The Last Alibi

39

Jason

My lawyers, Shauna sitting next to me and Bradley John next to her, scribble notes as they listen to the examination of Detective Cromartie. He’s done well on the witness stand. He’s a strong, assertive type, but he isn’t overplaying his hand, not coming on too strong. A good cop knows where to draw that line. Ray Cromartie, I’ve thought since that night, is a good cop. He was stringing me along pretty well before I abruptly terminated the interview. He scored one on the key for Alexa, with me shutting the interview down while I was on the ropes, and I’m sure he knew that, but he was clearly disappointed when I pulled the plug. He wanted what all of them want: a confession. He caught me in a couple of-ahem-inconsistencies, which is a nice consolation prize, but he didn’t get what he came for.

Shauna is spending too much time on her notes. She’s coping, I think. She’s forcing herself to stay clinical, to focus on questions and answers and not on the reality of what is happening here, and what happened that night. This is tougher on her than I expected, hearing all this and bearing the burden of keeping me out of prison. She’s one of the best lawyers I know, but she has almost no experience in a criminal courtroom. She mentioned more than once that we should consider some highbrow defense attorney, Gerry Salters or someone like that, but it had to be her. It had to be.

After some preliminary questions with the detective, Roger Ogren brings the television screen to life again, taking us back to the interrogation at a different point. Roger Ogren has decided to cherry-pick through this tape, playing various tidbits out of order, because some of the stuff on this tape will be shown to the jury through Cromartie and others through the Community Action Team squad officer. This part of the tape began around the sixth minute of conversation:

“You told me back at your house that you have a pretty good idea who killed Alexa,” Cromartie says. “Can you help me out with that? Who killed her, Jason?”

I don’t answer at first. Several seconds pass. I shake my head and wave a hand. “His name is Jim.”

“Last name?” Cromartie asks.

“Just Jim,” I say.

“Well. . what can you tell me about Jim?”

The way Cromartie says Jim, it’s like he’s dealing with a little kid who is obviously lying.

“He. . he has red hair,” I say. “He’s big, muscular. He wears glasses. He has a paunch, like, a gut.”

“Why do you think Jim would kill Alexa?”

“To get to me,” I say. “To get to me.”

“Why would Jim want to get to you, Jason?”

“I’m. . I’m not sure. I just know that he’s angry with me. I’m still trying to figure out why.”

“Did this. . Jim tell you that he was going to hurt Alexa? Or you?”

I shake my head. “Not in so many words. I wish he had. If he had, maybe I could have done something.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Cromartie says.

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it. A nice motto of mine, stolen from my mentor, and a nice tool for dominating a conversation. But probably not so nice when your audience is a jury trying to decide if you’re a cold-blooded murderer.

After a lengthy delay, Cromartie opens his hand, visible to the camera. “That’s it? A guy whose last name you don’t know, who might want to hurt you, but you don’t know why?”

“I wish I knew more,” I say. “I’d love to tell you more, but I haven’t figured it out yet.”

Roger Ogren stops the tape. “Detective Cromartie,” he says, “since this interview with the defendant on the early morning of July thirty-first, has the defendant come back to tell you who ‘Jim’ is?”

“No, sir, he hasn’t.”

“Since this interview, which took place over four months ago, has the defendant come back to tell you why this ‘Jim’ person wanted to hurt him?”

“No, sir.”

“During these four-plus months, has the defendant told you anything at all about this supposed murderer named. . ‘Jim’?”

“He hasn’t. Not a peep.”

Roger Ogren looks over his notes at the lectern one last time. Shauna takes a deep breath.

I lean into Shauna’s personal space. “You ready for him?”

“Is he ready for me?” she whispers back. False bravado, or I haven’t known this woman half my life.

“Thank you, Detective,” says Ogren. “No more questions for this witness.”