I spoke to him slowly, because I was worried my speech would be slurred by the whiskey I’ve been drinking all day. He sat there, staring at me, cigarette hanging at his lips; its pale smoke slowly filling the room. ‘Did you kill her?’ I asked.
“No.”
His simple reply put me off, I was expecting something more, a denial perhaps. Something. Anything.
Loosening the knot in my tie, I leaned back to get a better look at him. Early thirties, nine o'clock shadow of a beard showing, he was almost rugged good looking in the single halogen light hanging from the room.
"Is this fishing trip over? You haul me in, lock me up for three hours, only to ask me if I KILLED her? Get your facts straight man, I called YOU in. Why would I call the cops if I killed her in the first place?"
"Alibi."
I hid a small smile as it was my turn to give him simple one word answers. The smile vanished in the same puff of smoke as his cigarette as he slammed the table with both hands.
"Bullshit! You're wasting your time here and the real killer's out there, doing god knows what to god knows whom."
