Seeing the baffledthat is completely bonkersexpression on my face, Alderson laughs.
I’d like to return the laugh, but everything inside me goes cold. If they simply realized I looked like the sketch and then acted, that means the real CA is after me.
But Lasserio could be lying. It still could be them who put the sketch out.
“None of it was very bright or logical,” Alderson says. “When we asked Lasserio why they didn’t simply let the six days play out instead of getting involved, you won’t believe what he said.”
“What?”
“That he wanted to take the opportunity to prove to his boss that he was worth more than Ridgeway gave him credit for.”
I shake my head at the stupidity. “What’s he not saying, though?” I’m still clinging to the idea that he and Ridgeway put the sketch out.
“A lot. Have a listen for yourself.” He waves to the interrogation room. “She’s hit a brick wall asking him about last night.”
“If he shot Deputy Zane, he’s in for a whole lot more than trouble around damaging private property.”
“Running errands. Getting groceries and gas,” Lasserio says to Greene from behind the glass.
“Your girlfriend says she doesn’t know where you were last night, that you weren’t home with her, so let me repeat, where were you?”
“And let me repeat ... gas, groceries.”
“Are you sure about that?” Greene asks. “Because we were at your place. It didn’t look to us like any new groceries were bought recently.”
“It’s stuff you wouldn’t notice. Soap and stuff.”
“You have a receipt or two?”
“I don’t keep receipts. I used cash.”
“Which stores did you go to?”
He goes silent.
“So,” Greene says. “You have no alibi for yesterday evening around the time a deputy was shot at Crosbie Mitchell’s house?”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout that.” Lasserio folds his arms over his chest.
“All right. Let’s change gears. The other video? Tell us about the backpack you were bringing out of your storage shed. Whose pack was it?”
“Mine,” he says.
“What was in it?”
“Tools.”
“Hmm.” Greene exaggerates looking perplexed. “That’s strange, because we have reason to believe the pack belonged to Clarissa Haynes, the reporter.”
“It’s mine.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Don’t remember.”
“What was in it?”
“Told you. Tools. Screwdrivers, measuring tape, and stuff.”
