In the police lineup, Kelson felt he had an advantage. He didn’t know what he looked like, and he sensed his own confusion would make it harder for anyone to identify him. He knew the problem with that logic. ‘Like a baby hiding behind his hands and thinking no one can see him,’ he said as he and four other men filed into the room. The man in front of him glanced back as if Kelson was crazy, and the cop directing the lineup told him to keep his mouth closed. Nerves made Kelson talk, though, so when the cop told the men to face the mirror, then turn left, then turn right, and then stand still, Kelson said, ‘And shake your booty.’
Rather than single him out, the cop said, ‘Quiet, please, gentlemen.’
‘Good protocol,’ Kelson said.
‘Shut your goddamned mouth,’ the cop said.
Twenty minutes later, as Kelson sat again in the interview room, Peters came in and said, ‘Well, you’re screwed.’
‘Do you mind telling me what the witness saw me doing?’ Kelson asked.
‘Entering your apartment building with Raima Minhas. Ms Minhas was stumbling – incapacitated. The witness said she looked drunk, though she could’ve been high. You mostly carried her.’
Kelson thought of the possibilities. ‘Let me guess. The witness is about thirty. Short red hair.’ When Peters stared at him blankly, he added, ‘Nice ass.’
‘You seem sort of fixated,’ Peters said. ‘Nope, the witness is nothing like that.’
‘Then I’m screwed.’
‘As I said.’
‘You know I didn’t do it.’
‘How would I know that?’ Peters asked.
‘Check the witness. See who this person is. Whoever it is, there’s going to be dirt.’
‘I’ll tell you something I shouldn’t,’ Peters said. ‘You’re right. We’ve got credibility concerns. We wouldn’t take this one in front of a judge unless we had good evidence.’
‘Addict?’
‘Not quite. But who knows, this one might not even show up for the trial. Maybe there isn’t even enough to arrest you.’
‘But you just did.’
‘Sure, because you’ve got bigger problems. I hear that a street cop and a security guard visited you in your office yesterday morning. Something about gunfire.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And when they came, you said no one shot a gun.’
‘No, I said—’
‘I’ve got it in the report.’
‘They only asked about me. And they didn’t notice the bullet hole.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Peters said. ‘They noticed. The cop called it in and ran your name. So the report got passed to me, and I’m guessing you know the rest.’
‘You got a warrant and checked my office,’ Kelson said.
‘Hell, I brought a team with me. We pried out the bullet and bagged it. We looked inside your desk. Cute picture of your little girl – you should hang it up like a normal person. Clever under-the-desk rig for your KelTec. We bagged it too.’
‘So why did you arrest me?’
‘We tested the bullet from the wall. I’m guessing you know the rest again.’
‘No, but I’m starting to worry.’
‘Fireworks. A match with the bullet that killed Christian Felbanks.’
‘Fuck.’
‘That’s what I would say too if I was sitting where you are.’
‘Raima Minhas’s father shot it.’
Peters laughed at him. ‘You sure it wasn’t the redhead?’
‘Raima’s father and a cousin came to my office and blamed me for her death. I convinced them I didn’t kill her.’
‘But the father shot the wall anyway.’
‘Yes.’
‘You must’ve done a lousy job of convincing. Why’d he shoot?’
‘He was aiming at me.’
‘And he missed you by what – eight feet?’
‘He was jumpy.’
‘You know what?’ Peters said. ‘You should stick with the redhead. She’s at least got a nice ass.’
‘I want my lawyer.’
Peters shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He bent it in half, as if it was Kelson. ‘Why don’t you first tell me what really happened?’
‘My lawyer.’
‘Where’s the murder weapon?’
‘Talk to Raima Minhas’s father.’
‘Go to hell. Where is it?’
‘My lawyer.’
‘There’s no one I hate more than a dirty ex-cop. You shit on your whole life and my life too.’
‘My lawyer.’