The Perfect Impression by Blake Pierce

CHAPTER EIGHT

“You have no right to upend my hotel,” the manager huffed, coming to a stop only inches from Jessie.

Unfortunately for him, because he was about a half foot shorter than she was, that meant he had to crane his neck to make eye contact. His brown ones were blazing. Up close Jessie noticed that his skin was much paler than one might expect for someone who worked on an island. Maybe being the night manager had something to do with it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Barksdale,” she said smoothly, looking at the tag on the jacket. “I was wondering when you might make an appearance. I started to worry that you were just going to cower in your office all night.”

He huffed loudly, clearly offended. His breath wafted through Jessie’s nostrils. It wasn’t bad exactly, but underneath the surface scent of mouthwash, she detected a residue of coffee that suggested the guy had been loading up on caffeine to survive this unusual night.

“I’m desperately trying to keep the guests of an exclusive boutique hotel calm and comfortable,” he declared. “But having a mainland police consultant upset all that hard work isn’t helping.”

He said the word “consultant” as if it was some kind of insult, like she was playing pretend and didn’t really deserve to be here. Jessie refused to be baited. Other than the authority that came with representing the LAPD, her biggest advantage was that she could stay cool, which this little dilettante seemed incapable of doing. She aimed to use that.

“Mr. Barksdale, I appreciate your predicament,” she said, reining in the saccharine sweetness she felt sneaking into her voice. “Maybe I jumped the gun earlier. I can only imagine the obstacles you’ve had to face in the last few hours.”

Peters, standing next to her, was wide-eyed. He seemed stunned at her restraint, having expected a dressing down like the one he’d recently received. Barksdale, for his part, didn’t seem to pick up on the hint of sarcasm.

“I do my best,” he said, tugging at the bottom of his jacket.

“I have no doubt,” she replied, giving him her best doe eyes. “And that’s why I know you’ll do your best for me too. I think that if we work together, we can solve both our problems. You want this hotel operational again fast and with as little drama as possible, correct?”

Yes,” he said carefully, waiting for the trick he was sure was coming.

“And I want to interview all the potential witnesses to this crime quickly and efficiently, while their memories are still vivid. If you can help me make that happen, I can stop holding guests in ballrooms and cordoning off floors of your hotel.”

“Go on,” he said, still suspicious but intrigued.

“First I need you to release a bunch of your unoccupied rooms, perhaps as many as ten. We need places to put the guests we’ve interviewed, where they can relax but not interact with other guests who might be witnesses. This way, I’ll know they’re secure and you’ll get your wish to remove them from public spaces. For some of them, it might only be for a few hours in the rooms. Since it’s the middle of winter, I’m assuming you’re not fully booked.”

Barksdale did a little mental math in his head before answering.

“I think that can be arranged,” he told her.

“Fantastic,” she replied. “See what a great team we are already? Next, I believe that your security officer, Stone, mentioned that I requested you bring in additional security ahead of their shifts. We need them to get those guests to their rooms and then make sure they don’t leave them. In addition to Stone and Dooley, I think three more should do it, one for each floor.”

“It can’t happen,” he replied, already shaking his head. “We only have six security officers total, and the hotel’s senior manager, Mr. Clevell, is worried about both overtime and how it would look. He doesn’t want the Paragon to seem like an armed camp.”

Jessie was starting to get a sense of the politics at work here. Both Stone and Barksdale had mentioned the senior hotel manager as a source of angst. Clearly, their fear of him was trumping their inclination to do the right thing. She needed to change that dynamic.

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Barks—what’s your first name?”

“Vin.”

“Okay, Vin. I’m Jessie Hunt. You can call me Jessie. Is Mr. Clevell the owner of the Paragon?”

“No,” he said. “It’s owned by Gormsby Group, which is really just the Gormsby family. They own a series of boutique hotels. They’re based in San Francisco.”

Jessie smiled warmly, pretending not to notice the coffee breath.

“So what do you think would be more concerning to the Gormsby family in the long term—paying a little overtime? Or splashy headlines on the front pages of California newspapers saying management of this company refused to assist in the investigation of a murder at one of their hotels? Because that’s how this refusal to assist will look in the light of day.”

He looked conflicted but shook his head again.

“I could get fired. Mr. Clevell can be quite petty.”

“Vin,” Jessie said in her most reassuring voice. “Mr. Clevell isn’t here. He’s hanging out in Cerritos. He doesn’t understand the magnitude of the situation. He doesn’t get that putting up barriers to this inquiry could tank this place. Who wants to stay somewhere that allows its guests to be killed and then disavows them after they’ve died? You’re in the hospitality business. You know better than me what a bad reputation can do to a place like this.”

“But—” he started. Jessie wasn’t done.

“On the other hand, if there are quotes in the news from the police consultant on the case that hotel management, specifically Vin Barksdale, was essential to resolving the situation and ensuring the safety of other guests, this might actually turn out to be a publicity win and protect your job. Hell, you might even get some extra bookings from folks with morbid curiosity.”

As Barksdale considered her comments, his level of anxiety seemed to drop, if only marginally.

“You make a compelling argument, Ms. Hunt,” he said, apparently constitutionally incapable of calling her Jessie. “But with all due respect, I don’t think you understand how the Paragon Hotel works. We’re not seeking publicity. This establishment thrives on discretion.”

“Vin, I’ve got to tell you, you can’t be discreet if you’re out of business. Solve the problem in front of you. Release those extra rooms. Call in your full security team so they can escort folks to those rooms and ensure they don’t leave until they’re cleared to do so. Make your staff accessible for interviews if needed. Do those few simple things and you’ll come out of this looking like a hero. Balk and you’ll look like the goat. Clevell might try to throw you under the bus either way. But do the right thing and you’ll have LAPD covering your back. Plus you’ll be able to sleep at night. What do you say?”

As she spoke, Barksdale still looked to be wavering. But the line about getting hosed either way really seemed to resonate. He pursed his lips, as if making a silent promise to himself, and then nodded.

“I’ll call the guards, and then release the rooms,” he said, starting to turn away.

“Thanks so much, Vin,” she said. “Just one more thing before you go though.”

He turned back to her apprehensively.

“Yes?”

“As long as I have you, I may as well just ask you now: what’s your opinion of the Crewes?”

He seemed genuinely surprised by the question.

“I didn’t know them that well,” he said. “But they seemed like quality people to me.”

“Did you ever see them argue?”

“No, they were model guests.”

“Really,” Jessie pressed. “I heard they were drinkers, especially Steve Crewe and his friend Richard Ferro.”

Barksdale shrugged.

“I mean, their whole group liked to drink and get a little rowdy,” he conceded. “But that’s kind of the point of a place like this. You can have some revelry in a safe environment. The whole town is walkable, so there are no DWI concerns. The locals expect a little raucousness from visitors. But the Crewes and their friends never caused problems, never left their suites in disrepair. They always paid their bills on time and tipped well. For a hotel, that’s about as good as you can get.”

“They never harassed the staff?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Barksdale said, though he seemed less definitive than during his previous answer. “At least nothing that was brought to my attention. We cultivate a real kinship between our guests and staff. Maybe that can get misinterpreted on occasion. But it’s never been an issue with the Crewes, the Ferros, or their friends.”

Barksdale said the words forcefully. And while Jessie didn’t think he was outright lying to her, she definitely got the sense that he was holding something back. She was debating whether to push more when there was loud thump behind her.

She turned around to find Tommy the bellboy crumpled in a heap on the ground where he’d been standing moments earlier.