Chapter Four

07:55 am. New Year's day.

Heavy, sloppy footsteps approached closer.

Loxley spun on her heels and caught sight of a willowy figure of an average height escorted by a policeman. The final subject to be interrogated. Her keen eyes trailed the man until he passed through the maple door.

"Well, back to the salt mine." Ebony sighed, squaring his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pant suit's pockets. Though, Ebony's tone was exasperated, Loxley easily recognised the hidden shadow of exhilaration in his voice. The thrill of his job has never abated him.

"Come on, Blaine," She said, her legs already moving towards the interrogation room.

Reaching out, Loxley turned the handle and pushed the door open. Her eyes darted, following the pattern of the man's pacing.

The man's head snapped up like a cobra when disturbed. His burnt umber eyes widened for a fleeting moment and then narrowed to a penetrating stare. 

"Good morning," Loxley said, stepping into the room.

The door clicked shut behind Ebony.

The man stood rooted to the spot, almost leaning on his right leg and gazed at them without speaking.

He bore a rugged worn face that Loxley surmised had been full of life and smiles at some point in his life. With an unkempt dark-brown hair that framed his face and a scraggy salt and pepper beard, he looked to be in his late forties. The stormy-sky-coloured shawl cardigan barely clung onto his left shoulder. A charcoal-grey T-shirt dangled on his body, and an ashy sweatpants that had sprinkle of lint balls clad his legs. He struck Loxley as someone who hadn't looked in the mirror for a long time.

"The morning is far from good." He said, at last, his voice a deep resonance with a hint of Scottish brogue. "Why am I still here?" He raked his fingers through his hair, showing off a bit of his receding hairline, and then mumbled almost to himself, "I thought I was done with this already!"

"Don't worry. We just want to ask a few questions." Ebony affirmed, a kind smile on his face. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Shouldn't there be a lawyer present during these kind of interrogations?" He asked, ignoring Ebony's polite question. The man's eyes were still red and watery from the hangover and there were dark circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation.

"Blaine, please get him a cup of coffee. He drinks coffee." Loxley told Ebony, judging by the coffee stains on the man's teeth.

Ebony grabbed the half-drank glass of water that still sat cooly on the edge of the interrogation table. He gave Loxley a pointed look that she knew meant they were tiptoeing on broken glass with this man before exiting from the room.

"Jacques, is it?" Loxley said, taking a step forward. Considering the man focus his attention on her at the mention of his name, she continued. "We're private detectives and you're not detained, Jacques. We'd appreciate if you could cooperate with us." Her voice was soft but clear-spoken.

Loxley stood face-to-face with the man from across the table. "Please sit down, Jacques."

The man stood behind the interrogation table, unmoved. Loxley noticed tiny beads of perspiration formed on his temples and the way the muscles on his jaw clenched and unclenched. All signs of agitation.

"It's going to be fairly innocent interrogation. No beating around the bushes." She emphasised, remaining calm. "We'll talk frankly, like friends."

"Rubbish! The police are not your friend!" Jacques guffawed in a guttural tone. "They only want to help you incriminate yourself. They don't bloody care if you're innocent or not." He raised his voice higher on every new word, and inched closer to the interrogation table. 

"Framing you guilty is the sole intent of an interrogation." He slammed his palms on the table, and the silver cable chain around his neck bounced against his chest.

Loxley remained unflinched, her gaze for a second on the platinum ring that pendulated on his chain before focusing on the man. She wondered if he was sober enough or still a bit tipsy.

When she spoke again, her voice was low and controlled, "We're not police, Jacques. You can either sit down and have a friendly chat with us or talk officially to the police. It's up to you." She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in before adding: "If I were you, I would sit down."

The door opened behind Loxley and closed with a muffled thud.

"Uh, is everything okay, Jay?" Ebony asked, his eyes fleeting from her to Jacques.

The tension in the room subsided, and without a word Jacques sat down in the chair.

"Hmm," Loxley assured. "Nothing I couldn't handle. Please press the record button, Blaine." She drew up the chair and sat down, her gaze persistent on the man.

"State your first and last name, please." Ebony requested, and resumed his seat beside Loxley, placing the coffee cup in front of Jacques.

The man faced the camera and announced, "Jacques Spearman."

He then slumped in the chair, echoing the elegance of a sack of wet sand. His eyes casted downward onto the wooden table and even his face slackened lower as if towed by invisible strings. The anger dissolved and he looked dejected.

"Are you able to tell us where you were last night, Mr. Spearman?" Ebony proceeded. He rested his loosely clasped hands on the table and waited.

Loxley, on the other hand, reclined in the chair, her arms folded over her chest and her legs crossed. She bounced her legs a little, a mechanical action, as she surveyed the man.

Jacques stared at the table as if lost in thought and his forehead crinkled in concentration. "I was at the local pub last night. Like any normal human being on New Year's Eve."

"Do you recall what time you returned to the motel?" Ebony asked.

