“I wasn’t leaving a homicide scene,” I said. “I was walking down a damn road. There’s a difference, right? People leaving homicide scenes run and hide. They don’t walk straight down the road. What’s wrong about walking down a road? People walk down roads all the damn time, don’t they?”
“Get your ass in that chair and keep your filthy mouth shut,” he said.
“Teale runs it?” I said. “Teale’s the enemy.”
“You came here looking for a guitar player?” he said.
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad about that. Where’s your lawyer?”
I gave her the station house number and told her to speak to nobody except me or Roscoe or Finlay. Then she hung up in a hurry like somebody had just walked in on her. I sat for a moment and tried to imagine what she looked like.