We meet in the interview room. She is much younger than I would have suspected. Quite attractive. From her name, Anne Hunter, I somehow expected her to look, well, primitive. She places a digital voice recorder on the table between us. I stare at it. Watch the green LED blink its approval.
“So, Adam, why do you want to do an interview?”
I have not asked her to call me Adam; she has taken the liberty on her own. It is mildly annoying.
“I want to tell my side of the story, but I also want something from you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Turn off the recorder.”
“There’s no point to an interview if I can’t document what you’re saying.”
“Turn it off,” I say. And she does. After all, I am a probable murderer telling her to do so. “I’ve read your coverage of my trial. It’s been quite good.”
“Thank you.”
“You were right, by the way.”
“About what? I always like to know when I’m right about something.”
“About Leo Hewitt. He is involved in my case. He was there when I was arrested.”
“I knew it.”
“Leo Hewitt put together the case against me; he seemed to take a personal interest in it.”
“That would be because he’s sick of working traffic court.”
“Why would the prosecutors deny his involvement with the case?”
“Because he’s an embarrassment to them.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. Tell me. Tell me everything you know about Leo Hewitt.”
And she did. And after a while, she reached over and turned on her recorder and we began the interview in earnest. She asked her first question, and I knew what it would be. And I knew what my answer would be.
“Did you kill your wife?”
“No,” I said. “No, I loved my wife.”