The detectives downtown at the station house addressed Kat as if they were friends. They were feeling her out, probing her for information. They had nothing on her, but they were following up on a lead. She immediately assumed the worst.

“A confidential informant has placed your truck at the scene of the crime. Where were you at the time and date in question?” the detective asked.

“Listen,” Kat explained. “I told you already dat I’m a stripper. I work late hours. My car iz usually always parked on dat block. It wuzn’t me! I didn’t kill nobody!”

“I didn’t say you did,” the detective stated firmly. “Said that you were in or around your car at the time of the murder. You saw something, you know something, that could possibly make you an accessory to murder. Do you understand what kind of time that charge carries? Don’t you have a son? You can’t raise him from jail.”

He continued, “Katrina, or is it Kat? I don’t know you, sweetheart. Never seen you before a day in my life. We didn’t just run you in ’cause we felt like it. The streets are talking. And they’re calling you Killer Kat.”

She was beginning to sweat bullets. “It wuzn’t me!” she stated for the record. “I ain’t do it. It wuz … It wuz Goldie! Goldie kilt ’im! Yeah, she shot ’im!”

This was easier than they thought. From the looks of Kat, they had assumed she was a tough cookie, that maybe she’d be a hostile witness.

“Who’s Goldie?” the detective asked, as he leaned closer in an attempt to make sure he heard every word she said. “What’s her real name? She a friend of yours? Where does she live?”

“She’s some girl from da club …” Kat said, downplaying their relationship. “I give her a ride home every now and then. She’s an associate of mine. I know her from workin’ in da club. I think her real name iz Gloria … Gloria Cruz. Yeah, dat’s it. I seen her ID before.”

“You’re lying!” he insisted. “Now, you better not be bullshittin’ me …. So help me God, I’ll have the judge throw the book at your ass. You understand me?”

Kat merely nodded her head in agreement. They had her shook. Right now, she would tell on God if she could.

“Now where does she live?” the detective demanded. “I wanna answer now!”

Kat didn’t dare further incriminate herself by telling them the truth now, that she resided at her house. That was perjury, she thought. She knew she could go to jail for that. “I dropped her off in north Philly, on Fifteenth and Styles—on the corner, cause her boyfriend don’t like nobody to know where they live.”