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“Do you own a gun, Mr. Winniker?” Another question out of left field.
“God, no,” he says. “Guns scare the crap out of me. Pardon the language,” he says to Officer Martell. And it’s true. He hates guns. Although not because they scare him. More because they’re so impersonal. If you’re going to take someone’s life, you should be prepared to get your hands dirty. You owe your victims that much, at least. A knife, a rope, a strong pair of hands. So many options from which to choose. Only cowards choose a gun.
He pictures his hands around Officer Martell’s lovely throat. He wonders if they’re going to ask to search his apartment, then relaxes with the knowledge that they lack sufficient grounds. He’s watched enough crime shows to know that a few vague suspicions aren’t going to be enough to get them a search warrant. He proffers a sympathetic smile, a smile that says,I wish I could be more help.
“Well, thank you.” Officer Petroff hands him his card. “If you should remember anything else, don’t hesitate to give us a call.”
“Will do.”
He watches as they climb into their patrol car and drive off.
“Scary stuff,” Jenna Lebowski says after they’ve gone.
He extricates the phone from his side pocket and notes that Paige has yet to text him back.You don’t know the half of it,he thinks.
