Read Online Unrevealed by Laurel Dewey - Free Book Online Page A

those at some time in your life?”
    “Is that right?”
    “Well? Didn’t you?”
    “Yes.” He paused. “But I quit.”
    “Well, good for you, Mr. Gambrel. I still can’t give up the habit.”
    “Please call me Winston.”
    “Okay, Winston. You can call me Jane.”
    He furrowed his brow. “Friendly, aren’t you?”
    “Normally, no. Okay, so first question: where’d you go to college?”
    He looked at me as if he didn’t understand the question. “Excuse me?”
    “College?”

    “I thought…” He peered toward the two-way mirror and the video camera in the corner of the ceiling. “I thought I was making a statement — ”
    “Yes. We’ll get to that. Right now I’d like to know where you went to college.”
    “Oxford,” he stated without hesitation.
    “Oxford.”
    “Yes.”
    “What years did you attend?”
    He rubbed his forehead. “I went from 1964 until mid-1969.”
    “The five-year plan is alive and well in England as well, eh? That’s kind of a staid college for a guy like you. Didn’t a lot of uptight prime ministers graduate from Oxford?”
    “I…I’m not sure…”
    “Really? I thought that was common knowledge — ”
    “Yes, of course, you’re right. Quite right.”
    “Just because I’m an ugly American doesn’t mean I don’t know a little bit about the motherland. Getting back to Oxford — I know it screams British just like tea and crumpets, but you seem like a fellow who would prefer a more outside-the-box, liberal education. I mean, your pub is not exactly a religious experience unless you worship the Queen Mum.”
    He appeared baffled by my banter. “When can I begin my statement, Jane?”
    “In a second. I need to cover some basics for them.” I gestured behind me toward the two-way glass. “Would you agree that you’re a guy who is more of a free spirit?”
    He looked flummoxed but he answered. “Yes. I would say that was true.”
    “Always have been?”

    “Yes. I don’t understand where this is — ”
    “Is that what drew you and Abbey together?”
    He was silent as a sad smile crept across his face. “Yes.”
    “Was she an English rose or a wild child of the ’60s?”
    “I would have to say the latter. England couldn’t contain her. She dreamed of hopping across the pond to America to find the freedom she longed for.”
    “And you? Did you want to experience America’s freedom?”
    His eyes strayed from mine. “Of course. Land of opportunity. I always wanted to experience it. I’d never been here.”
    I looked at him pensively. “When did you and Abbey meet?”
    “Late October of 1969.”
    “Did she take that photo of you crossing Abbey Road?”
    Winston looked slightly aghast. “Yes. She did. How did you — ”
    “It was toppled over in your bedroom. You looked like a young John Lennon in that photo.”
    “Thank you.”
    I looked at him. “Why’d you say thank you?”
    “I — ” He struggled. “I don’t know.”
    “Obviously that observation doesn’t insult you, right?”
    “Why would it insult me?”
    “Of course it doesn’t. You dress like John Lennon every year for the Halloween party at the pub. And you wear the same outfit at those parties that you wore in the Abbey Road photo.” I could see he was getting uncomfortable. “You liked John Lennon, didn’t you?”
    “Yes,” he said carefully.
    “You connected to him in some way. His tough childhood?” I looked at Gambrel’s eyes but he wasn’t relating
to that comment. “His free-thinking ideology?” He arched his eyebrow. Bingo . We had a winner. “Well, of course. That was Lennon’s draw for you. He represented an off-the-wall, British outlook you respected.”
    “Quite right,” he said nervously.
    “Yeah. Quite right. