Monday, December 08, 2008

A cuppa Joe...(OT)

'Dave' sat on the other side of the table in the interrogation room looking calm but slightly annoyed at the disruption. He had better things to do. I studied him through the one-way glass for a few moments before stepping inside with my folder of documents and forms.

"Good afternoon, Mr.-----. I'm Sergeant Walters and I have to fill in some forms and ask you some questions. This is all just paperwork and background information, so you can refuse if you want. But your attorney will want this when he arrives, so we can save some time by doing it now. Have you been read your Miranda rights and do you want to proceed with these forms?"

I 'accidentally' dropped my pencil and when I stooped to retrieve it, the papers went onto the floor as well. I looked foolish, barely competent to wander around in public, and this made Dave feel superior to the whole situation.

"Sure, let's get this over with," he said.

Still gathering papers, I smiled. They fell for the ruse two times out of three. The smart ones never said a word.

I went though the routine in a bored monotone. I collected information we already had, like his address, phone number, employer, etc. It set the stage for the next part.

"We may be here a while, Dave. Can I get you a soda or a cup of coffee?" This lit the fuse.

"Coffee?" he scoffed. "What kind of coffee?"

I said we had some Folgers or maybe Maxwell House.

"Trust me, you know nothing about coffee - good coffee, that is - not grocery store swill. Good coffee beans are less than a week old from the roaster, and the best are only minutes old. I individually select the beans and roast and grind them within 5 minutes of brewing. The water temperature has to be between 195 and 198 Fahrenheit, and the water itself should come from a natural spring. I'm using water from the Joder family spring about 5 miles north of Mercer, Pennsylvania. The best coffee starts with the best water."

He went on about it for nearly 10 minutes. "Coffee has something to do with you being here, doesn't it?" I asked mildly.

"Yeah. That fool W---- just had to mess with me. He was being sarcastic, asking if my coffee mug was hand-thrown and made of clay dug from a hillside in northern Italy by arthritic grandmothers. Then the bastard switched my coffee for that sewage from the vending machine just down the hall. You can understand why I had to kill him."

The recorders got it all.




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