Part 15 (1/2)
Paul felt his mouth go dry. He could sense what was happening, and he didn't want to be here, but it was like he couldn't stop it. He said he didn't mind making a statement.
And besides, if you do say you don't want to give a statement, you sound guilty. You can't afford that. You got a charge to keep, remember?
Anderson put the recorder down on the dashboard between them. ”Good,” he said. ”So just take it from the top. Pretend I don't know anything about what happened. Tell me what it looked like for you.”
Paul did just that. He started from the alley, where he and Mike had watched as the three heroin dealers made a sale, and progressed all the way through the story, telling it all in a tired, almost bored tone, as one reciting lines of memorized poetry that no longer have any meaning. It wasn't until he described rounding the corner and seeing the goat that his tone and pace changed. After that, he spoke slowly, choosing his words like they were steps through a mine field. He started to feel light-headed.
When he was done, he put his hands in his lap and sat there, staring at the digital recorder on the dashboard, waiting.
”And that's it?” Anderson said.
”Yes, sir. That's it.”
”You didn't hear anything?”
”No, sir.”
”No screaming?”
”I didn't hear anything, sir.”
”Hmm. That's odd.”
Paul waited in silence.
Anderson said, ”I think it's odd because you were just a few feet away from where a kid was being ripped open. A goat, too, for that matter. Don't you think that's odd?”
”I didn't hear anything, sir.”
Anderson nodded.
He stroked his chin and seemed to stare at his dashboard. Paul followed his gaze and saw an old, yellowed photograph covering the speedometer. It showed a boy with long, wavy dark hair and clothes that looked to be from the mid-nineties, sort of grungy.
They waited each other out in silence.
Finally, Anderson said, ”You don't talk much, do you?”
”No, sir,” Paul said. ”I guess not.”
”Well, that's okay. You don't have to, really. You see, whether you know it or not, you're actually telling me an awful lot.”
Paul c.o.c.ked his head to one side. ”How's that, sir?”
”Earlier, when I asked you if you heard any screaming, you crossed your arms across your chest. Up to this point, you've been looking at your hands in your lap. You know what that little motion tells me, crossing your hands like that?”
”No, sir.”
”It tells me you're getting defensive. It tells me you're hiding something. Maybe you did hear something. Who knows? Maybe you heard the kid cry out, but you didn't go to him because you were scared. Is that it? Were you scared, Paul? It makes sense you know. Being in a gunfight situation isn't like a walk in the park. It's terrifying as h.e.l.l. I know. I've been there.”
Anderson looked at Paul and waited for him to say something, anything.
The silence went on and on.
Anderson said, ”Paul, you mind if I tell you a story?”
Paul looked up at him and shook his head.
”This was in August, 1991. I was working the warehouses around Pop Gunn Drive. You know that area?”
”No, sir.”
”Run down, nasty place. Nothing but warehouses. The south side at its worst. Well, anyway, they'd been having a string of burglaries in the area, and my sergeant ordered me to drive the area all night, you know, seeing what I could see. Well, I hear this disturbance come out on the radio, shots fired in a house about two miles or so from where I am. I figure, I'll stay in the area, listen for what happens. Well, the officers get there, and the next thing you know, the emergency tone's going off. The officers are calling in shots fired, two people hit. Turns out, a husband lost his mind and took it out on his wife and youngest son.”
Anderson glanced at the picture covering his speedometer, and Paul thought he saw a dark cloud pa.s.s over the detective's face.
”So of course the guy manages to get into his truck and flees the scene,” Anderson said. ”The officers put out his description and I start looking for the truck. You can guess what happened next, right? There I am, driving around with my thumb up my b.u.t.t, and sure as h.e.l.l, guess who comes tearing around the corner right in front of me?”
”The guy from the shooting?”
”Right. So I go after him. We have this little car chase around the warehouses, and the next thing you know, the guy crashes. He jumps out of the truck, and I follow him in my car. Well he stops and turns and points a gun at me, and I lock up the brakes. He runs off around a corner of a building, and I go after him on foot. I go around the corner, and I hear this loud boom, right? It's the guy's gun. I think, Oh s.h.i.+t, he's shooting at me. So I jump back behind the corner and I stand there, breathing so hard I can barely talk on the radio. I stand there for a real long time, you know? Just me, listening to the wind blowing through the eaves of this building above me. When my cover got there, they asked me what was going on. I couldn't tell them, I was so scared. Finally, they moved in, and you know what they found?”
”What?” Paul asked.
”They found the guy behind a pile of lumber, dead. The shot I'd heard, that was him, popping himself off.”
Anderson stopped there and looked at Paul.
”Tell me, Paul, is that what happened to you? Did you hear that kid screaming out? Did you get scared and freeze? There's no shame if that's what happened. The public may think we're nothing but a bunch of baton happy racists, just living for the chance to beat the s.h.i.+t out of some hapless minority, but you and I know the truth. It isn't that way. Believe me, I know.”
Paul didn't say anything. His mind was playing the same loop over and over again. Slowing to a stunned walk as he saw the slaughtered goat. Turning and looking at the figure of his father crouched over the dead kid. His father talking to him.
You've got a charge to keep, boy.
”Is that what happened, Paul?”
Nothing.
”Paul?”
”I didn't see nothing, sir. I didn't hear nothing, either. I looked into the boxcar, and the kid was dead.”
”Just like that?”
”Yes, sir. Just like that.”
Anderson nodded to himself again. He smacked his lips and said, ”Okay.”