Free Open Season by Archer Mayor

he clawed me. We don’t like each other—he belongs to my kids.”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ll send someone down to look at it.” I turned to go.
    He leaped to his feet, revved up again. “Wait. Don’t leave me. I don’t want a Band-Aid. I want to get out of here. I don’t belong here. I’m innocent. I didn’t rape anybody.”
    “The police report says you got a call last night that sent you on a wild goose chase. Is that right?”
    “Yes, I swear. I had some tools stolen a few days ago. The man on the phone said he’d found them; that his brother had stolen them, and that he felt bad about it and wanted to return them. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
    I paused at the bottom of the steps. “Mr. Rodriguez, I’m sure it is true. We picked you up on the available evidence, that’s all. I’ve just got to make a couple of calls to clear this up, and I’m pretty sure we can get you out within the hour. By the way, what color are your eyes?”
    “Brown. What about a police record?”
    “No record. We’ll clear it up with your boss, too. If it all works out, the only thing you’ll have to worry about is keeping your mouth shut. If you go to the press, or talk to them if they come to you, you’re the one who’s going to get the bad publicity. Fair or not, that’s how it works. Ask any celebrity.”
    I went upstairs and knocked on Murphy’s door. I was sorry to see Kunkle sitting in his guest chair. “I’ll talk to you later, Frank.”
    Kunkle got up before I could leave. “Did you see Rodriguez?” As usual, he was abrupt and hostile—a man on perpetual simmer.
    “Yeah. I just talked to him.”
    “Why?”
    “Maxine told me about the scratch on his hand.”
    “What about it?”
    “Wendy Stiller didn’t mention it.”
    “So?”
    “So I thought I might ask her if she’d seen it.”
    Kunkle gave me a hard stare. I decided I’d better not leave it there. I asked Murphy if I could use his phone. He pushed it across his desk to me, and I dialed the hospital and asked for Stiller’s room.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Miss Stiller. This is the man who spoke to you this morning about the attack.”
    “Oh, hi.”
    “When you saw that tattoo, was there a scratch running across it? maybe a Band-Aid or some makeup or something?”
    “No, it looked like it did at the trial.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “Great. Thank you. One last thing: do you remember the man’s eye color?”
    “They were blue—pale blue.” The answer was immediate. I didn’t question how she could be so positive.
    I thanked her again and hung up. “We’ve got the wrong man. The scratch wasn’t on the attacker’s hand, and his eyes were blue.”
    Kunkle snorted and looked at the ceiling. “Jesus, that’s pretty slim. I mean, the man lathered her up and flicked her tit. You think she’s going to take time out to catalogue his eye color and the odd scratch here or there? Give me a break.”
    I felt my face flush with anger. He brought back the image of every self-confident, stupid bully I’d ever known in grade school—the guys who made ignorance a martial art. The fact that he was actually a pretty smart guy who was drowning in his own troubles made no difference; he’d been on this kick for too long.
    I spoke directly to Frank. “That scratch is a mess. It’s infected and a couple of days old. No way either she could have missed it or he could have gotten it between midnight and now. Show her Rodriguez’s hand, and his eyes. She’ll tell you he’s not the man.”
    Frank nodded and I turned to leave. Kunkle grabbed my arm. “Pretty sure of yourself.”
    I shook him off. “I’m also right.”
    I walked into my own office and slammed the door. Stan Katz was sitting on the edge of my desk. “Get out, Stan; you’re trespassing.”
    “Testy, testy.”
    I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him toward the door. Kunkle’s style was catching. Stan opened the door and paused.