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Herschel Cozine has published extensively in the children’s field. His stories and poems have appeared in many of the national children’s magazines. Work by Herschel has also appeared in Alfred Hitchcock and Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazines and Woman’s World. Additionally, he has had many stories appear in Orchard Press Mysteries, as well as Shots, HandHeldCrime, Great Mystery and Suspense, and others. Retired from a career in electronics, he has resumed his writing career after an extended hiatus. Herschel lives with his wife, Sue, in Santa Rosa, California, close to his children and grandchildren.

Hello again, officer. What's the latest? Have you caught the guy who killed my wife?

Yeah, I know, these things take time. You don't have a lot to go on, I guess. But I don't know what more I can do to help. I told you all I know.

Me? You can't be serious. Look, officer...Hank? OK, Hank. I'm a law-abiding guy. I don't make rolling stops, and I am careful to stay within the speed limit, at least while in town. Oh, I've been known to jaywalk occasionally, but nobody's perfect.

Are you charging me? This is an outrage. I didn't kill Geraldine. I could no more kill her than I could rob a bank or hijack an airplane. Not that I didn't have the urge to kill her a couple of times. But that isn't the same thing now, is it?

Oh, I know what you're thinking. Here's this guy who hated his wife, told anybody who would listen that he wanted to kill her. Now that the deed is done he is claiming he didn't do it, that he's as innocent as a new born babe. I understand. After all, you're a cop. You see this every day. I'd suspect me, too, if I was in your shoes. But I didn't hate her. That was just barroom talk. You know how it is. None of the guys wants to listen to stories about how much you love your wife.

You can't arrest me. You have no grounds. You found Geraldine in the living room, a bullet in her head. I came home and found her like that and called you guys right away. I didn't touch anything, or remove any evidence. Does that sound like I'm guilty?

Yes, I know I told some friends that I was going to kill her. I think "strangle" was the word I used. Hell, husbands talk like that all the time. It's just that—talk. Even in my own fantasies I didn't shoot her. Doesn't that mean anything to you?

Come down to headquarters? Why would I want to do that? I told you all I know. I don't want to go downtown and tell it all over again. What's the point?

A warrant, eh? Okay, okay. If that's the way you want to be, I'll go. Let me get my coat and put the dog in the garage. He can't be trusted in the house when I'm gone.

Can't I sit in front? I get carsick if I ride in the back of a car. Besides, only bad guys ride in the back of a police car. Yeah, I know you're riding back there, too, but that's part of your job. I'm an innocent man suspected of a horrible crime. But I deserve some consideration here. Isn't a person innocent until proven guilty in a court of law? I don't see any judges or jury in this car. Give me a break here.

You found what? GSR. What's GSR? No, I don't watch CSI. It's too gory. I get sick seeing blood and guts, and all those mangled bodies they show. Yeah, Catherine Willows is sexy. So what? The show grosses me out. What's that got to do with me?

Gunshot residue. On my shirt? The one I was wearing the day Geraldine was murdered? Well, there has to be some mistake. I didn't shoot any gun that day, or any other day.

What's this room called? Interrogation, or something like that, right? Can I get something to drink, like a Coke or maybe a decent cup of coffee?

Yeah, Geraldine and I had an argument that morning before I left the house. So what? All married couples have arguments. Are you a bachelor, Hank, or is your marriage made in a heaven that nobody knows about?

Look, we've been through this already. I told you what happened. Why do I have to repeat it?

Okay. Okay. I came home from work as usual. I...yeah, that's right. I work at Samson's Garage. I'm a mechanic. I get off work at six. Sometimes I stop by Ginny's Joint for a quick beer with Mike and Joe. They work there, too. But that night I went right home.

I don't know why I didn't go to the bar. Do I have to have a reason? I wasn't in the mood. Is that against the law?

Anyway, I...do you want my statement or don't you? Let me finish. No, I don't know if Mike and Joe went there. They usually do. Why don't you ask them? Mike's last name is Johnston. Joe Bagnoldi. Italian, I think.

Ok, so you already talked to them and they told you I wasn't there. So what? I just told you that myself.

I got home about six-thirty, maybe a few minutes later. The front door was unlocked. That seemed odd. Geraldine always keeps it locked. It's not the best neighborhood in the world. We were going to move as soon as we could scrape up a down payment. But Geraldine liked nice things and we never seemed to have any money left over at the end of the month.

What? Did we argue over money? Yeah. And sex. And in-laws. Hey, we're married. Don't everybody argue over these things? I bet even Donald Trump would get pissed off if his wife went out and bought a new BMW without telling him.

No, Geraldine didn't buy a BMW. I was just tryin' to make a point here. But she bought a fancy pair of shoes and a purse she didn't need.

Sex? Well, yeah. I mean she was fine in bed. But a guy needs variety, you know what I mean?

An affair? No. I wouldn't call it that. An affair means cheating with the same woman. I never did that.

I don't know how many. Who counts, for Chrissake? And they didn't mean anything. Boys will be boys, you know what I mean?

Caroline? How did you....oh, yeah. Well, sure, I guess I said something to Joe about her. But, hey, I had too much to drink and was spoutin' off a little. Caroline ain't my lover. She's just another piece, y'know?

You talked to Caroline? What did she tell you? Divorce? She's lying. I never told her I was gettin' a divorce. That's a crock.

Well, yeah. I guess me and Caroline had a kind of relationship, now that you mention it. But like I said, she ain't my lover. I liked her better than some of the others. But, hell, it was never anything serious.

