Gibson returned to the interview room carrying a notebook, some papers, and three white polystyrene cups with lids.
“No doughnuts,” he said as he sat down. “Sorry.”
“Just don’t tell me you put milk in my coffee,” I said.
“No. For you, I guessed no milk, no sugar.”
“That’s a relief.”
The detectives were silent as I took a sip of coffee. It was surprisingly good. A little cold, maybe, but I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the strong, bitter taste. Gibson left his cup on the table and watched me. Harris emptied his with a single gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Now, before we start, I need to tell you something,” Gibson said. He spoke really slowly, as if he thought I might not understand. “It’s important you should know, you can have an attorney present if you want one. But before you make a decision on that, I think you should hear what we’ve got, and let me tell you what you can do to help yourself. Then, you can decide which way to go when you know all the facts. What do you say?”
“Fine with me,” I said. “I’m not looking to drag this out.”
“OK then, let’s not waste any more time. I just need you to sign something to say you’ve passed on the attorney for now, and we’re in business.”
Gibson took a ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Then he shuffled through the papers he’d brought back with him, selected a single sheet, and slid it across. I scanned my way down the page until I came to a box at the bottom. Someone had highlighted the outline in yellow. It was too small for my signature, so I just scrawled right across the bottom of the page. Gibson reached over and gathered up the pen and paper. He looked at the form for a moment and frowned.
“Nope,” he said. “Can’t read that. And the guys downstairs told me you don’t have ID, so maybe you can start by telling us your name?”
“David Trevellyan,” I said.
“And where are you from, David?”
“England. Originally.”
“Thought I recognized the accent. So what are you doing in New York?”
“Working. I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Telecommunications.”
“And is that why you were out on the street last night, David? You were doing telecommunications work?”
“Of course not. I’m a consultant, not an engineer.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I work with corporate clients. Give them advice. Help them with strategy, overcoming operational problems, that sort of thing.”
“What kind of problems were you overcoming last night?”
“None. I wasn’t working last night. I’ve just finished a contract and I don’t have to be back in the U.K. until tomorrow, so I was taking a night off.”
“What kind of contract was it, you just finished?”
“Government.”
“No offense, but why would the government hire a British consultant? Don’t we have plenty of our own?”
“Not your government. The British government.”
“If it was the British government, why are you in the United States?”
“I was working for the Foreign Office. I started at the embassy in Washington and then moved on to the consulate here in New York.”
“Where were you before Washington?”
“On another job. In Paris.”
“Paris, France? You came directly from there?”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Then you came directly to New York?”
“Right.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Been here ever since?”
“Haven’t set foot outside Manhattan.”
“And your contract finished, when?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday was Sunday.”
“So?”
“What time yesterday? Morning? Afternoon?”
“Late afternoon. The project owner’s based in London, so I had to wait at the consulate until sign-off came through.”
“What time was that?”
“Five-thirty.”
“People can verify that?”
“Of course.”
“Good. ’Cause we may need to talk to them. We’ll come back to you for names if we do.”
I shrugged. It would be a pain, but I could find some people to say the right thing if he really insisted.
“Now, let’s see if I got this,” he said. “Five-thirty, you’re at the consulate getting a sign-off on your project. Midnight, you’re in an alley with a corpse.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Six and a half hours after finishing work, I was unfortunate enough to discover a dead body.”
“Fill in the gaps.”
“I left the consulate, obviously. Went back to my hotel. Had a shower. Got changed. Went out for a meal.”
“Where?”
“At a small restaurant. Fong’s, it was called.”
“Who with?”
“No one. I went on my own.”
“What about the receipt?”
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t with your things.”
“So?”
“So where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not? What did you do with it?”
“I paid cash. I didn’t keep it.”
“Convenient.”
“How is it convenient?”
“Anyone see you there? Staff? Customers?”
“Sure. Try eating out alone and not getting stared at.”
“Maybe we’ll go ask. OK. What else?”
“I finished my meal. Started walking back. Saw the body. It was in an alley off Mulberry Street. I checked to see if I could help the guy, and was on my way to call 911 when your colleagues arrived.”
