glossiest black leather gun belt I’d ever seen. She, too, seemed to know why I was there before I said anything.
I was made to empty all of my pockets as I would if I were at the airport, flying commercially. I went through a metal detector. I was then taken to a six-foot-by-six-foot cubicle surrounded by glass and positioned inside a detective squad room. Inside the cubicle were a metal table bolted to the floor and two metal desk chairs, unpadded. I was made to sign and date a statement saying I would be prosecuted fully if I were caught smuggling in any contraband, and another statement promising that I would not hold Rancho Bonita County responsible were I to meet injury or death inside the jail. Then I waited. For once, I didn’t mind cooling my heels. The air conditioning was on.
After about ten minutes, Birch was brought in, wrists chained to his waist over an orange jumpsuit. His dark wild hair matched his eyes. One of the two escorting deputies freed Birch’s hands as he sat opposite me, on the other side of the table. The other deputy knelt and padlocked Birch’s manacled ankles to a steel eyebolt embedded in the cement floor.
“So, you and my cousin Savannah,” he said after we were alone. “I didn’t really know Savannah. She was older than me. Met her once, I think, twice maybe. I was little. She was a real knockout.”
“That she was.”
I asked him if he’d been read his rights. He said he had, and that he’d refused to talk pending a meeting with his defense attorney, whoever that would turn out to be.
“Uncle Gil told my mother he was gonna help get me a good lawyer. I guess that’s why you’re here, huh? To make sure he’s not wasting his money?”
“Something like that.”
“Look, I didn’t do it,” Birch said. “I didn’t shoot those people.”
“Who was it then?”
“How should I know?”
“Did you ever threaten to hurt Roy Hollister for killing wild animals?”
“No.”
“You never sent him any letters telling him to stop the safaris or he was going to pay?”
“What’re you talking about? Letters? No. Never.”
Birch avoided my eyes and kept looking distractedly through the glass at people passing by in the corridor outside our cubicle, or up at the tiny video camera trained on us from the ceiling, or down at his meaty hands, which he kept flexing and massaging.
“Where were you the night Hollister and his wife were killed?”
“I have no idea. I can’t remember.”
“That would be the wrong answer.”
“OK, fine. I’m pretty sure I was home that night.”
“. . . Pretty sure? Dino, the DA’s about to fire a full broadside at you, two counts of murder, and ‘pretty sure’ is the best you can do?”
“Fine. I was home. The whole night.”
“You can prove that?”
“Sure,” Birch said, rubbing his hands, “why not?”
“What did you do that night?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not a trick question, Dino. I mean, what did you do at home that night? A crossword puzzle? Rotate your shoe trees? Organize your silverware drawer? I need specifics. Your uncle needs specifics.”
“I watched some TV, I guess, made myself something to eat, brushed my teeth, went to bed. How the hell am I supposed to remember?” He rubbed his temples. “Christ, this is a nightmare. The cops are telling me they have a witness that can put me at the scene that night.”
“What’s the witness’s name?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who lives down the street or something.”
“But just so we’re clear, you were at home that night. All night. Correct?”
“Jesus, Logan, I just told you that. Yes. Correct. I was home. All night.”
“Were you with anybody? Anybody come over?”
“. . . No.”
He’d hesitated—the first time he’d done that.
“So what you’re telling me,” I said, “is that you’ve got nobody who can vouch for your whereabouts that night, correct?”
Dino looked away and chewed on a fingernail before nodding in the
I was made to empty all of my pockets as I would if I were at the airport, flying commercially. I went through a metal detector. I was then taken to a six-foot-by-six-foot cubicle surrounded by glass and positioned inside a detective squad room. Inside the cubicle were a metal table bolted to the floor and two metal desk chairs, unpadded. I was made to sign and date a statement saying I would be prosecuted fully if I were caught smuggling in any contraband, and another statement promising that I would not hold Rancho Bonita County responsible were I to meet injury or death inside the jail. Then I waited. For once, I didn’t mind cooling my heels. The air conditioning was on.
After about ten minutes, Birch was brought in, wrists chained to his waist over an orange jumpsuit. His dark wild hair matched his eyes. One of the two escorting deputies freed Birch’s hands as he sat opposite me, on the other side of the table. The other deputy knelt and padlocked Birch’s manacled ankles to a steel eyebolt embedded in the cement floor.
“So, you and my cousin Savannah,” he said after we were alone. “I didn’t really know Savannah. She was older than me. Met her once, I think, twice maybe. I was little. She was a real knockout.”
“That she was.”
I asked him if he’d been read his rights. He said he had, and that he’d refused to talk pending a meeting with his defense attorney, whoever that would turn out to be.
“Uncle Gil told my mother he was gonna help get me a good lawyer. I guess that’s why you’re here, huh? To make sure he’s not wasting his money?”
“Something like that.”
“Look, I didn’t do it,” Birch said. “I didn’t shoot those people.”
“Who was it then?”
“How should I know?”
“Did you ever threaten to hurt Roy Hollister for killing wild animals?”
“No.”
“You never sent him any letters telling him to stop the safaris or he was going to pay?”
“What’re you talking about? Letters? No. Never.”
Birch avoided my eyes and kept looking distractedly through the glass at people passing by in the corridor outside our cubicle, or up at the tiny video camera trained on us from the ceiling, or down at his meaty hands, which he kept flexing and massaging.
“Where were you the night Hollister and his wife were killed?”
“I have no idea. I can’t remember.”
“That would be the wrong answer.”
“OK, fine. I’m pretty sure I was home that night.”
“. . . Pretty sure? Dino, the DA’s about to fire a full broadside at you, two counts of murder, and ‘pretty sure’ is the best you can do?”
“Fine. I was home. The whole night.”
“You can prove that?”
“Sure,” Birch said, rubbing his hands, “why not?”
“What did you do that night?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not a trick question, Dino. I mean, what did you do at home that night? A crossword puzzle? Rotate your shoe trees? Organize your silverware drawer? I need specifics. Your uncle needs specifics.”
“I watched some TV, I guess, made myself something to eat, brushed my teeth, went to bed. How the hell am I supposed to remember?” He rubbed his temples. “Christ, this is a nightmare. The cops are telling me they have a witness that can put me at the scene that night.”
“What’s the witness’s name?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who lives down the street or something.”
“But just so we’re clear, you were at home that night. All night. Correct?”
“Jesus, Logan, I just told you that. Yes. Correct. I was home. All night.”
“Were you with anybody? Anybody come over?”
“. . . No.”
He’d hesitated—the first time he’d done that.
“So what you’re telling me,” I said, “is that you’ve got nobody who can vouch for your whereabouts that night, correct?”
Dino looked away and chewed on a fingernail before nodding in the
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