It took them long enough. More than a few paystubs. I got a call at the warehouse that I was wanted in the office. There were two uniforms waiting for me. They love to come to your work, to show everyone that you’re no good before they even decided if you are or not. They were standing around with their guns and batons and handcuffs and all the other harm they carry on their belts, standing around talking to everyone in the office as if they were friends. At least I knew enough to take off my toy hat and vest.

They took me into a small conference room and we all sat down and had a nice chat. They asked me about my work, how long I’d been there, what I did before that, and before that. They asked me about Frank and rehab and being clean and everything that surrounded what they wanted to ask me. They asked me if I’d been in the neighborhood where Frank was found. I gave them the truth. “A couple of times,” I told them.

“What were you doing there?”

“I wanted to see the place where he died,” I told them.

“Did you talk to anyone?”

“I talked to some of the neighbors.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I asked them if they’d ever seen Frank there. I showed them a picture of him.”

“And had they?”

“A couple of people. They saw him on the night he was killed,” I said.

They paused for a second and looked at their notes. “Who saw him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “A couple of neighbors. They saw him on the street, I guess, the sidewalk. Or they thought they did. I didn’t write down their names or anything.”

“When you were talking with the neighbors, did you ever identify yourself as a police officer?”

“Never.”

“Ever identify yourself as an official, or having any position you don’t have?”

“Never.”

“So, how did you approach these people?”

“I just asked them if I could talk to them about a murder in the neighborhood.”

“Murder?”

“Yeah. Frank’s murder. Everyone was interested.”

“Okay. Why were you down there?”

“I’d been told that Frank had been found in a hotel room, someone else told me that he’d been found somewhere else. I wanted to find out for myself. So I went down and talked to the neighbors.”

“Who told you?”

“Frank’s sister told me that he’d been found in that neighborhood. She said she’d seen the police report. We thought he’d overdosed in a hotel room. It made more sense this way. That he was killed and left there.”

“Did she know you went and talked with the neighbors?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I told her. I wanted to wait until I knew something.”

“And what do you know?”