by Una Tiers
“I don’t know what happened…” he started.
A slight blur of movement distracted me. “Wait,” I held up my hand.
"They think I…" He blundered.
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Ssh.” I whispered impatiently.
For a few seconds he looked confused. Looking through to the curious crowd inching closer to the glass, watching us without shame, he figured it out. Turning his back to the glass window, he continued. "Carol’s dead. She was murdered in the vault this morning." His nose was running and he wiped it on a real handkerchief wadded up in a death grip in his hand.
"Carol?" I started. “Murdered?”
"Dead, murdered, gone, and they think I did it because I was the last one in the vault last night."
"You didn’t admit anything did you?”
His wretched look suggested he had. Didn’t he watch television? Innocent questions and honest answers always get people in trouble.
My fingers were less than steady when I pulled out my cell phone and called Bob Noodle, an attorney who actually practices criminal law. I’m just a reasonable faker because I watch lawyer and cop programs and reruns of Police Woman.
“Tell the client to dummy up. He can afford me, right?” Bob growled with smooth confidence and a chuckle. After a pause, he said he was thirty minutes away. Click.
Embarrassed at the capitalism of my brethren, I slowly put my phone away.
Not Safe for the Bank(er) is available at Amazon http://amzn.to/1bg2obk
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