The Perfect Impression

by Pierce, Blake

  Five hands shot into the air.

  “I’ll be speaking with each of you momentarily,” she assured them, before leaning over to Peters and whispering. “When does the first ferry leave?”

  “Around nine a.m.,” he muttered.

  “And the last one?” she asked.

  “Six thirty at night.”

  Jessie looked at her watch. It was just after three.

  “It’s possible that some of you may be able to leave on the morning ferry. Everyone else should be able to depart on the evening ferry, assuming you haven’t been arrested. That’s the best deal I can offer. Now I recommend everyone settle in. The sooner we get started, the faster we can get you back to a room.”

  She spun on her heel with the five men in tow. When they were back in the hall, she pointed at Stone.

  “Did you get hold of your manager?” she wanted to know.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly. “He was on a call with the senior hotel manager, who is visiting family in Cerritos. He was getting instructions. But I told him you wanted to talk to him and he’s on his way up.”

  “Good,” she replied. “Now you and Dooley get in there, put people back where they belong, and keep them from talking. Remember, keep moving and rotating rooms. I want all these folks looking over their shoulders, worried they might get busted if they cough too loud.”

  She turned to Tommy, who looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

  “You’re doing great, buddy,” she told him in her best head coach voice. “Can you give me a couple more hours here?”

  He nodded meekly.

  “Thanks. And remember, if anyone gives you a hard time, remind them about the whole ‘arresting them’ thing. If they don’t back down, let them know you’ll call me to get my instructions. That should shut them up.”

  She handed the now-smiling bellboy her business card and sent him on his way before turning to Heck and Peters.

  “Heck, you’re his backup, okay?” she said quietly. “That kid’s not paid enough for this crap. Throw your weight around a little if you have to.”

  Heck nodded. He was smiling too. She turned to Detective Peters, who was not. She understood why without asking.

  “I know you think I pulled rank,” she said quietly when everyone else was out of earshot. “And I know you’re concerned because your boss is more focused on tourism than solving this case. Guess what? I don’t care. I tried things the island way, courteously coaxing answers out of rich jerks. And it got us nowhere. So we’re doing it my way. You can get in my way and deal with the consequences. Or you can get on board and who knows—maybe you’ll be lauded as a hero. Then you can push to be captain.”

  “Are you suggesting that I undermine my supervisor?” Peters asked with his eyebrows raised, though his voice wasn’t.

  “I’m suggesting you do your job to the best of your ability and see where the chips fall,” she retorted. “It could work for you or not. But at least you’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you didn’t just let a murderer get away with it. And here’s the best part.”

  “What’s that?” he asked unenthusiastically.

  “Doing it my way might just work out for you. Interview those folks who claim they were asleep, starting with that new mom. Try to confirm their stories. It should be straightforward in most cases. But look for inconsistent stories, stories that are too perfect, or people who are more nervous than a standard police interview justifies. Hopefully, most of those people should be able to go home on the morning ferry, which will make your captain happy. I’ll start questioning the others. If I’m still at it when you’re done, you can help me finish up. How does that sound?”

  “It doesn’t sound like I have much choice,” he replied, failing to keep the surliness out of his voice.

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “But you can take solace in one thing. You and your boss are in special company. I haven’t been this pissed off at someone since my ex-husband stabbed my boyfriend in the chest. I broke that guy’s neck. All I did was yell at you a little.”

  Peters looked like he was about to reply when someone called to them from the stairwell.

  “I demand an explanation!”

  Jessie turned around to see a small, officious man in a suit and tie rumbling toward them.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “The night manager,” he told her. “You think I’m a pain? This guy makes me seem like Mary Poppins.”

  Despite the hour, the lack of sleep, and her general irritation, Jessie couldn’t help but smile.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said.

  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 r
equested 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.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Peters was already rushing to Tommy when Jessie started moving in that direction. By the time she reached the two of them, Peters had his finger on the kid’s neck to check his pulse.

  “He’s alive,” he told her when Jessie bent down beside him.

  “Let’s get him on his back,” she said.

  As they unfurled his limbs, Jessie looked over at Barksdale, who was standing above them with a worried look on his face.

  “Do you have a nurse on site?” she asked.

  “No. But one of our front desk clerks, Leena, is training as an EMT.”

  Tommy moaned as his eyelids fluttered. Dooley emerged from the Wrigley Ballroom, his eyes filled with concern and frustration.

  “He mentioned that he hadn’t had anything to eat since before his shift started at six last night,” he offered with trepidation. “He said he felt a little weak.”

  “Hopefully he just passed out then,” Jessie said, turning her attention back to Barksdale. “I need to use your jacket as a pillow. And please radio for Leena to come up.”

  “That will leave the front desk unmanned,” he said.

  “Bigger issues here, Vin,” she said, trying not to lose her patience. “Go trade places with her. That will give you a chance to call your security guys and get those rooms released. Please go now.”

  Barksdale left, already barking on the radio as he rushed back to the stairs. Peters slid the night manager’s jacket under Tommy’s head. Deputy Heck appeared out of nowhere with a glass of water.

  “How are you doing, Tommy?” Jessie asked softly.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “Got dizzy all of a sudden.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t eat and remain standing for eight hours,” Peters said. “I think it’s time for your mandated, involuntary break.”

  He put the glass to Tommy’s lips. The kid made a feeble attempt to sip.

  “Do you think we can try to pull you up to a seated position?” Jessie asked.

  Tommy nodded weakly. Peters and Heck each grabbed him under the arm and delicately lifted him so that his back rested against the wall.

  “Is he okay?” Stone, who had just stepped out of the Catalina Ballroom, asked.

  “We’re getting there,” Jessie told him.

  “Good, because people in here are getting
restless again. They thought the interviews would get started right away. The mother with that baby is crying to herself at a corner table.”

  Jessie heard footsteps coming up the stairs and turned around. Leena was running toward them with a small medical kit in her hand. When she arrived, she knelt down beside Tommy and pulled out a blood pressure cuff. While she worked, Jessie stood up and addressed the others.

  “It looks like Leena has this under control,” she said crisply. “And we’ve still got work to do. Stone and Dooley, please return to your respective ballrooms. Deputy Heck can help Leena out with anything she needs. Detective Peters and I are going to resume the interviews. Sound okay to everyone?”

  No one argued, though Dooley looked hesitant to abandon Tommy.

  “I’ve got him, Will,” Leena said gently, finally verifying that Dooley was the guy’s last name.

  The guard nodded and returned to his assigned ballroom. Stone did the same. Deputy Heck remained by Tommy, keeping a steady hand on his shoulder while the aspiring EMT did her thing.

  “You cool starting with the new mom?” Jessie asked Peters. “I’ll take the Landers and move on from there.”

  “Works for me,” he said.

  With both Tommy and Deputy Heck indisposed, they had to collect their own interviewees. While Peters approached the mother, Jessie looked at her notes, then up at the group.

  “Can Barry and Marin Lander raise their hands please?”

  To her chagrin, a couple seated together lifted their arms in the air. After all her efforts to keep witnesses separated, they were right next to each other, seemingly without a care in the world.

  She had originally planned to determine who to interview first based on who appeared more likely to cave under questioning. But there didn’t seem to be a point to that now. In the time they’d been in here, they’d almost certainly discussed what happened multiple times. By now, their memories of the evening had likely merged inextricably.

  “Come with me, please,” she sighed, unable to hide her disappointment.

  They got up and walked toward her, both apparently oblivious to how they’d undermined the investigation. As they approached, Jessie tried to set aside her frustration and study them. If she could get a sense of them before the questioning began, it might help her shake them off their predetermined stories.