Kay O’Malley sat on the bed in the holding cell, staring into a blank space while the bustle of the police station went on around her. She was a woman of slightly above-average height, at least for a woman, with short red hair that was tightly curled against her head, green eyes, and a medium build. She looked no different than a million housewives in her late thirties.

Earlier, she’d asked to make a phone call; a little later, she had asked for an attorney. In both cases, the response had consisted of a single word: “No.”

She harbored no animus towards the policemen; they were, so they thought, doing their duty. That theirs interfered with hers was a matter of no concern to them.

She’d asked for something to read; that request too had been denied. There wasn’t anything she could do for the moment, but before she left, she was planning to have a little fun with them. Why shouldn’t she have a little enjoyment at their expense? She could have told them if she’d been asked: she had a low, mean, vicious, and cruel sense of humor. In fact, no one who knew her at all well thought she had much of a sense of humor at all.

Without moving her eyes, she had watched the people in the squad room as they came and went. The detective who most likely had a bladder problem — unless he was a drinker or doing drugs. Three times in two hours, he’d used the restroom. She’d never seen him drink anything at all yet.

There was a male clerk who stared at one of the female detectives every chance he had. He looked like a puppy in love, which was probably the case since he was in his early twenties and she was on the wrong side of forty. She was kind of cute, though.

Kay had made a mental bet with herself within a half hour of her arrival as to which of the detectives present were going to handle her interrogation. Really, that had been a no-brainer. There were two detectives who had never once looked at her.

One looked like “the Hulk,” even to her beetled brows and arms that ended near her knees. She called him “Bluto” in her mind.

The second was a dapper fellow, dressed to the nines. She had smiled to herself when she had made her final decision. She was sure that they’d want to throw her off, and since one clearly looked like the epitome of “good cop” and the other was brutish, she was undoubtedly expected to think of him as the bad cop. Her nickname for the other one was “Dapper Dan.” It would have been a good trick on most, but good, bad, or indifferent, Kay didn’t care.

It was another clever trick that neither man glanced her way; everyone else in the room had at some point or another. Which meant that they were smart, which meant that they were likely going to switch the obvious roles. At least that’s what she’d thought at first. Now she wasn’t sure ... it was within the realm of possibility that they’d both try to be the good cop, each trying to “outdo” the other in kindnesses and apologies.

She had, after all, done a demonstrably good thing. That they had come to the opposite conclusion at the end of the day wasn’t her problem. She decided that there was less than a one percent chance they’d both gang up on her — and if they did, it would mean that there was someone else hanging around, someone she hadn’t seen. Someone who could step in and “save the day.”

In truth, it didn’t matter. They had wasted her time; she was going to waste theirs ten times over. She was going to rain on their parade like they’d never been rained on before. She’d heard about the growing arrogance of the police; but this was her first experience with it. At the very least, these men would never make this mistake again.

The clock hands moved past exactly two hours in the cell mark, and she watched them carefully. They still showed no sign of interest in her, nor any sign of doing anything but working on their computers.

It was out of her hands, she knew. She would get her at bat, and they would finally let her make her call. In either case, the police officers who interrogated her were going to learn a salutary lesson in “never assume.” She would get to see the dawning horror in their faces as they realized what they had done and to whom they had done it.

Ten minutes later, the two men got up, and it was the brute who presented himself in front of the holding cell and worked the key. “Get up and come with us,” he demanded.

Kay held up her shackled hands but didn’t speak.

Bluto stepped forward and unlocked them, then gestured for her to follow Dapper Dan.

She was led to an interrogation room and waved to a table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, a soda?” Bluto asked her.

Kay shook her head. She’d had a long time to contemplate her strategy. The most elementary mistake you can make when you are being questioned is saying anything at all — even hello — and the next worst mistake was to drink anything. Answering a question, even a simple one, made it easier to answer the next, but she didn’t want to let on just yet that a tornado was coming, so she opted for a softer approach. In the sense that iron is softer than steel.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

He sat down opposite her at the table, while Dapper Dan stood blocking the door. He did not stand with his arms folded across his chest but hanging loose at his sides. He was wary and alert.

