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Chapter Fourteen
AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS, they moved the cuffs around to the front and escorted me into a room with four metal chairs, a metal table, and what I was sure was a two-way mirror. Forty-five minutes later Sam Jones joined me tossing a thick manila envelope on the table. He had a strange look on his face as he set up a tape recorder on the table and started it recording. He then sat, identified the two of us for the tape, propped his elbows on the table rubbing his face with both hands.
“I’m going to help you, Richard,” he said, his voice calm, quiet. “I’m going to do everything I can for you.”
“I appreciate that, Sam. So why am I here?”
He smiled the smile of a man who had the answers to the test before he took it. “I know you did it. Ain’t no sense denying it.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Sam?”
He rubbed his eyes with his hands. “I’m going to do everythin
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