“Why not call on your cell phone?”
“Don’t carry one. I don’t like cell phones. They fry your brain.”
“So, you just found the body lying there?”
“That’s right.”
“It was already there when you went into the alley?”
“Right.”
“Already dead?”
“Afraid so. I did check, but it was too late.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Doesn’t quite add up, does it, David?”
“Doesn’t add up how? That’s what happened.”
“Think about it. You’re a businessman. A consultant. A respectable citizen enjoying a well-earned night off. And with all the wonders of New York City to pick from, you choose to spend your time in a shit-filled alley where there just happens to be some bum’s body, still warm, full of bullets? Sorry. Doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s not what I said. I told you, I spent my evening in a restaurant. I found the body afterward, when I was walking back to my hotel.”
“Why were you walking? Why not take a cab?”
“And I only went into the alley because I saw the body lying there. You could see it from the street. Other detectives were there. And uniformed officers. Check with them. They’ll confirm where it was.”
“We don’t care where the body was, David. We only care about how come there was a body.”
“And if you know anything about that, now would be the time to tell us,” Harris said, looking at me for the first time since we entered the interview room.
“You need to work with us on this, David,” Gibson said. “If you’re straight with us now, maybe we can help you. But if you keep lying to us, we’ll make sure this whole thing falls right on you.”
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.”
