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of bullets? Sorry. Doesn’t work for me.”
    “That’s not what I said. I told you, I spent my evening in a restaurant. I found the body afterward, when I was walking back to my hotel.”
    “Why were you walking? Why not take a cab?”
    “And I only went into the alley because I saw the body lying there.You could see it from the street. Other detectives were there. And uniformed officers. Check with them. They’ll confirm where it was.”
    “We don’t care where the body was, David. We only care about how come there was a body.”
    “And if you know anything about that, now would be the time to tell us,” Harris said, looking at me for the first time since we entered the interview room.
    “You need to work with us on this, David,” Gibson said. “If you’re straight with us now, maybe we can help you. But if you keep lying to us, we’ll make sure this whole thing falls right on you.”
    I sat and looked from one to the other. I felt insulted, more than anything. If I had been lying, there was no way anyone would know about it, least of all either of these guys.
    “You should be looking to get out in front of this, David,” Harris said. “Be smart. This is your last chance to do yourself some good.”
    “We’ll find out later, anyway,” Gibson said. “But then it’ll be too late to help. You need to tell us now.”
    “I’ve told you what I know,” I said.
    “Look, I don’t believe you’re a bad guy, David,” Harris said. “But if you didn’t mean what happened, you need to let us know now. Stop wasting our time.”
    I took another sip of coffee.
    “Maybe the guy attacked you?” Gibson said. “Forced you into the alley?”
    “Yeah—maybe it was his gun,” Harris said. “He used it to get you into the alley, you struggled, the gun went off . . . ?”
    “So it was an accident?” Gibson said. “You never meant to kill him. That would definitely help you.”
    “But if that was how it happened, you need to tell us,” Harris said. “Then we can help you with your statement. Make sure it shows you in the best light.”
    “You think it might have been an accident?” I said. “I’m curious. Would that be a single accident, where the gun went off six separate times? Or six individual accidents, one after the other?”
    “Hey, David, we’re just trying to help,” Harris said.
    “I appreciate that,” I said. “So listen to what I’m telling you. I found the body. Nothing else.”
    “If that’s how you want to play it—fine,” Harris said. “But there’s something else you should know. Someone saw you.”
    “Saw me find it?”
    “No. Saw you kill the guy.”
    “Nonsense.”
    “No, David, it’s true. They called 911.”
    “How do you think the radio car got there so quick?” Gibson said. “It was there before you even left the alley, right?”
    “Maybe someone did call 911,” I said. “Maybe they did see who killed the guy. But it wasn’t me.”
    Harris reached into his jacket and took out a tape recorder. It was a tiny, handheld one such as people use for dictation. He held it up so I could see clearly what it was, then stood it upright on the table in front of him. Both detectives were looking at me intently. Harris’s lips were glistening.
    “Anything to add, now’s the time,” he said.
    I picked up my cup and sloshed the dregs around for a moment.
    “I could do with another coffee, actually,” I said. “This last bit’s gone a little cold.”
    Harris scowled.
    “This is taken from the 911 voice recorder,” he said, reaching out to the tape machine.
    A synthesized female voice gave out a date. March 15. That was yesterday.
    “New York Police Department Central Emergency Reception,” it said. “The time is 23:57 hours. Agent 8304.”
    “Nine-one-one Emergency,” a real operator’s voice said, taking over. Her voice sounded harsh and metallic through the tiny speaker. “Your name, telephone number, and address, please.”
    “Please, just help me,”