“This doesn’t sound like an apology,” I say, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them.

“I’m sorry. I am,” he says, leaning closer to me again. “But I’m here to help you. For real.”

I run my fingers over the handcuffs around my wrists and feel the smoothness of the metal.

“I saw you on TV,” I say slowly. “You gave interviews to a bunch of different programs always talking about how much of a dangerous criminal I am and that I killed my partner.”

The expression on Art’s face changes from eager to surprise. He wasn’t expecting this.

“What’s the matter?” I continue. “Did you think they were broadcasting to some private channel rather than to millions of households around the country? Or did you just not expect me to see it?”

“I had to do that, Nicholas. My boss wanted me to. We had to create buzz around your case. We had to have the public’s help in finding you.”

I exhale deeply.

“What do you want from me, Art?” I ask.

“I want you to allow me to help you. I know that you didn’t kill your partner or your ex-girlfriend.”

“Really? ‘Cause those charges they read to me say pretty much that exact thing.”

Art stares at me. My eyes meet his and neither of us look away.

“They have a strong case, Nicholas. You were with your partner when it happened. You’d just done a big job, it was worth millions. People have killed their partners for a lot less.”

He was my best friend I’m tempted to say. I would never do anything like that.

But I force myself to keep my mouth shut.

“You have no alibi for that night. There are eyewitness reports of people who saw you in the area. We even have video recordings of you at a nearby convenience store.”

“Is there a reason why you’re telling me all of this?” I ask smugly.

“Of course, there is. I want you to understand the case that we have on you. I also want you to know that you can trust me. You need to tell me what really happened so that I can help you get out of this mess.”

He’s trying to be my friend and, I have to admit, he’s doing a good job at it.

“Once your lawyer gets here, I won’t be able to help you anymore,” he adds.

I laugh.

“What’s so funny? You don’t believe me?”

“You’re just so predicable Art. I thought you’d have a better line than that.”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth,” he insists.

I glare at him again. He waits for me to say something and I wait to gather my thoughts and work out the exact thing that I want to say.