Sacred Sins

squeeze out of his eyes again. His hands trembled until the coffee sloshed in his cup.
    “Gil, why don't you step out of the car? You might feel better if you stood up in the fresh air.”
    “I want a cigarette. I smoked all of mine.”
    “We'll get some.” She held out a hand. After a moment's hesitation, he took it. His fingers closed over hers like a vise. “I don't want to talk to the cops.”
    “Why?”
    “I should have a lawyer. Shouldn't I have a lawyer?”
    “I'm sure you can if you like, but you're not in trouble, Gil.”
    “I found her.”
    “Yes. Here, let me take that for you.” Gently she took the half-empty cup before he could spill the remaining coffee over his pants. “Gil, we need you to tell us whatever you know so we can find out who killed her.”
    He looked around and saw the blue uniforms and impassive faces. “They're going to dump it on me.”
    “No.” She spoke calmly, having anticipated him. Keeping close to his side, she began to lead him toward Ben. “They don't think you killed her.”
    “I got a record.” He said it in a shaky whisper. “Drug bust last year. Just petty shit, a little grass, but the cops'll figure I got a record, I found her, I killed her.”
    “It's natural to be scared. That's not going to go away until you talk about what happened. Try to be logical, Gil. Has anyone arrested you?”
    “No.”

    “Has anyone asked you if you killed that woman?”
    “No. But I was there.” He focused on the alley with blank, fascinated horror. “And she was…”
    “That's what you need to get out. Gil, this is Detective Paris.” She stopped in front of Ben but kept her hand on Gil's arm. “He's with Homicide, and too smart to think you killed anyone.”
    Beneath the words the message was clear. Go easy. Ben's resentment communicated itself just as lucidly. He didn't have to be told how to handle a witness.
    “Ben, Gil could use a cigarette.”
    “Sure.” Ben reached for his pack and shook one out. “Rough morning,” he commented as he struck a match.
    Gil's hands still shook, but he drew greedily on the cigarette. “Yeah.” His eyes darted over and up as Ed approached.
    “This is Detective Jackson,” Tess continued in a soothing, introductory voice. “They need you to tell them what you saw.”
    “Will I have to go in?”
    “We'll need you to sign a statement.” Ben shook out a cigarette of his own.
    “Man, I just want to go home.”
    “We'll get you home.” Ben looked at Tess through the haze of his smoke. “Just take it easy and tell it from the beginning.”
    “I was at a party.” He stopped dead and looked at Tess. She gave him an encouraging nod. “You can check, it was over on Twenty-sixth. Some friends of mine just got the apartment, see, and it was like a moving-in party. I can give you names.”
    “That's fine.” Ed had his notebook out. “We'll get them from you later. When did you leave the party?”

    “I don't know. I had too much to drink and got into it with my girl. She doesn't like it when I party too hard. We had words, you know.” He swallowed, drew in smoke again, then let it out on a shuddering breath. “She got pissed and left, that was about one-thirty. Took the car, so I couldn't drive.”
    “Sounds like she was looking out for you,” Ed put in.
    “Yeah, well, I was too wasted to see it that way.” The rumblings of a heroic hangover were already beginning. Gil preferred it to the nausea.
    “What happened after she left?” Ed prompted.
    “I hung around. I think I crashed for a while. The party was winding down when I woke up. Lee—it was his apartment, Lee Grimes—he says I can sleep on the couch, but I… well, I needed air, you know? I was going to walk home. I guess I was already feeling pretty sick, so I stopped, just across the street there.” He turned and pointed. “My head was spinning, and I knew I was going to toss up some beer. I just rested there a minute and got it under control. And I see this guy come out of the alley—”
    “You saw him come out,” Ben interrupted. “You didn't hear anything? See him go in?”
    “No, I swear. I don't know how long I'd been standing there. Not too long, I think, 'cause it was cold as hell. Even drunk I was thinking I had to move to keep warm. I saw him come out, then he leaned up against the lamppost for a minute, like he was sick too. I thought it was kind of funny, two drunks weaving across the street from each other, like something out of a