“Let’s go,” Abelman said. “I keep saying... if this is a stunt...”
“Yeah, I know, you’ll have us all gelded,” Lucas said. To the assistant DA, he said, “It’d be best if this were me and Mr. Abelman and Mr. Walton.”
“I’m a very curious lawyer,” she said.
“You’ll have to be curious about something else,” Lucas said. “This is just the three of us.”
—
WALTON WAS BROUGHTinto an interview room where he sat across a table from Abelman and Lucas. He was a short, thin man with lank brown hair, a round face, and a spade beard that tried to disguise a receding chin, but failed. His eyes and nosewere red, as though he’d been crying, or possibly was allergic to the lockup.
Abelman had already told him that Lucas was coming. Abelman said to Lucas, “So ask.”
Lucas said to Walton, “I can reveal some details about the case that might help your defense. Specifically, might defeat any suggestion that you were part of a larger plot to kill a senator’s child. That might be important.”
Walton stirred in his chair, said nothing, glanced at Abelman. Abelman said, “Huh. Keep talking.”
“I have a preliminary question, though,” Lucas said. “This isn’t what I’m here for, but if you could answer it, I’d be willing to tell a courtroom that you cooperated on this point.”
“What’s the question?” Abelman asked.
Lucas looked at Walton. “Do you know or have you ever heard of a gun dealer named Lee Wilson?”
Abelman said, “Whoa,” but Walton put up a hand and said, “I can answer that question.”
Abelman: “You sure?”
Walton nodded and looked back at Lucas. “Yeah, I’m sure. To answer your question, no, I never heard of him. Never bought anything from him. That’s the honest to God truth.”
Lucas nodded. “Thanks. Now, this is what I really want your opinion on. What if I were to tell you that 1919 is a joke, set up by some hackers who were trying to troll the local neo-Nazis?”
Walton stared at him for a long moment, his face slowly going redder than it already was and then he said, softly, “What?”
Abelman said, “You’re telling us that...”
Walton half rose from his chair, eyes on Lucas, and heshouted, “What?” Spittle flew across the space between them. “It’s a joke? It’s a joke?” He looked at Abelman. “Is he fucking with me?”
“I don’t think so...”
“A teenager put it together, that’s why the site’s so crude,” Lucas said.
“What about the letter? You all got the letter? The letter says...”
“I know what the letter says,” Lucas said. “The letter is bullshit. Somebody was trolling you—or maybe the letter writer really thinks 1919 is real, but believe me, there’s nothing there. Nobody wants anyone to shoot any kids. It’s a joke. It’s a fraud.”
“What about me?” Walton brayed. “Do I look like a fuckin’ joke?”
“Easy,” said Abelman.
“Don’t tell meeasy, you fuckin’ kike.”
Lucas ignored the slur. “I think you’re a victim of one, a joke...”
“Can’t be! Can’t be!” Walton shouted. “I’m going to prison because some goddamn nerd decided to have a little fun? Can’t be! You’re lying to me, you piece of shit.”
A guard came in the back door and they all turned their heads, and he said, “We could hear some shouting outside. Everything okay here?”
“Do I look like I’m okay?” Walton shouted at him. “Get me out of here.”
