Timepiece by Richard Paul Evans

flesh. Tha’s when he lifted his gun. I been in war. I know the look in a man’s eyes when he’s gonna kill.”
    Lawrence closed his hand around the timepiece. His face was hard, yet fearful, creased in deep flesh canyons. “Ain’t no watch he wanted.”
    Just then, there was a sharp, metallic click behind them—the bolt action of a carbine. The door opened and a thin man with red cheeks and small puffy eyes stepped into the room. He wore a navy blue, double-breasted police uniform with gold buttons and a black velvet collar and a bell-shaped hat with a diminutive leather rim. He held a rifle chest-high and his eyes darted nervously between David, Lawrence, and the dead man.
    â€œStand up, Negro.”
    Lawrence pushed himself up against the wall. The officer knelt down and placed his fingers on the man’s throat. “Everen, you jackass. So you finally got yours,” he said to the corpse. He looked up.
    â€œWho killed this man?”
    â€œI did,” David said.
    The officer stood back up. He looked at the firearm on the table. “Whose gun is that?”
    David gestured towards the lifeless body. “It’s his. I killed him with his own gun.”
    The officer noted the look of astonishment on Lawrence’s face. He pointed his rifle at David. “You come with me.”
    â€œYou won’t need the gun.”
    The sheriff turned towards Lawrence. “You come too.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have anything to do with this,” David protested.
    â€œThis your home, Negro?”
    â€œYessuh.”
    â€œYou see this man get shot?”
    Lawrence glanced over at David. “Yessuh.”
    â€œThen you have something to do with this. Come along.”
    A crowd of onlookers had already gathered outside the shack as the two men were led to the horse-drawn paddy wagon and driven off to jail.

    The police captain stared at David over a desk cluttered with papers and a dinner of baked chicken, black beans, and Apple Brown Betty. He suddenly smiled. “Mr. Parkin, please sit down.” He motioned to an austere wooden chair. “Please.”
    The sudden display of courtesy struck David as rather peculiar and he speculated that someone in authority had called on his behalf.
    â€œCare for anything?” He gestured towards a platter. “Saratoga potatoes?”
    David looked at the food and shook his head.
    â€œI just heard from the mayor’s office, Mr. Parkin. The mayor wishes to express his personal concern with this matter and hopes that you have been treated respectfully.”
    â€œI have no complaints.”
    â€œHe personally vouches for your character and wishes to see you sent on your way. In light of Officer Brookes’s report, and your reputation, I see no reason to further detain you.”
    David looked back at the door. “Then I am free to go?”
    â€œCertainly. I am curious, though. Do you know the man that was killed?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œEveren Hatt. He was a regular down here. Everyone in this building, including the domestics, knows him by sight.” He leaned forward onto his thick hands. “This affair ought to be very clear, Mr. Parkin.Hatt was a brawler and a drunk. He was shot in someone else’s residence. The only weapon that was discharged was his. What I don’t understand is your testimony that you shot the man.”
    â€œWhy is that difficult?”
    He leaned back, picking his teeth with his thumb. “Witnesses claim they saw you enter the shack after the gunshot.”
    â€œThey must be mistaken.”
    The police captain looked at him in disbelief. “Yes . . .” His expression suddenly turned grave. “A word of caution, Mr. Parkin. In spite of your connections, these are serious matters. A man has been killed. There will be an inquest and no doubt a hearing.” He pushed his chair back from his desk. “I don’t know what this Negro has on