Superbia 3 by Bernard Schaffer

cornbread whiteboy suburban ass!'"
    "I didn't say that!" Moses cried.
    Frank looked at Reynaldo with exasperation and threw up his hands dramatically, "You know what the sad thing is, Officer Francisco?  If he said, 'Frank, please, I need help.  What can I do to make this right?  Please give me a chance.'  I would have helped him.  I've helped worse people get out of worse things.  Instead, he treated me like an asshole."
    "Frank?" Moses said.  " Listen, I'm sorry.  What kind of help are you talking about?"
    "A lot," Frank said , looking at him from the corner of his eye.  "For instance, if you gave him the bundle to sell but not to shoot up with, or had no idea he'd shoot up with it, I think that takes you out of the murder charge.  It might still be a delivery charge at most, but there's ways to work around that." 
    "Can you do that?" Moses said.
    Frank cocked his eyebrow and said, "Uh, yeah.  We do it all the time.  In fact, I'd be willing to write in my report that you came into the station voluntarily, right after you heard that your good friend Jessie Pincher who you used to play t-ball with died of an overdose, and told us that exact same thing.  Judges and juries tend to believe people who are up front about what they did wrong, Moses.  It makes it a lot more believable when they say what they didn't do."  
    Moses took a deep breath and lowered his head again. 
    Frank cocked an eye at Reynaldo, reminding him to keep his mouth shut.  This was The Silence Frank always told him about.  The crucial moment in any interrogation when you've laid out your cards for the suspect and he is taking it all in.  If done right, his entire world is collapsing around him and he knows there is no escape.  The tiniest interruption could be fatal. 
    Reynaldo zipped his fingers across his lips and sat motionless until Moses' s head finally came up again and he said, "I had no fucking idea he was going to shoot that bundle.  It was strictly a business transaction.  Will you help me?"
    "Ok," Frank nodded.  He reached back into the case file and pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen.  He slid them across the table and said, "Write, in your own words, how it was a business transaction.  I'm not telling you what to say, but you might want to be real clear how bad you feel that your friend died."
    Moses took the pen and stared down at the yellow pad as Frank tapped Reynaldo and said, "We're gonna step out for a minute.  You want some water?  Coffee?  Anything?"
    "I could use a cigarette."
    "You give me a good written statement talking about what we discussed and I'll get you a cigarette."
    "Can I have one now?" Moses whined.
    Frank's face hardened , "I said after.  You hear me?"
    "All right."
    Reynaldo followed Frank out of the interrogation room and clapped his hands together, "I can't believe it!  We got him.  I’m gonna sink that little prick with a murder charge.  You are the man!"
    "It's not over yet," Frank said.  He looked at Reynaldo and said, "Do you know what you did wrong in there?"
    "Yes, boss," Reynaldo frowned.  "Never be the one to break the silence."
    "I don't care how long it takes," Frank said.  "Once, I waited an entire weekend with a homicide suspect, just the two of us sitting there staring at each other.  No bathroom breaks.  No food.  We didn't even blink.  We just stared and stared, two men locked in mortal combat to see who would crack first.  It was like two samurai swordsmen facing off, each of them so deadly with their skills that the other can't find a way to attack.  After four days, he finally cried out, 'All right, I did it!  It was me!'  And that case was the reason I was invited to Washington to meet the President for the first time, Reynaldo."
    "I thought you said it was a weekend ?" 
    "It was," Frank said.  "A weekend that lasted four days.  That's how long weekends were before you were born, Reynaldo.  That was back in the days when we needed four days to get