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question would be about what he did at Lucy’s house and when he left. This was nothing like he imagined. He felt comfortable, relieved. He would tell Wes what happened and then he would go home. Unfortunately, his new best buddy, Wesley Brume, did not ask the logical next question.
    “You killed her, didn’t you, Rudy.” It wasn’t a question: It was a demand.
    Something kick-started in Rudy’s brain when he heard the question, like he was on a treadmill walking slowly and all of a sudden somebody hit a button and everything went into warp speed.
    “No, no, no, I didn’t,” Rudy replied in a fractured voice that continued racing along. “She invited me in. We had a couple of beers. I started to get sick—tried to get out of the house but I fell over the coffee table. Broke the glass, cut my hand. Then she kicked me out.”
    The Grunt kept the pace moving.
    “You wanted her, didn’t you? You went over there to screw her, didn’t you?”
    “No, no, no, it wasn’t like that. I mean in a way, yes, but I was hoping she wanted me.”
    “And when she didn’t, you got angry. You took her in the bedroom. You slit her throat. You laid her on that bed and you watched her die.”
    “No, no, no!” Rudy started to cry, the tears flowing down his cheeks. “I couldn’t do that, not to Lucy, not to anybody.” He was crying hard now. The Grunt decided to cut it back a bit. He handed Rudy his handkerchief. Rudy took it and wiped his tears.
    Del came in at that moment and whispered something in the Grunt’s ear. Wes seemed a little perturbed.
    “I’ll be done by the time she gets someone,” he told his partner. He turned his attention back to Rudy as Del walked out.
    “Sorry, Rudy, but I had to do that. I had to test you.” Rudy nodded as if he understood, but he didn’t. Wes waited a few more moments to make sure Rudy had calmed down before he went at him again.
    “What did you go over there for, Rudy?”
    “Lucy invited me over.”
    “At eleven at night?”
    “She told me to come over when I got off no matter what time it was.”
    “You weren’t going over there to make small talk—did you think you were gonna get you some?” It was an accusation already made but this time Wes smiled as he asked it, as if they were old high school buddies conspiring over a little sex. Rudy again took the bait.
    “Yeah, I did.” He had a sheepish, embarrassed smile on his face but he was relaxing again.
    “What was she wearing at her house?”
    “A little white nighty.”
    “See-through?” Wes had his smile on again.
    “Pretty much,” Rudy smiled back. He was one of the boys, finally.
    Wes took a few moments to write the conversation down. He put a star next to the “little white nighty.” He remembered seeing it at the side of Lucy Ochoa’s bed the night of the murder.
    “Were you mad at her, Rudy, when she turned you down?”
    “No. I was out of the house before I knew what was going on.”
    “Were you frustrated that you didn’t get laid?”
    “A little.”
    “But not angry?”
    “No, sir.”
    “What would make you angry—angry enough to kill somebody?”
    “Nothing. I don’t think.”
    “What if somebody killed your mother?”
    Rudy stiffened. “Yes, that would make me angry enough to kill somebody.”
    “What if somebody raped your mother?”
    “Yes.” Rudy was getting angry just thinking about it.
    “Let’s say you were married to Lucy and somebody raped Lucy, your wife.”
    “Yeah, I could kill them.” Rudy thought of some of the guys at school who had taunted him. Sometimes, he felt that he could have killed them too. Suddenly it dawned on him that he could kill someone. That’s when the Grunt started building up to his sliest hypothetical.
    “Rudy, is it possible that Lucy said or did something to you that night that made you so angry you could have killed her and you just don’t remember?”
    “I already told you, I didn’t kill her.” Wes could hear the anger now.
    “I know