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“My job is to find the person, or persons, who killed your sister, and see that when they’re brought to trial they won’t walk out of the courtroom because some legal ‘t’ wasn’t crossed or some legal ‘i’ didn’t have a dot. I understand that you’re unhappy with what you think happened last night.”
“What happened last night was that the fucking cops didn’t do a goddamn thing to help my sister.”
“If you believe the police did something they shouldn’t have, or didn’t do something they should have, you have every right to make an official complaint-”
“Fucking-A right, I do. And I will.”
“But I think you’ll agree, Mr. Williamson, that right now the priority is to find out who did this thing, and the sooner the better. Would you agree with that?”
“Jesus, of course I ‘agree with that.’ All I’m saying is that if those fucking cops had done what they were supposed to do last night, my sister would still be alive.”
“There’s one more thing, Mr. Williamson,” Matt said. “Your language is beginning to offend me. I hope you’ll watch your mouth. I would really rather not have you transported to Homicide and placed in an interview room until you get your emotions under control.”
Williamson glared at him but didn’t say anything.
Matt opened his briefcase and took out his laptop.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m one of those guys who can’t read his own writing,” Matt said. “I take notes this way. Are you objecting to it?”
“If I did?”
“Then I’ll take out a notebook and ballpoint, and waste a lot of time trying to make sense of my notes when I finally have to type them up. All right?”
Williamson shrugged. Matt turned the laptop on and began to type.
“Is it ‘Jack,’ Mr. Williamson?”
“John J. For Joseph.”
“What’s your first name and badge number, Lassiter?”
“Olivia, 582,” she furnished.
“Okay, Mr. Williamson, let’s start with your personal data,” Matt said. “Residence?”
Twenty minutes later, Matt said, “I think that’ll be enough for the time being, Mr. Williamson.”
“Okay.”
“You know how to work a laptop?”
Williamson nodded.
Matt slid the laptop in front of him.
“Would you take a look at that, please, and see if I’ve got it right?”
Williamson read the several pages Matt had typed and then nodded his head, “okay.”
Matt turned the laptop off, closed the cover, and put it back in his briefcase.
“When I get that printed, Mr. Williamson, I’ll have a detective-most likely Detective Lassiter-bring it to you for your signature.”
“When?” Williamson asked.
“It’ll wait until tomorrow,” Matt said. “I know that you’re going to be busy today. I’ll call you tomorrow to see when it will be convenient.”
