“In person, they were all holding nickel-plated revolvers,” I said.
She chewed on one arm of her reading glasses. “And you, what, believe that Claude Watkins’s followers somehow erased the images of them?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“If you watch that video, you look like the coldest of killers, Dr. Cross.”
“Or the biggest of patsies.”
King put her glasses back on, referred to her notes. “With all the shootings across the country involving white cops killing black kids, isn’t it ironic that there was no real federal involvement in this issue until the U.S. Justice Department put a black cop on trial?”
I felt my expression harden as I said, “I’ve never really wanted to play that card, but it sure makes you think, doesn’t it?”
It went on for another twenty minutes before King finished. When the cameras were off, I stood and let the tech remove the microphone while King spoke with her producer.
She came over afterward, shook my hand a second time, and said, “I apologize for some of the tougher questions. Like you said, it’s the job.”
“I don’t mind tough questions as long as they’re unbiased.”
“How’d I do?”
“I thought you were fair. How’d I do?”
King held my gaze before saying, “You’re either a pathological liar and a killer or you’re being framed by real smart folks.”
“That how you’re going to spin it?”
“No spin, Dr. Cross,” King said. “We’ll lay out both sides as we go and let the viewers decide.”
CHAPTER
59
BREE, ANITA, AND Naomi were convinced I’d done myself a great deal of good with the interview. And Nana Mama was still buzzing with the excitement of meeting Oprah’s best friend forever, which I thought was kind of sweet and funny.
> But as the hours ticked by I grew more anxious. What if Anita’s analysts weren’t good enough? What if we couldn’t prove the video had been doctored?
Around nine that evening, I was feeling claustrophobic. Ali found me pacing around in the kitchen.
“Dad?” he asked. “Can I see those videos everyone’s talking about?”
“Why would you want to see things like that?”
He shrugged. “Your attorney Ms. Marley thinks something’s wrong with them. I wanted to see if I could see it.”
I thought about that for several moments and then said, “I don’t think I’d be the best father if I let a nine-year-old see a recording of people dying needlessly.”
“Oh,” my son said, sounding taken aback. “I just wanted to help.”
“I know you did, bud,” I said, and I hugged him.
Ali left me looking disappointed, which made me feel even more claustrophobic. I went upstairs and got changed into sweatpants, an old FBI hoodie, and running shoes. I found Bree in the front room watching The Voice and said I was going out for a jog.
“You want company?”
“Not this time,” I said. “I need to get some things straight or I won’t sleep.”
Bree gave me an even gaze. “Just for the record, Alex, I think it sucks you’re going through this. It guts me.”