Yeah, Geraldine was pissed when she found out about it. But we worked it out. It's history. I haven't seen Caroline in six months, maybe longer. What's that got to do with this? I'm tryin' to tell you what happened when I got home. Hell, I wasn't banging anybody. I wasn't out drinkin'. I came straight home.

That's right. Most of the time I don't come right home. But, like I said, that night I didn't feel like goin' anywhere. I was looking forward to stayin' home and watching the Forty-Niners. They're rotten, but I watch ‘em anyway. Maybe next year, you know what I mean?

I told you, I don't own a gun. Whoever did this took the gun with him, I guess. Did you guys find one at the house? Maybe you should be out lookin' for him instead of wasting time asking me these stupid questions. I didn't kill her, I said. I don't give a damn about your GSR test or whatever it is you do to find out if I shot a gun. The last time I shot a gun was in the army. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. If you found GSR on my shirt it had to be put there by somebody. Not me, I tell you.

Hey, this coffee is pretty good. What brand do you use? Huh? Yuban? I gotta remember that and tell Geraldine to...oh, shit.

What's that? Taro? Yeah, he's my boss. He said what? Oh, yeah. I was gone from the shop about a half hour that afternoon. I was test-driving this Honda. Ask Joe. He seen me leave with it and he was there when I got back. It's an old car—ninety-one. It needed a new head gasket and plugs. You know, the usual stuff.

Half hour? It might seem like a long time for a test drive. But with traffic and all. Besides I wanted to give it a workout on the freeway to see what it would do at sixty-five. Worked fine. Those Hondas are good cars. Reliable. So are Toyotas. You know, those foreign….

Mary Ann? Yeah, I know her. She's my neighbor. So what? Hey, there's nothin' going on with me and her. Did she....?

Okay. Okay. So she saw the Honda parked in front of my house that day. Yeah, that's right. I was test-driving it like I said. I was driving by so I stopped off to tell Geraldine I was comin' home right after work, so she should have dinner ready. Hell, I woulda called her, but I was in the neighborhood.

You found what? Blood? In the Honda? Hey, it ain't my blood. No, it isn't Geraldine's either. Must belong to the guy who owns the car. How would I know? Look, people bleed all the time. Maybe the guy had a nosebleed. Or maybe one of his kids cut himself. You know what I mean?

You mean you can tell from the blood in the car if it belongs to Geraldine? Geez, I didn't know you could do that. Don't lots of people have the same blood type?

DNA. Yeah, I heard of that. It's got somethin' to do with genes and hereditary stuff, right?

Let me get this straight. This DNA test can identify the actual person? Nobody else has the same DNA? Wow, that's awesome. I guess they do that on CSI, too, huh?

The DNA test says it's Geraldine's blood? Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Geraldine was in the kitchen when I got there and she cut herself with the paring knife. I put a bandaid on it for her. That's when I must have got her blood on me. Sorry I forgot about that. But it didn't seem important at the time.

What's that? The autopsy report? No mention of a bandaid, huh? Maybe she took it off after I left. It wasn't much of a cut.

Yeah, I know you guys said she died about three-thirty. That's about the time I was there. But she was alive when I left. Whoever killed her must have been waiting for me to leave. Hell, maybe she had a lover I didn't know about and he was hiding in the other room. Did you guys ever think of that? Men ain't the only people who fool around, you know. It takes two to tango, y'know?

The bandaid? She wouldn't take it off for a few hours? Well, I guess not. If you say it wasn't on her when she died then she must have taken it off right after I left.

You don't believe that. Well, that's too bad. I don't have to explain it to you. I know my rights.

Bill Homan. God, man, how did you find him? Him and me, we don't get along very good. He's a dickhead.

Lillian? Yeah, Bill's wife. Of course she'd back up his story. Hell, they're married. Lillian is nuts, y'know what I mean? They deserve each other.

Okay. I didn't want to tell you this because I was afraid you'd take it the wrong way. Bill and I, we had a fight. But it wasn't a real gun. It was one of those plastic ones. I was just trying to scare him.

Oh, I forgot about the registration. Ok, you got me there. I did have a gun. But I sold it a long time ago. To some guy I met in Ginny's. It's illegal to do that, I guess. So I'm guilty. But that doesn't make me a murderer. I know I shoulda told you that. I guess it looks pretty bad, not telling you. I was afraid you'd think I killed Geraldine if you knew I owned a gun. Besides, like I said, I got rid of it a long time ago, so it doesn't matter, does it?

You found it? Where? No way! Listen I know how you guys operate. You say things that ain't true hoping I'll say something to 'criminate myself. But I know you don't have the gun because I bur...sold it. Like I said. To this guy.

You can't do that. You can't dig up my backyard just because some nosy neighbor says she saw me diggin' there. Hey, this is America, man.

Hey, you can't do this. I'm not guilty I tell you. I'm being framed here, y'know what I mean?

You can't lock me up like an animal just because I didn't tell you about the gun. I know my rights. I'm entitled to a phone call.

Let's see here. The Yellow Pages. Here it is. "Attorneys." Hey, officer, do you know any of these guys? Who would you recommend?

GSR from his shirt? That's a good one. He believed it, too. Hank, someday you're going to go too far. I'll bet you didn't find any blood in the car, either. Okay, so you found some old dried blood. But was it Geraldine's?

I knew it! So the only real evidence you have is Mary Ann's testimony about seeing the Honda parked in front of the house. That much is true, right? Good. I won't even ask if she saw him digging in the back yard.