Two cops entered my office. I didn’t know what could have happened to attract the cops’ attention. I offered them a sweat, feeling puzzled. One of the officers asked sternly, “Do you know someone named Kennedy Brawford?”

“Who?” I said, “I don’t know that person.”

The officer wasn’t satisfied with my response. He glanced at his colleague and said, “Show her the photo.”

I accepted the photo from the other officer. I saw a man who appeared to be in his twenties in the photo. He was good-looking, almost like a student. I shook my head and said firmly, “I don’t know this person.”

Suddenly, I thought about the cafe.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize him?” the officer who handed me the photo asked. He seemed accustomed to interrogating suspects.

Displeased, I looked at him, saying, “I honestly don’t know him. I’ve never seen that man before.”

“The last call he made was to you. How can you claim not to know him?” The officer’s tone became even more severe. Then, he passed me a piece of