Page 79 of Her Last Whisper
Katie had gone back to her office to change back into her work clothes and pull her hair back. She tried not to think about how important this interview was to the investigation. When she was a patrol officer, her interviews were casual and usually undertaken behind her patrol car. This was a whole new territory for her.
Interrogation wasn’t something that was taught; it was about knowing a case and gathering information beforehand in hopes of catching the suspect in a lie—and then another lie. It was a chess game she knew her fellow detectives, and her uncle, would be following closely.
The pressure mounted, but she made sure to keep a level head and not become so nervous that she would derail the interrogation. Breathing steadily, she headed upstairs to the interview rooms in the detective division, where McGaven was already waiting for her.
As Katie walked into the area, a few of the detectives, including Detective Hamilton, nodded at her with acknowledgment. She exchanged a nod and slight smile and hurried through.
McGaven greeted her. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said softly.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
Both detectives entered the interview room and McGaven shut the door behind them. The room was small with no windows, a square table set up and moved toward one corner to give the suspect a feeling of claustrophobia, and two empty chairs for the cops—one on one side of the table and the other next to the person of interest.
The air in the room was kept warmer than the rest of the offices, making interviewees drowsy and more likely to start talking just to get out of the room. According to psychologists, it was a proven fact from many studies that most people want to tell the truth and even feel better after doing so.
“Dr. Jamison, we met briefly at your suite. Again, I’m Detective Scott and this is Deputy McGaven,” she began and made sure her voice sounded matter of fact with the right amount of authority. She had learned how from her uncle’s example on so many occasions.
The doctor sat in the uncomfortable chair with his hands on the table, fingers intertwined. He stared straight ahead with a solemn expression, but it was clear that he was terrified and trying to hide behind his privilege. His dark eyes were dilated and he held his hands together to keep them from shaking—not a good trait for a heart surgeon.
McGaven took a seat, silently watching every move the doctor made.
Katie pulled out the remaining chair and made herself comfortable. “Doctor, you know that you’re not under arrest, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Whenever there is an accident or suicide, we are obligated to talk to everyone that was in the vicinity,” she explained.
“Of course,” he said, trying to make his voice steady.
“Where were you when Ms. Day fell?”
“I went downstairs to the spa to get my wallet. I had left it there from last Tuesday.”
“We talked to the spa associates and no one talked to you and they said they weren’t aware of your lost wallet.”
“No, there wasn’t anyone there. I lost my wallet and that was the only place I could figure that I had misplaced it.”
“So you never actually retrieved your wallet?” Katie pressed.
“No.”
“How long had you known Ms. Day?”
“Several years at the hospital.”
“Was the hotel suite one of your regular—get-togethers?”
“Sometimes.”
“Was Ms. Day aware that you are married?”
“Separated.”
“Was Ms. Day aware of your separation?”
“Yes.”
