“Then what happened?” he asks.
“I went to Elliot’s.”
“You mean, Elliot summoned you from the veranda because he wanted to show you a painting.”
“That’s right,” I correct myself.
“He did that pretty often, didn’t he? Invited you or Cassius over to see what he was working on?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And what was Cassius doing at the time?” he asks.
I scan my memories, but my mind was a fog of anger and betrayal. I stare at him blankly.
“I believe he was…” Mr. Takeda taps his open notepad. “Trimming his Bonsai.”
“Yes! He was trimming his Bonsai. I’d interrupted him, so he went back to finishing it. He’s kind of fussy that way. Can’t leave something only half-done.”
“Very good, but don’t feel that you need to contribute any more information than what’s being asked of you. That will only raise more questions.” He motions with his fancy pen. “Please continue.”
I lick my lips, which are dry and chapped, and try to remember what Cassius told me to say.
“Elliot said he wanted to show me his painting. He’s been working on it for months. And while I was looking at it, he came up behind me. I felt a pinch on my neck, like a prick, and then I can’t remember much at all.”
“You don’t recallanything?” Mr. Takeda asks like it’s the wrong answer.
“No?” I respond, doubting myself.
“The police are going to pressure you on that point, Adam, so you’re going to need to remain firm. Now, show me where you felt the prick.” I point to the side of my neck. “And did you feel any pain or discomfort while lying there?”
“No, but Isaac said he cut me. Is it bad?” I touch my face again, somewhat compulsively, trying to feel around the edges of the bandages to determine how deep and how long the gash is. Is there more than one?
“And who was it that cut you?” Mr. Takeda asks.
“Elliot?”
“That’s right, Elliot Anderson cut you. Do you know what he cut you with?”
“No?”
“It’s better if you don’t know. But the police will ask you for details. If you don’t know the answer to one of their questions, simply say, ‘I don’t know.’ That’s perfectly acceptable.” He sits back and surveys me from head to foot. “So that’s the last thing you remember? A pinch in your neck.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m here to inform you, Adam, Elliot Anderson is dead. Cassius hit him with a camera tripod and accidentally killed him. He did it to defend your life and his own.”
“That’s… awful,” I say.
“Yes, it is, but Elliot was mutilating you. Cassius didn’t intend to kill him, but these things sometimes happen in the heat of the moment.”
“It was an accident,” I say as regret fills me like a lead balloon.
“And Elliot fucked up your face pretty badly,” Mr. Takeda says, shocking me with his coarse language.
“Isaac said it will barely leave a scar,” I say, clinging to that hope.
Mr. Takeda gives no response to that point but charges ahead with the interview. “Let’s switch gears for a moment, Adam. I’m going to pretend to be a police officer who’s questioning you, and I want you to do your best to answer. Keep in mind that your responses have the ability to either incriminate Cassius or exonerate him.”
