“I don’t need to know him! And I’ll talk about whoever I damn well please. Now, get your finger out my face and sit your ass down before I break it and you.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I was about to step around the desk and show her just who she was fucking with. Good thing for her that her partner cut me off.
“Paris, please sit down. Don’t pay attention to her. She’s not going to do anything to you. Just have a seat so we can talk, please. This is about Trevor, not you and her. Let’s focus.” He guided me to my seat, then turned to his partner. “Anderson, sit your ass down!”
Would you believe that hooker with a badge did exactly as she was told? I turned my attention to her partner, who pulled his chair up next to me, gently encouraging me to sit down, like he was on my side. I gave that heifer a smirk that said I knew who had the real power in that partnership.
“Okay,” he said. “So, if it’s not some code, then why won’t you cooperate? We’re not the enemy here. We’re just trying to find out who killed your boyfriend, so why won’t you help us?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He was just a good friend. We just started dating.” What I really meant was that he was a friend I never should have gone out with. “And the reason I ain’t talking is because my lawyer’s not here ... yet,” I replied. “I know my rights.”
“You ain’t got no rights,” his partner barked.
“Anderson, will you please shut the hell up?” he snapped so I didn’t have to. He turned to me, speaking so nonchalantly I almost felt like he meant it. “Paris, you’re not under arrest, so what do you need a lawyer for?”
They were playing one hell of a game of good cop/bad cop, and I bet all those fools they interrogated fell for it—but not me.
“Yeah, famous last words. I’m not trying to cause any trouble. I’m just protecting my rights. Y’all ain’t gonna get me caught up in no shit. My father told me about how cops play games and set people up, and he also told me to never say a word until I had a lawyer present.” I sat back cozily, as if I were on a piece of designer furniture at home instead of this rickety old piece of shit in a police station.
“Look, we’re not trying to play games or entrap you. You’re a party girl ... a celebutante,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “I get that. But the longer we’re playing around here, the longer your boyfriend’s killer goes free. Don’t you want justice?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you that? And of course I want justice, but I also want to be alive to see it. Those dudes that killed Trevor are still on the street. I’m not getting involved with you so that they can come knocking on my door.” I mumbled, “I’m not stupid. I watch Criminal Minds and Law and Order.”
“Look, Paris, we can protect you. And we’ve got a pretty good idea who these guys are, but we just need a witness—someone who can identify at least one of them—and I know you saw who did this, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer him, but couldn’t restrain a nod in the affirmative.
He smiled, then said, “He was a big, dark-skinned black guy with a bald head, wasn’t he? He was the one who shot Trevor, wasn’t he?” I gave him a half nod, and he turned toward his partner with a nod of his own. “Look, Paris, all I need you to do is write down what you saw and look at a few pictures, and then you can get on out of here.”
“That’s it?” The thought of escaping that place had me lifting my head, but I wasn’t convinced by a long shot. “That’s all you want from me?”
“Yep, that’s it,” he said. “So, are you ready to go on the record with that? Write this down for us? Please.” He picked up a legal pad and a pen. “You write this statement and I can have you out of here in a half hour, tops.”