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think it’s best if you just tell them your story, he said, to clear your names.
    Fred got us to agree to let him call the police. He told them he would bring us down himself but wanted to ‘come in through the back.’ That phrase frightened us because we saw no reason we couldn’t just walk right in, tell our story, and walk right out. Suddenly we were very nervous about the idea of handcuffs.
    Fred’s precautions turned out to be necessary though. Someone at the police station leaked to the media that ‘the two women sought in connection with the murder of thesenator’s son’ were turning themselves in and man, you should’ve seen the mess. We did try to go in through the back, but there were an equal number of reporters around back as there were in front. Of course all those in front chased around to the back once they saw the ones in back crowding around our car.
    Get back you wolves, Fred said as he slowed the car.
    For a moment we just sat there and nobody moved or said anything. A million faces pressed against the window of Fred’s car, but luckily the windows were tinted. A reporter crawled on the hood of the car and took a picture through the windshield but Fred stuck his face in front of the lens as me and Daisy ducked down.
    Fred’s cell phone rang and when he hung up, he put the car in drive and rolled us out of the crowd. There’s a change in plans, Fred told us.
    The change in plans was that we’d meet with the police at a prearranged meeting place, which turned out to be the Royal Palms Inn off Camelback. The police were already waiting for us in a cabana off the pool and Daisy said something about wishing she could go for a swim instead of talking to the police, who wouldn’t let Fred stay in the room with us. We protested and they said, Fine, you can call your lawyer, which should give the rest of the press enough time to find you here. We agreed that wasn’t such a hot idea, so we told them what happened. They nodded and took notes, stopping us to ask us to repeat ourselves, over and over. They kept asking us about the lyrics in the song ‘I’d Kill You if I Thought I Could Get Away with It.’ They wanted to know which one of us wrote it and we said we all sort ofdid. They kept repeating the lyrics:
They’d find you and they’d know it was me / Our love is obvious / It’s so plain to see / It all points to me / It’s you I’d like to hit / I’d kill you if I thought I could get away with it
. It sounded funny when they read it instead of singing it but they didn’t see that it was very funny.
    Before we left we asked the police if they could give us our tape. It’s our property, Daisy said. The police looked at us squarely and said they’d see what they could do.
    That night we saw ourselves on the news. After a picture of Rick they had footage of Fred’s car out back of the police station. You could see Fred in the driver’s seat, but that was all. The anchorwoman, Judy Kern, told the viewing audience that ‘two singers have come forward as the mystery women in the senator’s son’s home the day before Elliot Hawkins met his fatal end.’ Me and Daisy just looked at each other.
    The next morning we had to walk to Smitty’s to see our picture on the front page of the paper. (Because she was gone so much, Daisy’s mom didn’t get the newspaper. I forgot to mention that Daisy’s mother was a freelance stewardess too, and sometimes in between flights for America West she hired out for private trips to Europe or wherever.) You know how sometimes pictures in newspapers look terrible, like mug shots? That’s what we expected. We were surprised at how, well,
glamorous
the photo was. In our minds we imagined the two of us sitting on the couch, straight as arrows, staring into the lens like deer caught in headlights. That was how we felt. But maybe because of the