"I think..." He winced, and his brows furrowed. Jacques was slow to answer like he had trouble remembering. "I left a couple of hours before the pub's closing time. I don't remember, probably around ten or eleven o'clock."

"Very well. We were wondering if you could clarify a few things for us." Ebony elaborated, with a slightly questioning tone at the end. The detective had acquired a benign yet firm manner throughout the interrogation.

Jacques finally looked up, his face stoic and replied in a grave tone. "Aye."

"The motel staff, the girl named Niven, claims she helped you to your room last night," Ebony paused for the man's reaction.

"Okay." Jacques answered, slow and contemplative. "Perhaps. I was a bit bevvied."

Ebony took an inaudible deep breath and exchanged looks with Loxley. She could tell the vague answers were beginning to peeve her co-partner.

"The girl asserts she saw Mr. Patel get out off room number ten." Loxley said coming to the point. She sat up straighter, her ankles crossed under the chair as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "And, she claims you witnessed the event too."

"Patel? That bloke in room number..." He trailed, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. "Room number nine?" Jacques asked, an incredulous edge to his deep voice.

"Right-o." Ebony replied. "Do you recall seeing him there last night?"

"No, I don't." Jacques' answer was crisp and unexpected. There was a brief silence as his words suspended in the air, then sunk into their minds.

Ebony was the first to speak up. "Are you sure?" He insisted.

"Niven lies like she breaths, Detective." Jacques said. "Well, the lassie can't help it. Anyhow, I don't remember seeing Mr. Patel." He finished and reached out seizing the coffee cup. Jacques took a long swig of the balmy coffee and his face contorted into a grimace. "Ugh! That tastes bloody disgusting without the whiskey!"

The corners of Loxley's lips quirked up for the briefest of moments before falling back into the calculating look.

Suddenly, the muted sound of a cell phone vibrating against fabric filled the four walls.

Ebony let out an involantary groan. The buzzing became pronounced as he pulled out the electronic device from his pant pocket. He frowned at the cell phone screen and rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry. Excuse me." He said in a low voice over his shoulder as he retreated towards the door in long strides.

Loxley cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the man. "Did you notice any questionable sightings last night, Jacques?" She inquiried.

"No. It was the same as any other normal day." The man stated. He had gone back to admiring the table surface.

"Except it wasn't a normal day." Loxley mumbled, and Jacques gave her a once-over. His brown eyes twitched a little and he dropped his head.

"Alright. Thank you, Jacques." She said, pushing the chair and getting to her feet. Loxley advanced towards the handycam and hit the record button to stop recording. As she did so, Jacques spoke.

"Am I done with the questioning?"

"For now. We'd appreciate if you could stick around for an hour or so, and answer few more questions." Loxley uttered, and the man exhaled a huffy sigh, running his hand over his face. He muttered a 'right-o!'.

Her dress shoes clicked on the concrete floor as she walked out the door. Loxley trod to the end of the hallway as she spotted Ebony, and once they were within earshot called out, "Blaine."

Ebony jerked to attention. He pocketed his cell phone and turned his head in her direction.

"Y'alright, Blaine?" Loxley drawled, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it was Grammy." Ebony informed, referencing to the phone call. "Just her daily dose of earful for me being a bird brain and an extra for not having my breakfast yet, you know how she is." He shrugged. His usual charming smile claimed his lips but not his ardent dark-brown eyes, and it didn't escape Loxley's notice.

"Oh yes, where would you be without that brilliant woman. An ace bird brain, if you will." Loxley taunted and earned a light-hearted glare of disbelief from her friend.

The impression left upon Loxley's mind by Blaine's grandmother would never be effaced. She possessed an indescribable personality and an air of authority that sets someone under the position that you are constantly speaking, doing or thinking something wrong. That being said, every moment with Grammy was like a talk show and a comedy club for her.

"How's she these days?" Loxley's eyes softened.

"Grammy's feisty as ever." He remarked, his voice bubbly. "Anyway, Jacques, do you think it's the alcohol talking, or he's sober about what he stated?" Ebony's stature went back to business-like in an instant.

"Jacques was sober enough about Niven." Loxley divulged, exhaling deeply through her nose. She had her hands in her pant suit's pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels, absorbed in her thoughts.

"I hope your strange visions can help us out on this case, or it's going to be a real pain in the arse." He said rubbing his fingers over his forehead in frustration.

Ebony's posture stiffened at the buzz of his cell phone vibrating. He pulled out the device and stared at the screen. "I'm sorry, but you're alone for the next round of interrogations, Jay. The autopsy report is ready." He stated, pocketing his cell phone.

"While you're at it, recheck the motel premises and see if you can find anything." Loxley prompted to his retreating figure.

"Roger that, Detective," Ebony called over his shoulder, saluting two fingers from his forehead.

Loxley watched his retreating form with a slight frown. She couldn't help but ponder over his fleeting eye contact and the lack of his boyish smile.

"Officer Malek!" She rasped, as she caught sight of the policeman. Loxley cleared her throat and spoke again, "Could you please bring in the girl?"