Inwardly, she smiled. So, somewhere along the line, they had reviewed videotape of what happened. Good.

“Your name and address, please, Miss?” Bluto asked mildly.

Kay’s inward grin broadened. No doubt the sort of person they interviewed every day wasn’t very clever. Well, today was going to be a learning experience for both of them. She looked at him, smiled slightly, and said, “My name is Kay O’Malley. I’m currently homeless. I live in a spare bedroom at my sister’s place.”

That, of course, was to distract him and get him to stop thinking about corollaries to the question, “Who are you?” And it was also nice to think that the odds were against her being asked her sister’s address anytime soon — that would have spoiled all the fun.

“You don’t look destitute,” the detective stated.

“I have no permanent address,” she reminded him. No, of course not. She was living with her sister.

“Where do you have your mail sent?”

“Mostly I pay bills; here and there.”

She mentally begged him not to ask specifically where her mail was sent, and gleefully, he didn’t.

“What is your occupation?”

“I’m unemployed.”

“What were you doing in the bank?”

Ah, a hanging fastball! She decided that continuing with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was still the best approach. “I was there to make a withdrawal. I’d just gotten in the teller queue when the gunmen showed up.”

“Beat you to the punch, did they?” Bluto asked.

“Pardon?”

“Did they rob the bank before you could?”

She looked at him steadily for a second and replied, “I’d like an attorney.”

“I’d like steak and corn on the cob when I get home tonight,” Bluto told her roughly. “All I’m going to get is tuna fish casserole.”

He smiled at her. “Now, once more, were you there to rob the bank?”

“I’ve told you once why I was there. I don’t have to answer any further questions without my attorney present.”

“If you don’t cooperate...”

“I’ll go to the media and tell them that I requested an attorney, and one was denied me. I imagine I’ll have a line of volunteer lawyers ready to jump right on that violation of my civil rights in no time.” He had no idea who those lawyers would be. Oh, ouchies!

“Not only don’t you look homeless,” he told her, “you don’t sound like someone who is homeless.”

“I won’t answer any more questions without an attorney present. I won’t respond to passive-aggressive attempts to elicit information either.”

“Lady,” he said, turning hard. “You killed three men a few hours ago. Cooperation is your best way forward at this point.”

She looked at him blandly and didn’t say anything.

“You have to understand that a failure to cooperate won’t look good?”

She continued her bland expression and said nothing.

“We’re going to return you to holding until you’re willing to talk.”

Kay smiled. “At some point, I will get my phone call. All I can tell you is that the longer you wait, the less defensible the delay will have been. Like I said, I will have a legion of attorneys waiting to take my case on a contingency basis. They will know they can’t lose. And those guys will be the JV. The varsity will show up first, the pro bono guys. That’s really going to be fun to watch.”

“You don’t get to call the shots.”

“Not just yet,” she admitted. “But once I make my call, that will change — it will be because you’ll be out of the game. You might want to think about what that means.”

“What do you mean, ‘out of the game?’ Bluto asked.

“Finis, kaput. Unemployed, like I am.”

“Are you threatening our jobs?”

“Me? I have no say in your hiring or firing. Others will look at your behavior, at how you conducted this investigation, my interview to date, and decide your fate. Mene, mene tekel upharshim. You are judged and have been found wanting.”

Dapper Dan moved a few feet, picked up a telephone, plugged it in, and put it in front of her. “It’s on the speaker.”

“And what about attorney-client privilege?”

“That’s after he arrives.”

Kay chuckled. “They’ll send underlings, at first. Still, you will want to be careful about what you say to them.”

She dialed the number. Everyone heard a voice say, “White House Switchboard.”

“Kay O’Malley, Agnes. I really need to talk to the boss. I’m in a bit of a sticky wicket.”

“He’s free at the moment, Colonel. One moment, please.”

“How are you doing, Kayo?” a familiar voice to them all said. “A sticky wicket?”