I sat near the end of a
long conference table. I was being questioned by two detectives in some office
in Northfield , not far from Atlantic City .
They thought that I had
been witness to a murder, and that possibly I had been an accomplice to the
murderer. If I had known that at the time, I would never have agreed to meet
with them without an attorney present because I didn’t know what the hell they
were talking about.
…Until I saw the
videotape of what looked like me coming out of the apartment complex at New
Hampshire Avenue and the Boardwalk on the night of the murder. And it did
look like me, even to me. Same height. Same weight. Same gym bag slung over the
shoulder. In those grainy images, the only way I knew it wasn’t me was
that I never carry a bag on my right shoulder and the shoes were of a
different color than any I had at that time.
Prior to actually seeing
the video, I had admitted that I frequently was in that building to visit a
friend on the ninth floor (several floors above where the murder was
committed) and that although I was a blackout drinker, I only and
always blacked out after leaving the building (I was sure of this
because the person I always visited always passed out from over-indulgence,
whereas I had only been priming the pumps, and would not blackout until much
later.). [Continued...]
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 53)
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