin’s father stood and leaned over his son.
“Was it Bo Marino?” he shouted at him.
“Yes,” Kevin said.
Simpson paused and looked at Jesse. Jesse made a wait-a-minute gesture.
“Who else,” his father shouted at him.
“Troy.”
“Troy Drake?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you’ll sleep at home
tonight,” Jesse said.
33
Kevin had stopped crying. He was drinking a Coke.
