mopping at himself and started to return the handkerchief.
“Keep it,” Washington said. “You may need it again.”
“Thanks,” Leslie said.
“As I understand what’s happened here,” Washington said conversationally, “Officer Bailey of the Thirty-ninth District extinguished a fire in your backyard. In doing so, he found a photograph of Officer Kellog on his wedding day.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Officer who?”
“The finding of the photograph was, in the opinion of the Honorable Francis X. McGrory, Judge of the Superior Court, sufficient cause for him to issue a search warrant for your home.”
“I told you, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“A search of your home was then conducted by detectives of the Homicide Bureau. A silver frame was discovered. It has since been positively identified by Mrs. Helene Kellog as her property. Mrs. Kellog previously reported the framed photograph to have been stolen from her home.”
“So what?”
“Mrs. Kellog’s husband, Police Officer Jerome H. Kellog, was found dead in his home. Shot to death. Inasmuch as his silver-framed wedding photograph was known to be present in his home prior to the robbery, and missing from his home immediately after the robbery, it is presumed that the framed photograph was stolen during the robbery.”
“So what?”
“During the search authorized by Judge McGrory, Homicide detectives found other items among those things you were attempting to burn known to be the property of Police Officer Kellog. Specifically, thirteen recording tapes. And some other items.”
“I keep telling you, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Leslie, you are presently being held for setting an unlawful fire,” Washington said. “And, I believe, for maintaining an unsanitary nuisance.”
“Then what the fuck am I doing here?”
“Very shortly, I think you can count on a Homicide detective coming in here and arresting you for the murder of Officer Kellog. I came here to see if I could explain your situation to you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“If you are arrested for the murder of Officer Kellog, you will receive the required Miranda warning. I understand you have been arrested before, and know what that means. You will be advised of your rights, and provided with an attorney.”
“Who the hell are you’?”
“I’m a police officer, an investigator for the Special Operations Division. We are sometimes asked, in cases like this, to see if we can’t get through a situation like this as smoothly as possible To save everyone concerned time and money.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’ll try to explain it to you. In my judgment, from what the Homicide Bureau Commanding Officer has shown and told me, what Homicide has here is a pretty strong case of circumstantial evidence against you. What I mean by that is that no one actually saw you shoot Officer Kellog. There were no witnesses. That means, when your case comes to trial, the District Attorney-I think I should explain that to you, too.”
“Explain what?”
“The District Attorney, Mr. Thomas Callis, rarely goes into court himself. Assistant district attorneys actually do the prosecuting. The exception to that rule is when a police officer has been killed. Mr. Callis himself prosecutes such cases. He was a police officer himself when he was a young man. So I think you can expect, when your case comes to trial, that you will be prosecuted by him personally. Do you understand that?”
“I guess so.”
“Fine. Well, what Mr. Callis will have to do in your trial will be to convince the jury that although no one actually saw you shoot Officer Kellog-”
“I didn’t shoot anybody! I don’t know what the fuck this is all about!”
“In that case, you-through your attorney, and I suppose you know that if you can’t afford to hire an attorney, one will be assigned to you from the Office of the Public Defender. And I must admit that some of those young men and women are really quite competent. They’re young and dedicated, fresh from law school, and really try hard.”
“I don’t have any fucking money,” Leslie said.
“Yes, we know,” Washington said. “As I was saying, if you say you are innocent, your defense counsel will enter a plea of not guilty on your behalf. Then it will be up to Mr. Callis to convince the jury that, although no one actually saw you shoot Officer Kellog, the circumstances surrounding the incident prove that you and only you could have done it.
“Mr. Callis will try to convince the jury that the only way you could have come into possession of the silver frame the Homicide detectives found in your home, and tapes they found in your home, and the photograph of Officer Kellog Officer Bailey found in the fire you set-”
“I don’t know anything about no fucking photograph!”
“You will be given the chance to explain how tapes made by Officer Kellog, tapes of his voice and telephone calls, came into your possession.”
“I don’t know nothing about no fucking tapes, either!”
“Your public defender will try to prove that,” Washington said. “Mr. Callis will be given the opportunity to try to convince the jury that you stole the framed photograph and the tapes and the other things from Officer Kellog’s home, and that in the conduct of that robbery, Officer Kellog came home and you shot him.”
“I didn’t do nothing like that.”
“And then it will be your attorney’s turn to convince the jury that it wasn’t you. If you can find someone, someone the jury would believe, who will go into court and swear that you were with them during the time of the robbery, that might help. Or if you could explain how the photograph of Officer Kellog and the silver frame and tapes and the other things came into your possession, that would help your case.”
“People are always throwing shit over the fence,” Leslie said.
“That might explain the photograph,” Washington said, reasonably, “but not the frame, which was found inside your house.”
Leslie looked uncomfortable.
“Your defense counsel could also have as witnesses people who know you, and would testify to your character, to try to make the point that you’re not the sort of fellow who would do something like this,” Washington said. “But if he did that, under the law Mr. Callis could introduce evidence to the contrary. You’ve been arrested, I understand, for bur glary on several occasions.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean I did the cop.”
“There is an alternative,” Washington said.
“What?”
The door opened and another detective, this one a huge white man wearing cowboy boots, stepped inside.
“Excuse me, Mr. Washington, District Attorney Callis is on the telephone for you.”
“I was afraid of that,” Washington said. “I don’t know how long this will take, Mr. Leslie, but I’ll try to come back.”
He left the interview room.
“Who the fuck uncuffed you?” the large detective asked rhetorically, walked quickly to Leslie, grabbed his right arm, clamped the handcuff on his wrist, muttered, “Fucking Special Operations hotshot!” under his breath, and stormed out of the interview room, slamming the door closed and leaving Mr. Leslie alone again.
Outside the room, he walked directly to Sergeant Washington, who was sitting on a desk holding a mug of coffee in his hands.
“That’s my mug, Jason.”
“I won’t say I’m sorry, because I am not.”
The large detective laughed.
