This is the story I alluded to previously. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. And since he�s not innocent, his real name is Kevin Dowling.

Kevin and I used to work together in the computer department at Sears. Which was also the phone department, and right next to the electronics department. Yes, I know phones and computers are electronic, pay attention to the story, would you? The Kevin I remember wore navy blue suits and had bright red hair. Bald on top, but red hair in a ring around his head. Like Red Foreman on That 70�s Show, but with a mustache and light blue eyes. He wasn�t imposing, but something about the way he carried himself said that he thought he was. He stood straight in that blue suit like it was a uniform.

Kevin lived in the same apartment complex as I did, and was a part-timer at Sears like me. His other job was as a regional manager of a couple of convenience stores. Or so he said. I mean, I know he worked for that chain because I found out later that Maureen�s brother also worked for that chain, and he knew Kevin too. But I never really knew how much to believe of what Kevin told me. Clearly the stories were intended to make you respect him. He told the story of how he had called the fire department when a dryer started smoldering in his apartment building. He knew about people and he knew how to do things. He talked of a security business that he used to run with his wife. He knew about security systems and electronics. He would tell me how much he knew about computers.

In my other job, I was essentially the IT guy of a tiny surveying/engineering firm, so I wasn�t really impressed. But I didn�t argue with him. I didn�t want to get into a pissing match at a job that didn�t really mean that much to me. When he told me that he knew how to change the time/date stamp on a video camera, I thought, �So what? How hard could that be? Wouldn�t that be in the instruction manual, in case, you know, the battery died?�

I quit that crappy job after about 5 months. It was commission sales, and they expected you to put in way too much effort for your 3%.

A couple years later, I was in line at the doughnut shop for my daily lard requirement. While waiting, I glanced at the newspaper vending machine, and there was Kevin�s face on the front page! What was Kevin doing on the front page?

It turns out that Kevin was accused of the sexual assault of a woman who worked in a framing gallery. And the day before she was to testify against him, she was murdered. Shot in the head at work. But Kevin had an alibi! He had been out fishing the whole day. Alone, yes, but he had proof. He had videotaped himself, and the video had a time/date stamp.

Fuck.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I knew right there that he had done it. I totally believed he was capable of it, and he had actually told me about the trick he was now using to try and get away with it! My stomach sank. That�s a sick, strange feeling: to realize that someone you once worked side-by-side with is a murderer. I wondered if I should come forward with my story. But as I read on, I realized it wouldn�t be necessary. Compared to the hard evidence they had, what I had was hearsay.

Kevin had bought bait and rented a boat in the morning. He kept the receipts for both, as they also had dates and times on them (Who keeps a receipt for bait? You thinkin� of taking it back?). He videoed himself fishing, supposedly in case he failed to beat the assault rap, his kids would have a video to remember dear old Dad while he was in jail. Yes, he had a wife and kids. What a prince. Around mid-day he beached the boat in some brush, snuck off and committed the murder. Then he came back, reset the camera, and continued fishing. He returned the boat at the end of the day. The owner of the rental shop could say he had the boat all day. The video would confirm it.

Here�s a little tip to all you would-be murderers out there from your old pal, Gerry. If you�re going to videotape your alibi, do it inside, where you control the lighting. And not outside where there�s something called the sun which moves across the sky at a steady pace, except in your video, asshat.

So now I can say I know someone on death row. I don�t think I ever spoke to him after I left Sears, and I�m certainly not going to start up again now. When I think about him, I sometimes wonder if I was ever in any danger when we worked together and he was telling me his secrets. And when I finish thinking about him, I usually think that maybe my life wasn�t as boring and uneventful as I sometimes feel. How�s that for a self-absorbed ending to a murder mystery? Tough shit. It�s my diary.