The Perfect Impression by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER TWENTY
With the overriding pressure to wrap up the interviews before the next ferry departure weighing down on them, Jessie and Peters worked as fast as they could. They questioned the other four remaining guests, all of whom were staying on the same floor as Gabby. It became quickly clear to Jessie that none of them were credible suspects.
By the time Jessie and Peters gave them permission to catch the next ferry, it was approaching mid-morning. They had Barksdale, who was working overtime until his boss arrived in another few hours, secretly usher the no-longer-suspects out a side entrance so the swingers crew didn’t see them and get riled up again.
“Time’s running short,” Peters noted once they’d left. “Who do you think is our best bet to go at next?”
“I’d like to take another shot at Steve Crewe,” she said. “We can start with the sympathy bit, and then use the beer mug attack to get under his skin. Once we’ve got him off balance, we can probe a little more. He’s the least likely to ask for a lawyer because of how bad it would look. We should take advantage of that.”
Peters nodded in agreement. They took Crewe out back to the rose garden. It was a change of scenery that they hoped would avoid giving him the impression that he was being interrogated.
“Again,” Peters began as they sat on metal chairs next to a fountain, “we are so sorry for your loss. I spoke to the medical examiner earlier and he’s hopeful that you’ll able to take Gabby’s body back with you on the ferry in the cargo hold. They’ll need to do a full autopsy once you return, but at least you can be with her for this journey.”
“I appreciate that,” Crewe said blankly.
Jessie couldn’t tell if he was in shock or unaffected by the loss. Either way, she aimed to wake him up.
“So, Mr. Crewe,” she said mildly. “In light of this tragedy, we’re hopeful that the incident with the beer mug last night can be handled outside formal channels. I’m open to that possibility, assuming you are candid with us now.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“Some of the questions we have to ask might seem…indelicate,” she explained. “But they have to be asked. The great thing is that, if you are open and honest, even if it’s painful or embarrassing, we can probably massage away any details that could haunt you later.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, either dense or pretending to be.
Realizing this was getting her nowhere fast, she decided to come straight out with it and see how he reacted.
“We know why you and your friends come to this hotel,” she said flatly. “We don’t care about that. But you need to tell us what you were really doing during the time that you weren’t drinking in the bar with Rich Ferro. It’s one thing for us to know the truth. It’s another for you to tell it.”
She shut her mouth and waited, hopeful that her hunch was right and that he’d buy the lie.