“Good morning, Mr. Jennings. We’d like to talk to you. Can we come in?” the one I don’t like says all smugly, like he knows the choice I have is between talking to them on my front porch and letting them into my house to talk.
Every crime show I’ve ever seen flashes through my brain as I try to remember if they can simply search a person’s house because they’ve been invited in. No, I don’t think they can. Don’t they need my permission or a search warrant to do that?
I stop my mind from its frantic spinning by reminding myself that I didn’t kill Bryan. I didn’t even hurt him. He’s to blame for his own death. I’m innocent of whatever they’re thinking I did.
So I paste a smile on my face and open the door to let them inside. “I have a few minutes. We can talk in the living room.”
The two men hesitate for a split second, just long enough to exchange a glance between them before they walk past me into the house. The girls are still at their sleepover, and Jamie is out in the backyard tending to those ugly flowers she calls her babies, so we should be left alone, at least for a few minutes.
That’s all I plan to give them anyway. Whatever they came to tell me has nothing to do with me because I’m innocent.
I offer them a seat on the light gray sofa my wife claimed was the singular piece she absolutely needed that would bring together this room for the sale price of nearly three thousand dollars. I sit in the only chair in the room I enjoy, a far less expensive tan recliner from my first apartment she claims is an eyesore and should be put out for the trash.
Normally, I’d be quite chatty with the police, but something tells me this isn’t a visit to let me know they’ve decided Bryan shot himself and everything’s going to be fine for me. I wait silently for them to begin speaking, my stomach twisting into a tight knot with each passing second that I don’t hear a word.
Finally, Officer Ramon nods as if any of us has said a thing he could be reacting to and sighs. “Well, Mr. Jennings, we wanted to inform you that the preliminary autopsy shows that your friend, Bryan Corsei, did not commit suicide. He was murdered by a red-blooded, fellow human being.”
I shake my head in disbelief, unwilling to believe this nonsense. “That’s not true. I saw him wave the gun around and then mistakenly shoot himself. I may not know exactly how it happened or everything about how guns work, but I know when someone shoots themselves. I can discern between suicide and murder, you know.”
“The coroner can discern between injuries from suicide and murder too. So we’re here to inform you that we’re investigating a murder and would like to give you the chance to explain how the angle of the wound says he was shot by someone else and not by his own hand in that clearing on the trails behind the community center.”
Both men level their gazes on me, and all I see in their eyes is accusation. I can’t believe this. I have no idea how Bryan’s wound could say murder to the coroner instead of suicide. I saw him shoot himself, for God’s sake!
“But he pointed the gun at his own chest. I witnessed it with my own eyes. I don’t know why the coroner is mistaken, but I know what I saw.”
Officer Ramon nods solemnly while his partner Officer Raintree continues to stare daggers at me. “Yes, we have your statement about what happened. That doesn’t change the fact that the person trained to know the difference between a gunshot wound that is considered murder and a gunshot wound that’s considered suicide has decided it was, indeed, murder. Can you explain how the coroner can be wrong?” Officer Ramon asks with more sincerity than I imagine he’s feeling right now.
“Explain how the coroner is wrong? No. I’d suggest if you want to know how he’s wrong that you should talk to him. Why are you here giving me a hard time? I saw what I saw. I hurried down to the closest place with a phone to get help. I did everything I should have done as a good citizen. Bryan didn’t mean to shoot himself, but that’s what happened.”
For the first time, Officer Raintree speaks up, and he’s as charming as he was yesterday. “But that’s not how it happened. There was no suicide. This was a human attacking another human.”
“So you think I made up the entire thing about him mistakenly shooting himself? Is that what you came here to tell me?”
Raintree starts to say something, but his partner puts his hand on his arm to stop him. “Mr. Jennings, we simply wanted to give you a chance to clear things up for yourself. That’s all we’re doing here today,” Ramon says.
“Thank you. I think it’s time you leave,” I say as I stand up and begin walking toward the front door.
They follow me and stop at the door. Raintree glares at me like he’s already decided as the judge and jury I’m guilty of Bryan’s murder, but Ramon simply sighs deeply and says, “I think you should get yourself a lawyer, Mr. Jennings.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, but innocent people don’t need attorneys. Goodbye.”
I slam the door shut behind them and look down to see my hands shaking like a leaf in a stiff wind. They think I killed my co-worker. I’m the only suspect they’re looking at too. I know it.
Good God, how could this have happened? All I wanted to do was get out of the house for a few hours to avoid having to spend time around my wife and eight screaming preteen girls.
When I pullinto the parking lot at work, all I can think about is how relieved I am to be here. Even with it being a Monday, I still prefer to be here than at home.
Ever since the terrible events of Saturday, it’s like I haven’t been able to escape Bryan’s death. I can’t walk outside into my neighborhood without someone giving me the side eye. The police coming for a visit yesterday didn’t help either. At least here, I’ll be able to lose myself in my job.
My happiness is quickly dashed the moment I walk into the building. Jerry, the day security guard who has never not greeted anyone without a smile, waves me through the metal detector without so much as a tiny smirk. His pale blue eyes glare at me like I’ve just told him I killed his dog.
“Mondays, huh?” I say with a smile as I walk past him.
He doesn’t answer. In all the years that I’ve worked here, Jerry has never missed a chance to make small talk. What the hell is wrong with him today?
I know the answer. He heard about Bryan’s death, but why does that mean he needs to treat me like some criminal?
“Have a nice day,” I mumble as I grab my briefcase off the scanner belt and head down the hallway toward the elevator.
