?Socrates Fortlow?? the man in the suit asked.
?You got a badge, man?? Socrates said in a voice that didn't give away his fast-pumping heart.
?Don't fuck with me, jailbird,? the man in the brown suit said.
He was short and well built for a middle-aged man. His face was flat and oval. He had squinty eyes and tight skin but he was still a white man, confident with the tall and athletic-looking cops at his back.
Confident but no fool. He made sure that Socrates' hands were in sight. They were big hands. A giant's hands really.
?Inspector Beryl,? the plainclothes cop said as he displayed a badge and identity card in a leather fold. ?Homicide.?
The spasm that went through Socrates' neck and shoulders was one tick away from attempted murder.
?Are you Socrates Fortlow?? Inspector Beryl asked again.
?Yeah. What you want??
?Put your hands against the wall behind you and spread your legs.?
Again Socrates' mind went to violence. The policemen were standing close to each other. None of the three had weapon drawn. Socrates was almost sixty and they weren't afraid of him. He could have easily bowled them over. There was a spade propped up against the outside wall that he could grab after bringing them down with his weight. The chances were good that he'd get away. But almost definitely somebody would die.
A second had elapsed.
?Put your hands on the wall ? ,? Beryl began the command anew.
It would have to be then that Socrates moved. Those men were all younger than him. He'd have to use surprise to the hilt.
He turned his head, pretending that he was going to comply. Darryl was standing there trying not to look scared. Socrates felt Beryl's hand against his shoulder.
The moment for escape passed. Maybe if he had been alone. Socrates chuckled.
?What you say?? the plainclothes cop asked.
?I said, you're welcome, officer.?
At the station they took his green army belt, folding knife and shoelaces. Then he was led to an interrogation room and made to sit down on a metal chair that was bolted to the floor. They attached his handcuffs to two thick metal rings screwed into the floor and then left him alone.
The only thing that showed how fast Socrates' heart was working was the sweat that glistened on his bald black head. Otherwise the ex-con could have been a dark statue placed in the center of that small room by some sculptor who knew that the truth could only be told in secret.
After some time the door to the room opened again and Beryl appeared with two other men in suits. One was white and the other a milky brown. The colored man had a thick mustache. The white one had a big belly hanging down. They were about the same height, not over six feet.
?Socrates Fortlow?? the big-bellied cop said.
?You gonna charge me or what??
?My name is Kirkshaw,? the big white cop continued. ?Captain Kirkshaw. Tell us what you know about Minnie Dawn Lee.?
There was a mechanical hum somewhere in the wall. Socrates wondered where it came from.
?Do you understand me?? the policeman asked.
?Do I get a lawyer??
?Do you need a lawyer?? the milky brown cop asked.
