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Graham pushed through the open doors. As Cassie followed behind him, she noticed a slight limp in his right leg. Paulson had said the assailant had shattered his knee. Did he still suffer from those injuries all these years later, or could it be unrelated? Maybe he’d sustained injuries when he’d murdered Shapiro.
Graham led them around the side of the building where they wouldn’t be disturbed, then leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. “You the police?”
“Detective David Klein. This is my associate, Cassie Quinn.”
Graham took a few seconds to study each of them and then nodded as if he’d verified their identities on some internal server in his head. “Am I in trouble?”
“Have you done anything wrong?”
Graham blew out a cloud of wide smoke and shrugged. “Depends on who you’re askin’. Lotta people think they’re doin’ the right thing when they ain’t. And vice versa.”
David pointed at his right leg. “What happened there?”
“Old injury from years ago.” He lifted his pant leg to reveal a prosthetic limb. “Still bothers me from time to time. ‘Specially when a rainstorm’s comin’.”
“Is that from the incident back in ’92? Where someone attacked you and shattered your knee?”
Graham’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Yeah. I was stupid back then. Didn’t take care of it. Got mixed up in a lot of bad situations. They ended up amputating it.” He looked down and spat between his shoes.
“Sorry to hear that.”
Graham shrugged. “My own damn fault. ‘Sides, I get disability. Helps pay the bills.”
“Did you ever figure out who attacked you?”
“Not a clue. Was dark that night. I know it was a man. About my height. Bigger than me, but not by much.” He pulled at his shirt and let it fall back into place. “I used to be bigger. Can’t build muscle like I used to.”
“Anything else you remember?”
“He was older than me. White. Happened so fast. I was in a lot of pain. That’s mostly what I remember.” Graham looked between David and Cassie. “Why you askin’ me about something that happened twenty years ago?”
David pulled out a picture of Shapiro. “Do you recognize this man?”
Graham took the picture and held it close to his face. He studied it for a minute and then shook his head. “Can’t say that I do. Why?”
“His name is Robert Shapiro. We believe he might be the man who attacked you.”
“Really? Is he gonna get in trouble for what he did to me?” Graham pushed himself off the wall. He looked a little more animated now. “Can I sue him? Not gonna lie, I could use the money.”
“Unfortunately, he’s dead.”
Graham deflated. “Figures. How’d he die?”
“A horrific incident.”
Graham made a non-committal noise. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before he looked back up at David. “You think I had something to do with it?”
“The thought crossed our minds.”
Graham held up his hands. His cigarette was nearly down to the butt now. “Look, man, I didn’t do it. I swear. That was a long time ago. Yeah, I get mad about it sometimes, but sometimes I’m grateful it happened to me.”
“Grateful?”
Graham flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and stamped on it. “I was in and out of jail a lot back then. My life was a mess. I was always hurting people. Not physically. Just lettin’ ‘em down, you know? My mother. My girl. Even got a kid somewhere in the world. Don’t know who she is because her mom took her and ran. I don’t blame her. I couldn’t have raised a kid back then. Couldn’t raise one now.”
“What changed?”
Graham pointed to his leg. “This. Changed my whole life. Not right away. Got hooked on prescription drugs after that. Messed up a few times. Almost died. But I finally woke up. Realized I didn’t want to do it anymore. Didn’t want to be angry. Didn’t want to be disappointed in myself.”
