“At what point did the back door to the club open?” Ava asked. “When did your bandmates haul you back into the club?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a minute or so after I stepped out. I suppose it was the man yelling at me that drew them out. But by the time I realized they were trying to haul me back inside, the man—the so-called witness—had just about made it back to the street.” He laughed rather nervously and said: “I guess he was afraid I was going to kill him next.”
“Mr. Epps, you understand that a lot of what you’re telling is doesn’t line up with what the other witnesses heard and saw—and that includes your own band members. You understand that, right?”
“I do. But…I’m telling the truth. I was the only one out there. I was the only one that saw the body before anyone else.”
Ava thought this all over, trying to think of some way to find out what truly happened. There were just enough things about the three stories they were hearing that differed to make it pretty much impossible to prove anything. And the way the face of the law appeared these days, she knew that meant a guilty verdict was quite likely. Crimes like this had to come down to the word of reliable witnesses and the most relatable telling of events. And for black people, she knew the legal system was very much under a guilty-until-proven-innocent approach.
“Detective Gold…I know we don’t know each other all that good, but…you have to know I didn’t do this. I didn’t even know that man! I had no weapon, and nothing was taken from him. Like I said…the coppers that showed up and spoke to us looked me over. They didn’t find anything.”
She wanted to believe him. In fact, her instincts told her that he was telling the truth—or most of the truth, anyway. The facts of the case conflicted with the prevailing theory. There had been no blood on Carter despite the blood spilled from Monty Lincoln’s head. The witness reported seeing something in Carter’s hand, but the police never found any stashed weapon within the alleyway.
But she thought back to how the rest of the band was acting, how they’d seemed to be hiding something. It wasn’t any one thing she could quite put her finger on. Maybe Carter wasn’t the killer at all, but someone was hiding something.
“What can you tell me about the other members of the band?” she said. “Did the five of you get along pretty well?”
“As well as you can expect five picky and particular musicians to get along.”
“Would you be at all surprised if I told you that when we spoke to them, I got the distinct feeling that they were hiding something from me?”
Carter seemed legitimately baffled by this. He did take some time to think about it before attempting to answer, though. “Well, that doesn’t make sense to me. I mean…they weren’t out there when I found the man. Unless they know something I don’t…yeah, I don’t really understand what they’d have to keep from you.”
“Mr. Epps, be honest now,” Frank said. “We’re trying to help you here.”
“Oh, I know. I believe it. But I really don’t know what anyone else in the band would have to hide. Buster…I think he got busted for having moonshine on him not too long ago. But I think that’s the only trouble any of them have ever been in.”
Ava watched him closely, looking for any indicators that he might be nervous. She wasn’t nearly good enough to be able to tell when someone was blatantly lying, but she had managed to learn subtle nervous tics in people. But as she looked at Carter through the bars of the holding cell, she saw nothing at all.
“Anything else you want to add before we leave?” Ava asked.
Again, Carter gave it some thought but ended up shaking his head. “No, nothing I can think of. But Detective Gold…Ava. I didn’t do this. You have to get me out of here.”
He looked scared and, in that moment, almost like a frightened child. She still believed him but there was a kernel of doubt still lodged in her mind.
“We’re going to do our best,” she said.
Though, looking helplessly at him through the bars, she realized she had no idea where to go next.