Seeing Captain Morrison enter the squad room, Decker waved him over. David Morrison was in his early fifties, built wiry, with thin gray hair and flaccid cheeks. His tie was slightly askew, and he straightened it as he approached Decker.

“Where’s Birdwell?” he asked.

“Taking a phone call.”

The two men waited in silence until Birdwell returned.

“What do we have, George?” Morrison asked.

“He wants to trade,” Birdwell said.

“What’s the deal?” the captain asked.

“He’ll cop a plea of assault to the Adler woman in exchange for the names of his cohorts on the Marley murder,” the prosecutor answered.

Morrison turned to Decker.

“I thought Adler was a rape.”

“The doctor screwed up the exam,” said Decker. “While she noted semen in the vaginal and anal regions, she failed to note any penetration because it was so slight. So without the words forced entry in writing, technically, it’s not a rape.”

“And he wants Cory to be tried as a juvenile,” Birdwell added.

“Well, he can forget about that,” Morrison said. “So all we can get Cory on is assault?”

“No,” Birdwell answered. “On the Marley case, he’s a full-blooded Murder One. Right now I have more than enough for the prelim. If we want his buddies, we’ll have to go down to an assault.”

“No dice,” Morrison said.

“Schmidt was set up,” Birdwell said.

“Schmidt was at the scene of the murder,” Morrison said. “His shoe prints were lifted. So were tire tracks from his bike. I don’t know who did the slicing, but Schmidt was there. No way a piece of shit like that is going to get away with a simple assault.”

“Then we’re letting his friends get away with murder,” Decker said.

Morrison frowned.

“What do we have on his friends?” he asked.

“Right now, nothing,” Decker said. “They claim that they were biding their time with their girlfriends. The young ladies verify their story.”

“We know what that’s worth,” said the captain.

“Absolutely,” the prosecutor said, scratching his head. “But with no hard evidence, it’s their word against ours.”

“And Cory’s alibi for the night?” the captain asked.

“At first he claimed to be with them,” Decker said. “But they denied it. So now he’s without alibi and very amenable to making a deal. Schmidt’s the way to get to them.”

“Do we know that Schmidt didn’t do the slicing?” asked Morrison.

“In the opinion of the M.E., the killing slash was done by a left-handed person,” said Decker. “Schmidt is right-handed.”

“That isn’t conclusive, Pete.”

“No,” Decker admitted. “But the whole thing stinks, Captain. The evidence was dropped in our laps like manna from heaven. The knife was delivered to our doorstep, unwashed. Now, who the hell kills someone, with an identifiable weapon no less, and doesn’t bother cleaning off prints and blood?”

“All right,” Morrison said. “Let’s concentrate on what we know. We know Schmidt was at the murder scene. We have a murder weapon that belongs to Schmidt. We also know that Schmidt wasn’t alone. But we don’t have anything on his buddies. Unless Schmidt turns state’s evidence, we won’t have anything on his buddies.”

“That about sums it up,” Decker says.

“Let’s do it this way,” said Morrison. “Let’s not promise anything until the kid talks. Then we’ll see about a deal.”

“Ronson won’t let him talk without a trade,” said Birdwell.

“Then his client will be charged with Murder One,” the captain said.

“What about his friends?” Birdwell asked.

“If the kid won’t talk, we can’t get his friends,” Morrison said. “We’ll go with what we have.”

The three of them entered the interview room.

“Do we have a deal?” Ronson asked, fingering his vest. Morrison looked at Decker and nodded for him to start.

“What happened the night of the murder, Cory?” Decker asked.

“Don’t answer that,” the P. D. responded. “Gentlemen, what’s going on?”

“We’d like to hear Mr. Schmidt relate the events that led up to the murder,” Decker said.

“Mr. Schmidt is not going to talk until we do some negotiating,” said Ronson.

“Then we’re charging your client with premeditated murder. You take over from here,” Morrison said to Birdwell. “Meeting is adjourned.”

He walked out of the room, followed by Ronson hot on his heels.

“Captain, this is absurd. You know the boy wasn’t alone. You’re willing to let murder accomplices go free?”

“I am if you are.”

“You’re willing to mark one to take the fall for three others?”

“There were three others, Counselor?”

Ronson swore to himself.

“Make me an offer, Captain. Give me something to work with.”

“I won’t give you a damn thing until I hear the kid’s story. Suppose I hear it and decide I sold out for bullshit. I’d feel awfully bad.” Morrison stopped walking, faced Ronson, and smiled cryptically. “It’s up to you, Counselor. Why don’t you consult your client and let him decide?”

“Come on, Captain. Let’s be reasonable about this.”

Birdwell caught up with the two of them, smiling.

“Cory wants to sing.”

“Oh shit!” Ronson exclaimed.

The P. D. rushed back into the interview room.

“Don’t say anything,” he ordered Cory.

“Fat fucking lot of good you did me, faggot,” Cory spat. “I want another lawyer.”

“Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Hey, I’m the one being fucked over, not you.” Cory looked at Decker. “Man, I didn’t off her. I swear I didn’t off her. You gotta help me out, Decker.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, and then maybe we can do something.”

“Don’t say a word-” shouted Ronson.

The boy ignored him.

“They’re fucking me over!”

“Who’s fucking you over, Cory?” Decker asked, soothingly.

“What are you gonna do for me if I tell you?” the boy asked.

“First, let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”

Morrison and Birdwell returned shutting the door behind them.

“Mr. Schmidt,” the P. D. said loudly, “as your legal counsel, I am advising you not to speak until I’ve had a chance to confer with these gentlemen alone. I’m requesting you to go back to your-”

“And I’m requesting you to leave me the fuck alone!”

“They’re bluffing, Cory,” Ronson tried again. “Let me handle this.”

“We’re not bluffing,” Morrison said. “And we’re not promising you a goddam thing, Schmidt. But we’ve got ears, and we’re willing to listen.”

“I want to know what’s in it for me,” the kid said shakily.

“Nothing,” Decker answered. “But look at it this way. You’ve got premeditated murder on the other side. And that’s a capital offense. And you’re over sixteen, buddy. That means you’re going to be tried as a big boy, and you’re going to pull some hard time.”

Decker leaned in close and whispered.

“You’re gonna get your ass reamed, Cory.”

“Captain, I object to your detective’s scare tactics and won’t hesitate to cite them as grounds for appeal if you obtain a confession. I demand a moment alone with my client.”

“The hell with you,” Cory spat out. To Decker he said: “I wanna just say one thing. You gotta understand-I didn’t kill no one. I’m innocent!”

“Look here, kid,” Ronson said, snapping a pencil. “I don’t need this shit. I’m trying to help you.”

“Fuck you.” Cory returned his attention to Decker. “I can talk, can’t I?”

“Of course-”

“Do you understand that everything you say will be used against you, Cory?” Ronson said.

“Yeah, I understand. Man, let’s just pretend it went this way. I’m not saying it did. Let’s just pretend that it did, got it?”

“Cut the crap, Schmidt,” Morrison barked. “And when you address me, you use sir or captain. If you can’t get that straight, you’re going back to your holding pen. Got it?”

“Okay, okay. I just want to make it clear that this is just pretend.”