That evening the two detectives took turns asking me questions, sometimes repeating the same one over and over again, hoping my story would change. Finally at midnight they put me back in a cell until morning. As I lay there on the narrow bunk, I cried. It seems that all I do is “jump out of the frying pan and into the fire,” as my granddad used to say.
I never slept as the fear of being charged with murder loomed over me.
In the morning the grilling continued, but they couldn’t shake me. I spent the next two days telling and retelling the story of my painful weeks with a guy called Bill.
Finally after two nights behind bars, I was released. They couldn’t hold me any longer without charging me. They finally admitted that there was enough evidence to back up my story. One of them said
