“Would you like to come around?” he offered, inviting his old boss’s son through the same doors he had led the Majewskis through only three days before, down the same stairs, and into the same interview room. This time, there would be no cameras to worry about. It would be just two men talking about a man they both thought they knew well.
“I know Dad jumped,” Christopher began, not waiting for Mike to sit down.
“No. No, he didn’t. I was there. He slipped,” Mike gently corrected, fiddling with the ring on his own finger as he saw Christopher pick up his father’s wedding band.
“Detective O’Shea, my dad jumped.”
“Call me Mike, Christopher. And he didn’t jump. I saw him. I was right there.” Mike looked up at the boy—no, the man—and then back down at his hands, his shoulders slumped, his he
