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AUSA SHAI BROWN COULDN’T handle another ounce of bullshit being served by David Thurman. He walked into the interrogation room, quieting it. Sitting directly in front of Thurman, he raised an eyebrow, cocked his head to the side, and stared confidently at the defendant.
“You have something to say to God.” His voice was hard, I-can-give-two-fucks kind of edge to it.
Thurman frowned and sat up straight.
“A minute ago you did, God particularly heard a threat,” Shai said, looking at his watch. “At 4:28 a.m.”
Thurman began to tremble.
“You see, I have my hands over your head with strings attached, controlling your life. Your every move. Everything about you. I, God, mutha fucking owns you,” he said, asserting control.
Thurman coerced tears to fall from his eyes.
“A moment ago you were all locker-room-talk with the ladies. I’m only hearing sniffles.”
Looking into Shai eyes, Thurman said, “I want to go home.”
“Take responsibility for your crimes in exchange for life and you can go to USP Big Sandy and call that home.”
“I want my dad. Why am I here in handcuffs? Are you a cop?”
“I’m in no mood for games. You’re in boiling water and only I, God, can pull you out. Imagine yourself as the crab that you are, fighting for a way out of the pot.”
Detective Bald Eagle added, “Listen. This thing wouldn’t look any better with a telescope. It’s a mess and it’s your mess. Fix it with a confession.”
“No more bodies,” AUSA Brown said. “You’ve racked up enough, and someone—an accomplice, maybe—plans more, I guess. Tell us what you know, confess your wrong-doing and let me and my colleagues move on to the next case.”
Thurman reached into the breast-pocket of his prison-issued orange jumpsuit, pulled out a card and sat it on the table. “My dad told me to call his friend if I was ever locked up. Please, can I call my dad’s friend?”
AUSA Shai Brown picked up the business card of one, Naim Butler, Esq. “This is going to be a long night for you,” the prosecutor said. “Give us a handwriting sample, lie-detector test, and let us test you for gun residue. And then, God will let you call your...um...dad’s friend.”
“OK,” Thurman said childlike.