He nodded and lifted his palm, and I promptly stuffed the file into my handbag. "Is there anything you can tell me that's perhaps not in the file?"
He shook his head, but it was just a knee-jerk reaction. In the process of shaking his head, he was actually deep in thought. "It should all be in there." He rubbed the dark stubble at his chin. The dark stubble was also mixed with some gray. "You know I always suspected the guy doing the shooting was a client of his. I dunno, call it a hunch. But this attorney's been around a while, and he's pissed off a lot of people. Trouble is: who's got the time to go through all of his past files?"
"Not a busy homicide detective," I said, playing along.
"Damn straight," he said.
"Any chance it was just a random shooting?" I asked.
"Sure. Of course. Those happen all the time."
"But you don't think so."
"No," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
The detective was used to this kind of exchange. He worked in a business where if you didn't ask questions, you didn't find answers. If my questions bothered him, he didn't show it, other than he seemed to be impatient to get this show on the road.
"Seemed premeditative. And no robbery attempt. Also seemed to be making a statement, as well."
"By shooting him in the face?"
"And by shooting him outside the courthouse. His place of work. Makes you think it was business related."
I nodded. Good point. I decided not to tell the detective he had a good point. Men tend to think all of their points were good, and they sure as hell didn't need me to boost their already inflated egos.
I'm cynical that way.