“What are you looking to nail me on now, the Kennedy assassination?”

John Nicholson is very surprised to see me, and not all that pleased. I think the fact that I helped put him in prison has something to do with it. Of course, I’m only assuming this is John Nicholson, since that is who I told the prison officials I wanted to meet with. He does not look remotely familiar to me.

“Hello, John,” I say, giving him the opportunity to correct me.

He doesn’t. Instead he says, “You are the last person I expected to see, and the last person I want to see.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m not really sure. Look, John, I’m going to be straight with you. I was shot a while ago, and…”

“I read about it. I can’t say I was pulling for you.”

“I understand. The thing is, I lost a good deal of my memory. It’s called retrograde amnesia.”

He nods. “I read about that, too.”

“Right. So I’m trying to re-create a lot of it. To piece together some things, including much of the Rita Carlisle case. Your case. And I could use your help in that effort.”

“You don’t remember what happened?” he asks. “None of it?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t even remember me?”

“I’m sorry; I don’t.”

“So you want me to take you down memory lane and tell you how you put me here? No thanks; living through it once was bad enough. Ask your buddies on the force to tell you about it; maybe they can read it to you as a bedtime story. Or Google it. All I care about is that you get the hell out of here.”

I shake my head. “I understand how you feel, but that’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“Someone has come to me with some information about your case. I want you to know that it may be nothing of any significance; in fact, it probably won’t. But I thought it was worth looking into.”

“What kind of information?” he asks.

“I can’t tell you that, at least not at this point. And I can’t tell you who came to me. It’s a promise I made in order to get the information.”

“So how does it affect me?”

I shrug. “Maybe it doesn’t; I won’t know until I know.”

“Then why should I talk to you?”

Coming here was probably a mistake; this guy is bugging me. “You’re in prison and your arm is handcuffed to that table,” I say. “You see much to lose here?”

He thinks for a moment, and actually looks at his cuffed arm. “Okay, that’s a decent point. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with what you and Rita Carlisle were fighting about that night.”

Another pause; clearly the idea of talking openly to a person he has long considered his mortal enemy is not coming naturally to him. “Rita broke up with me. She didn’t say so, but I think she was having an affair with a guy in her office.”

“You have a name?”

“No; if I did I’d probably be in here for murdering him.”

“So she was breaking off your engagement?”

He shakes his head. “First of all, we weren’t actually engaged, although I had bought a ring and was planning to ask her. She was telling me there was something going on in her life, and she might be leaving town.”

“She didn’t say what it was?”

“She said she couldn’t; that’s why I thought it was an affair. She was asking for my forgiveness, and said that if I knew what was happening, I’d understand.”

“Did you press her on it?”

“As best I could, but I got nowhere. Then I asked her what would happen to her job if she left town, and she said she didn’t have a job anymore. Then she ran out. She seemed upset and scared, like she was having trouble holding it all together.”

“And then you got angry?”

He nods. “Damn straight I got angry. I’m angry now just thinking about it; the fact that she felt she couldn’t trust me upset me more than anything. The whole thing came out of left field. But I wouldn’t kill her … I wouldn’t hurt her. I loved her.”

“Why did she run out?”

“Because I was saying things that weren’t particularly pleasing for her to hear. I guess I wasn’t handling the news the way she thought I would. I wasn’t being supportive enough.” He laughs. “She was dumping me and I wasn’t being supportive enough. She said she had to leave.”

“So you followed her out of the bar.”

“Yeah. I kept calling to her, but she wouldn’t stop. I had driven there, and I didn’t know where she could go on foot, so I wanted to get her to stop so I could take her home. I grabbed her from behind; that’s the part the video cameras caught. She pushed me away, and ran off across the street.”

“What did you do then?”

“Went back to my car and drove around looking for her. When I couldn’t find her, I went to her house. I assumed she got in a cab or something. But she wasn’t there, and she never came home.” Then, “Even now, after being in here so long, I still can’t believe it.”

“I know you’ve said that you’re innocent—”

He interrupts. “I am innocent.”

“So did you then, or do you now, have any idea who might have done it?”

“The only thing I can think of is whoever she was having an affair with. Maybe she told him that she was going to work it out with me, and he followed her that night. Maybe her fear came from being worried about what he might do. But I don’t even know who he is, or if there is such a person at all, and my lawyer was never able to find out.”

“Let me ask you this; did you know anyone else at the bar that night?”

He shakes his head. “It was just the two of us.”

“I don’t mean with you. I mean elsewhere in the bar. Did Rita say hello to anyone, or indicate she might have known someone that was there?”

“Why?” he asks.

“John, we’re still in the phase where I ask the questions and you answer them. When and if I have meaningful answers, I promise I will tell you. It has to be that way for now.”

He frowns, but doesn’t push it. When you’re in prison handcuffed to a table, you don’t have that much leverage. “I don’t recall that we knew anyone else there, and I don’t remember her saying anything to anyone. But it’s possible that she did; she was pretty sociable, and knew a lot of people. Way more than me.”

“Is it a bar you went to a lot?”

“No, maybe a couple of times before that … I think once with Rita. But it wasn’t a favorite place, or anything like that.”

“Did you make a reservation that night? Or was it a spur of the moment thing?”

“I don’t remember. But the place was crowded, so we probably had a reservation. If we did, Rita would have made it; she handled that stuff.”

I make a mental note to see if there is video footage inside the restaurant that night. If there is, it would have been introduced at trial.

“Thanks, John. You’ve been helpful.”

“Will you let me know what you come up with?”

“Yes. But don’t focus on this too much; we’re talking about a major long shot.”

“Okay, thanks for that. I’ve got a job in the prison laundry; I’ll focus on that. And I’ll focus on decorating my cell.”

He’s clearly bitter, and I can’t say I blame him. “I’ll get back to you, John.”

“What if you come up with nothing?” he asks. “Will you tell me that also?”

I nod. “That I can promise.”