My palms were moist when I pressed play on the second arrest. I saw myself enter the camera frame in that worn suit jacket I can’t seem to stop wearing. I was holding a file in one hand and tousling my hair in the other, trying to look disinterested in the perp. I sat in front of her, took a deep breath, and said, “Do you know what you’re here for?”
“No.” She wasn’t handcuffed this time. She was drumming her fingers and watched them move rather than meet my eyes. The scrapes and cuts on the back of her hands were still fresh. I slid the file under her fingers. She kept drumming.
“Aren’t you curious to see what that is?” I said.
“I don’t even know why I’m here. I didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe.” I leaned back in my metal framed chair, trying to look casual, but I was curious. The photo in the folder showed her looking directly at the camera. She was the only person who did that when it happened. I said, “Let me guess, wrong place wrong time?”
“Yeah, maybe. Or I’m just really unlucky.”
“I’d call you extremely lucky. That bomb went off less than fifteen feet away from you and you got away with barely a scratch.”
The drumming was a metronomic tap that filled the silence that followed my words. It went on like that for better than a minute of tape before she said, “Can I go?”
I couldn’t hold her. I didn’t have anything real. I didn’t even know about the first tape then. Once I saw the third tape I knew I had something. I just didn’t know what.