“C’mon, man.”
“Why did you force Debbie Miller to give you an alibi? Why did you beat her half to death when the alibi went sour?”
“Man, I’m telling you. I don’t know nothing about Jefferson.”
“Bullshit,” Briggs shouted.
He crossed the room more quickly than I thought was possible for a man his size and shoved a finger in Nye’s face, nearly poking him in the eye.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” he said. “I think you did it.”
“No, man, no.”
“If I can prove it, that’s thirty years in prison,” Briggs warned. “And I’ll still nail you with the other shit just for the fun of it.”
“Oh, man . . .”
“If you didn’t do it, all you have to worry about is the six.”
“I didn’t.”
“Convince me.”
Nye rubbed his eyes wearily as Briggs backed off and resumed his seat at the center of the long conference table.
“I’m telling you the real thing, now,” Nye promised.
“I’m listening.”
“I went over to Merodie’s house—”
“This was the Saturday Eli Jefferson was killed,” Briggs said.
“Yeah. In the morning.”
“Why did you go over there?”
“Do you want me to tell the story or what?”
Briggs spread his hands wide.
“I went over there to slap Merodie around, okay?” Nye continued. “I figured she was the one who put the finger on me on that meth bust. So I went over there to teach her a lesson. When I knocked on the door, this drunk dude answered. Jefferson. Man, I didn’t even learn his name until the papers said he was dead.”
“Go on,” Briggs said.
“I swear I didn’t say a word to this guy and he starts shoving me, you know, pushing me in the chest like he wanted to fight. I’m like, who is this jerk-off? He starts ranting about how I’m supposed to be Merodie’s secret lover. I’m like, huh? So, he keeps shoving me. Pretty soon I start shoving back. Only there’s nothing there. No strength in him at all, you know? It was like I was shoving a kid. I gave him one big push and he goes down. Then I notice, Christ, my hands are covered with blood. His blood, okay? This guy’s bleeding like crazy. I look around—I’m standing in the living room—and I look around and there’s blood everywhere. Just—fucking—everywhere. Then I see Merodie in the kitchen doorway. She’s looking at me kinda strange-like, and I know it’s because I’m standing over her old man with blood on my hands, and I’m thinking, I gotta get out of there. So I left.”
“What happened next?” Briggs asked.
“You mean after I got rid of the blood?”
“Yes.”
“I’m thinking that I’m going to get blamed for this somehow,” Nye said. “I’m thinking that Merodie set me up on the meth bust, why not this, too? So I go to Debbie, and I work out an alibi.”
“What did you tell Debbie?” Briggs wanted to know.
“I told her that some guys I knew before I went to jail were trying to force me back into dealing for them by blackmailing me with the cops.”
“She believed that?”
Nye smiled knowingly. “Some women,” he said, “who never had any real sex except maybe once in the backseat of some fool kid’s car when they were in school, you start giving it to ’em real good, it’s like their brains turn to jelly. They’ll believe anything you tell ’em.”
Nye went on to explain his theories on how to seduce lonely women, but G. K. and Tuseman weren’t listening. G. K. turned her back to the mirror and faced the county attorney. She spoke just above a whisper.
“I like you David, I always have. You were very good to me when I worked here. You helped me a lot. Taught me a lot. I doubt I’d have my job today if it weren’t for you. You must know that if I lived in the district, I’d be the first in line to vote for you come November.”
Tuseman continued to lean against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him.
“I like you so much,” said G. K., “I’m going to tell you my strategy for defending Merodie Davies. It’s very simple, really. I’m going to put Debbie Miller on the stand to testify about Nye’s phony alibi. Then I’m going to play the videotape of the interview we just saw for the jury, maybe, I don’t know, a half dozen times. Especially the part about you cutting a deal for testimony. Do you believe it might create enough reasonable doubt to get Merodie acquitted? I think so. I also think there’s a reasonable chance that you’ll be brought before the bar on charges for witness tampering. ‘Course, I could be wrong. What’s your opinion?”
Tuseman spoke very slowly in a voice that could freeze ice cream. He said, “No charges will be filed against Merodie Davies in the death of Eli Jefferson.”
“What about the case?”
“The case will be closed. Jefferson’s death will be ruled an accident.” Tuseman smiled. “It would have been a difficult case to win anyway.”
G. K. glanced my way.
“I told you he was a reasonable man.”