Much to James’ astonishment, he wasn’t handcuffed to the iron bar on the table in front of him. A middle-aged, stocky police officer walked in the steel, heavy door of the interrogation room, with a large folder in his hands and a sullen look in his eyes. He eased the folder down on the small table. Tension tightened the back of James’s neck, as the seasoned officer sat across from him.

“Mr. Farrell: I’m Captain Jerry Biden.” He spoke in a gravelly voice, while opening the folder. “I trust you know who this is,” he continued as he picked up a stack of pictures and handed them over. What James saw disgusted him: Laurel Thomas was lying across the floor, with her eyes closed and a bullet hole in her forehead. James squeezed his own eyes shut and shook his head sideways twice, disbelief written across his face.

“Well?” Biden insisted.

“I’ve heard her sing.” James sighed. “I’ve seen her picture in the paper. I didn’t know her. I was told you had evidence against me.”

“Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon.” Biden stated. “They’re all over her house, too.”

“How’s that even possible?” James barely got out as his throat closed up and his body jolted upright. In contrast, the police officer maintained his composure; he did not even flinch. “I don’t even know where she lived, for God’s sake!”

“Sit down, Mr. Farrell.” Biden used a calm, steady tone. James obliged. “The victim lived in Brooklyn. This is just one of the reasons I believe you were framed.”

“I’m listening.” James spoke in a more normal tone while running his hand through his hair.

“The coroner placed the time of death as being two to three hours before she was discovered.” Biden announced. “We found her body at 9:45pm. We talked to the record company people. They said you left just after 7:30. Now, unless you can drive from Manhattan to Brooklyn and back within fifteen minutes, you can’t have done it.”

Relief flashed in James’ eyes, upon hearing Biden’s conclusion. He leaned back in his seat, still staring at the picture.

“There are other things, too.” The Captain suggested. “First of all, I’ve been doing this job for twenty six years. I’ve never seen anyone dumb enough to leave a murder weapon with his fingerprints on it at the crime scene. Plus, this looks like a professional hit. It wasn’t personal. And you?” He snorted. “You just don’t strike me as the killer type. I have to warn you, though. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure you were accused of this crime. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” James shrugged, his skin breaking out into a cold sweat, as the realization gripped him. “I don’t have any enemies.”

“In your line of work?” Biden wondered, slightly leaning in towards him. “I know quite a few people who’d kill to get a well-paid job like yours, Mr. Farrell.”

“Wait a minute.” James narrowed his eyes. “You know what I do?”

“As a matter of fact I do.” Biden nodded. “At first, the record company guys wouldn’t tell me. I had to push them a little. You’ve written some excellent stuff, Mr. Farrell. I don’t understand why you’d want to use a nickname, but who am I to judge? Now, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you in any way? How many people know about your job?”

“Very few, actually,” James said. “My folks, Darryl’s…”

“Who’s Darryl?” Biden interrupted. It was a question James had been dreading. In a split second, the image of his friend’s horrific crash returned to his mind, making his heart sink.

“He was my best friend.” James explained, averting his gaze from him. “He died a long time ago. Damn…” a whisper of despair escaped him, as he dropped his face into his hands.

“What is it?” Biden sounded intrigued.

“Darryl was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was chasing me. They never found out about that.” James continued.

“That’s impossible.” Biden disagreed: “Unless you fled the scene. Did you?”

“No.” James whispered. “I was there; I called the police myself. I even testified.”

“Then they know everything.” Biden concluded. “You think they tried to frame you?”

“Well…” James sucked in a deep breath. “Now I don’t.”

“What about the girl?” Biden asked.

“Diana’s parents were killed in a plane crash, two months before her accident.” James replied.

“Mr. Farrell.” Biden started. “I want you to think about anyone who could possibly know what you do. Write those names down and go over them one by one. Because, rest assured: Someone’s trying to destroy you.”

“I really can’t think of anyone else.” Frustration was lingering in James’ voice.

“Take your time.” Biden urged. “When you come up with a name, give me a call. You’re free to go.”

If it hadn’t been for the police officer’s terrifying conclusion, James would have been ecstatic. Nevertheless, he could not even smile. He lazily got up and headed towards the door with a heavy heart, at the same time wondering why someone was trying to put him behind bars.

“This can’t be happening. I’ve never hurt anybody. Who’d want to hurt me? Why? The only people who know about this are my folks, Darryl’s, Rick and Olivia. It must be the company execs. One of them must have told someone. Nonsense, James. Why would that someone want to see you in jail? God, I’m going crazy here…”