He looks at me like he doesn’t believe a word I say but then does as I suggested and runs his hand over the back of my head where they hit me. It hurts like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but I try not to yell out as his fat hand clumsily touches the sensitive area.
“See? I’m not lying. I didn’t just fall asleep up here. I was knocked out. Who did it I have no idea.”
That makes him smirk. “So you didn’t shoot your friend, but someone now has it out for you?”
This guy is a total tool. How did my community hire this guy to be a cop? Were there no better applicants? Probably that shitty group of HOA assholes. No doubt they loved him the moment he came in for the interview. Like saw like and they fell in love.
“I still stand by my statement that Bryan accidentally shot himself. For God’s sake, how does that coroner not know that the angle of the wound is different between when someone shoots a man and when he shoots himself? Jesus, what does it take for you guys to see that I’m not the person who killed Bryan?”
Officer Ramon doesn’t answer any of my questions, so I continue. “And as for why someone would have it out for me, what did you think would happen when you and your buddy visited my house? You’ve repeatedly treated me like a criminal, and now everyone else is following suit. Maybe you should have tried a little professionalism and not used the court of publicopinion to convict me. Is that how you two usually conduct yourselves?”
His eyebrows shoot up into his forehead at my question. It seems I’ve offended my community’s finest. Too bad. Maybe now they’ll try to do some investigating instead of fixating on me.
But then he speaks again, and I know I’m getting nowhere with him.
“All I see is a man who’s hit his head. Nothing else. You’re going to have to come down to the station, Mr. Jennings.”
I wish I could tell them all I saw and not just about my unseen attacker. The problem is the person I saw with my own eyes right before something hit my head can’t be here. It just isn’t possible.
As Officer Ramon begins to guide me back down the path toward the community center, I try to piece together what’s going on. Am I being set up? I must be. But that doesn’t explain me seeing someone who’s been dead for over fifteen years.
Together, we ride to the police station as I try to figure out just what the hell is going on. Why am I seeing someone who can’t possibly be anywhere but six feet in the ground?
This is madness. I’m losing my mind. Even worse, this officer doesn’t believe a word I say.
Is this karma come to give me my just desserts?
By the time I sit down in the police station interrogation room, I’m convinced that’s exactly what’s happening. It’s the only way any of this makes sense. Karma has come to finally make me pay for what I did all those years ago.
We sit down in a small room that reminds me of the school I attended as an elementary student. Just like at Roosevelt School, the walls are painted a dark beige on the upper half of the wall and a deep brown on the bottom half. It’s an ugly, institutional look that suits my companions perfectly.
Officers Ramon and Raintree face me from the other side of the black metal table with a leg that’s too short, so every time anyone leans on the top of it, the table wobbles. You’d think they’d fold up a piece of paper or something to level things off. Real problem solvers these two are.
I watch as Raintree, who I secretly call Surly Raintree, plants his elbow in front of him and three pens roll away toward the floor. Ramon reaches over him to catch them and sets them near him. It’s like these two are comedy clowns. They just don’t know it.
“So, Mr. Jennings, you say you were up on the trail trying to figure out who killed Bryan Corsei,” Surly Raintree says with a sneer.
For the umpteenth time, I answer, “Yes.”
That gets me a squint and a long glare before he continues. “Well, that’s interesting because a witness has come forward to say she saw you kill Mr. Corsei.”
His claim stuns me for a moment, but I quickly regroup and ask, “Who?”
Suddenly, both officers don’t seem to have a thing to say. They merely shake their heads, as if I asked them if either would like a soda.
“Who? Who said that? I want to know because they’re lying.”
Officer Ramon shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, but we can’t divulge that information yet. This is still an active investigation.”
I’m beginning to get frustrated with the two-thirds of the Three Stooges I have to deal with here. What I want to do is lash out, but I know these geniuses will think that’s some kind of evidence of my guilt, so I take a deep breath and blow it out of my mouth in a rush to calm myself down.
“As much as I can’t understand why I need to say this again, here goes. I ran down to the community center to get help. Let me ask you this. Did the girl there see any blood on me? Any atall? No. Did you when you arrived on the scene? No. You say I shot Bryan in the chest. Don’t you think I’d have some blood on me if I did that? Now I’m no expert in that kind of injury, but I’d think with all the arteries in that part of the body there’d be a lot of blood loss. Wouldn’t the killer get at least a little on them? Really, guys. I know you’ve gotten yourselves fixed on me, but I didn’t do it.”
Neither one of them seems to either understand what I’m saying or care. They don’t say a word to refute my logic. They simply sit there staring at me.
Disgusted that once again they won’t listen, I stand up and ask, “Are you arresting me?”
Raintree looks like he just swallowed something gross and wants to throw up, but Ramon merely shakes his head and answers with a quiet, “No.”
