Read Online Sleep Tight by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Frasier
Tags: Crime
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melt. "What'd you say her name was?" he asked, backpedaling.
"Ramsey. Justine Ramsey."
"You know . . . maybe that does sound kinda familiar. Yeah, now that I think about it—it does. I totally forgot about her, man. And this picture—" He tapped the photo. "It doesn't really look like her."
"But you remember her now?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Do you happen to remember a 911 call she made from her residence about eight months ago? You beat her up and she required ten stitches. Do you remember that?"
Tate completely lost his too-cool-for-this-place attitude. "Those charges were dropped. It was an accident."
"What color was Justine Ramsey's hair?"
Tate looked down at the photo, then back up. "Blond. So what?"
"Maybe you can tell me."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Wakefield shifted gears. "How you could forget the name and face of a woman you beat up, someone who called the cops on you? That doesn't make any sense to me," he said with false puzzlement.
"Am I under arrest?"
"Should you be? Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I've had enough of this bullshit." Tate grabbed his jacket and started to get to his feet.
"All I need to do is get a court order and you'll be right back down here. It always looks better if you come in of your own free will." Wakefield put a sincere expression on his face. "A guy just seems less guilty that way."
Tate considered that, then settled back in his chair.
"Why did you lie about knowing Justine Ramsey?"
Tate rubbed his head. "I wanted the interview to be over. I didn't want to get messed up in anything— especially murder. You can understand that, can't you?" He looked at Gillian for reassurance. "You can, can't you?"
She didn't reply or respond in any way.
"It makes it harder for everybody when you don't tell the truth," Wakefield said. "Because chances are, we already know the answer to the question we're asking. And if we don't, we'll find out."
"I'm not falling for that."
"Did I tell you I know your dad?"
That got his attention.
"We went to the same high school," Wakefield said. "He was two years ahead of me, but we were in band and Academic Bowl together. I wasn't surprised when he went into politics. He knew the ins and outs of everything. How's your dad doing nowadays? I heard he was going to run for state senator."
"Maybe. I don't know. I don't talk to him much."
"Only when you're in trouble, right?"
"I see him other times. Christmas, usually."
"Where were you Friday—the night Justine Ramsey's body was dumped near Lake Harriet?"
"Listen, if you're trying to say I killed Justine Ramsey just because I may have hit her once, you're crazy."
"We're not accusing you of anything. We're interviewing everybody who knew Justine. It's standard procedure."
Tate relaxed a little, but kept his arms crossed at his chest, his attitude belligerent. "I was at a party."
"Were you there all night?"
"I stayed a few hours, then went barhopping. Everybody goes barhopping on Fridays."
"Were you with anybody? Someone who can corroborate your story?"
"I left the party by myself."
"What about the bars? Can you give me a list of the bars you went to and the people you saw?"
"Some of them. Listen, I was drunk. I can't remember exactly where I went and who I saw."
Wakefield pulled out a tablet and a piece of paper. "Why don't you try?"
Half an hour later, Wakefield had several bars and names written down, and Tate was out the door.
"What do you think?" Wakefield asked.
"Other than the fact that he's an arrogant ass?" Gillian asked.
"Yeah, other than that."
Ben joined them. "That guy's got the hots for you." He seemed to think that was extremely funny. "He's so not your type."
"I found Tate's reaction to you as telling as anything we got out of him," Wakefield said, flashing Ben a look of resigned irritation.
"He didn't seem at all interested in hiding his attraction," Gillian said. "Which makes me wonder if what we just witnessed was some kind of
"Ramsey. Justine Ramsey."
"You know . . . maybe that does sound kinda familiar. Yeah, now that I think about it—it does. I totally forgot about her, man. And this picture—" He tapped the photo. "It doesn't really look like her."
"But you remember her now?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Do you happen to remember a 911 call she made from her residence about eight months ago? You beat her up and she required ten stitches. Do you remember that?"
Tate completely lost his too-cool-for-this-place attitude. "Those charges were dropped. It was an accident."
"What color was Justine Ramsey's hair?"
Tate looked down at the photo, then back up. "Blond. So what?"
"Maybe you can tell me."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Wakefield shifted gears. "How you could forget the name and face of a woman you beat up, someone who called the cops on you? That doesn't make any sense to me," he said with false puzzlement.
"Am I under arrest?"
"Should you be? Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I've had enough of this bullshit." Tate grabbed his jacket and started to get to his feet.
"All I need to do is get a court order and you'll be right back down here. It always looks better if you come in of your own free will." Wakefield put a sincere expression on his face. "A guy just seems less guilty that way."
Tate considered that, then settled back in his chair.
"Why did you lie about knowing Justine Ramsey?"
Tate rubbed his head. "I wanted the interview to be over. I didn't want to get messed up in anything— especially murder. You can understand that, can't you?" He looked at Gillian for reassurance. "You can, can't you?"
She didn't reply or respond in any way.
"It makes it harder for everybody when you don't tell the truth," Wakefield said. "Because chances are, we already know the answer to the question we're asking. And if we don't, we'll find out."
"I'm not falling for that."
"Did I tell you I know your dad?"
That got his attention.
"We went to the same high school," Wakefield said. "He was two years ahead of me, but we were in band and Academic Bowl together. I wasn't surprised when he went into politics. He knew the ins and outs of everything. How's your dad doing nowadays? I heard he was going to run for state senator."
"Maybe. I don't know. I don't talk to him much."
"Only when you're in trouble, right?"
"I see him other times. Christmas, usually."
"Where were you Friday—the night Justine Ramsey's body was dumped near Lake Harriet?"
"Listen, if you're trying to say I killed Justine Ramsey just because I may have hit her once, you're crazy."
"We're not accusing you of anything. We're interviewing everybody who knew Justine. It's standard procedure."
Tate relaxed a little, but kept his arms crossed at his chest, his attitude belligerent. "I was at a party."
"Were you there all night?"
"I stayed a few hours, then went barhopping. Everybody goes barhopping on Fridays."
"Were you with anybody? Someone who can corroborate your story?"
"I left the party by myself."
"What about the bars? Can you give me a list of the bars you went to and the people you saw?"
"Some of them. Listen, I was drunk. I can't remember exactly where I went and who I saw."
Wakefield pulled out a tablet and a piece of paper. "Why don't you try?"
Half an hour later, Wakefield had several bars and names written down, and Tate was out the door.
"What do you think?" Wakefield asked.
"Other than the fact that he's an arrogant ass?" Gillian asked.
"Yeah, other than that."
Ben joined them. "That guy's got the hots for you." He seemed to think that was extremely funny. "He's so not your type."
"I found Tate's reaction to you as telling as anything we got out of him," Wakefield said, flashing Ben a look of resigned irritation.
"He didn't seem at all interested in hiding his attraction," Gillian said. "Which makes me wonder if what we just witnessed was some kind of
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