“No.” Kenny flushed. “I mean, I got mad and yelled. Who wouldn’t? They planted a bag of drugs in my car. But I never hit or shoved either one of them.”
“If that’s true, then we’re not unsympathetic,” Bree said. “But we still have a job to do. It’ll be easier for all of us if you cooperate.”
“Whatever.” Kenny snorted, a resigned sound. “Once the cops get hold of you, you’re helpless. I learned that the hard way.” He brushed a hand across his skull. “But I was lucky in some ways. People stood by me. My employer believed me from the beginning. When I got out, he gave me my old job back right away.” He gestured to the window at the front of the studio. “My landlady is an old friend of my mom’s. She knows I never did anything too. This place isn’t much, but it’s a hell of a lot better than a rooming house full of ex-cons. Plus, she only charges me enough to cover the electric bill. If she wasn’t on a fixed income, she wouldn’t charge me anything. I need to put away some money before I can get a place of my own.” Bitterness narrowed his eyes. “I used to have a nice little house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine.”
“Didn’t the parole board make you admit your guilt?” Bree asked.
“The whole system is a scam.” Kenny crossed his arms. “I would have said anything to get out of prison. Trust me, so would you.”
Matt didn’t doubt it. Survival took a back seat to pride. “Why would the deputies have faked charges against you?”
“I don’t know.” Kenny rubbed his scalp. “I could never figure it out.”
“If they set you up, they went to a lot of effort to do so,” Matt pointed out.
“Right?” Kenny agreed. “Why would they do that? I didn’t know any of them.”
“They ruined your life,” Bree said. “You have every reason to be angry with them.”
Clearly, Kenny wasn’t the brightest bulb on the light string, but he finally asked, “Why are you here?”
“Because one of those deputies”—Bree paused for effect—“retired Deputy Oscar, was murdered.”
“Shit.” Kenny paled.
“You didn’t know?” Matt asked.
“How would I know?” Kenny’s voice rose in protest.
“It was on the news,” Matt explained.
“I don’t have time to watch the news.” Kenny’s eyes were shifting around, as if his brain were playing catch-up. “When did he die?”
Bree said, “Between eight p.m. Sunday night and eight a.m. Monday morning.”
“Figures.” Kenny’s head shook in disbelief. “The one frigging night I wasn’t at work.”
“Where were you?” Bree pulled a notebook from her pocket.
“Here.” Sweat rings broke out under Kenny’s arms. “Watching TV. If I had known I would need an alibi, I would’ve made plans.” His voice thickened with sarcasm.
Matt thought of the old Buick in the garage under the apartment. “Do you own a vehicle?”
“No.” Kenny closed both fists at his sides.
“How do you get to work?” Matt pressed.
“Mrs. Weir lets me use her car. She doesn’t like to drive anymore. Her eyesight is going. So, I do her shopping for her and take her where she needs to go.”
“That’s nice of you,” Bree said.
“I am nice,” Kenny insisted. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“You got into fights in prison.” Bree tilted her head.
“One fight.” Kenny’s temper snapped. “And I didn’t really have a choice. The other guy came after me. Either I defended myself or I’d be a target for the rest of my time.”
He had a point, thought Matt. “Do you have any proof that you were here all night?”
“How the hell would I prove that?” Kenny’s forehead furrowed, then his eyebrows shot up with an idea. “The GPS on my phone?”
“That would only show that your phone was here,” Matt said.
“Damn.” Kenny looked toward the door. “The driveway goes right by Mrs. Weir’s bedroom. She would have seen me if I took the car out.”
“But her eyesight is terrible,” Bree repeated Kenny’s own words. “And she wears a hearing aid. I assume she takes it out when she’s sleeping.”
Kenny threw up his hands. Anger raised a vein in the side of his neck. “Then I don’t fucking know.” He lowered his hands. “Wait. You have to prove I wasn’t here. If you want to falsify evidence, we all know you can, but I won’t make it easy for you.”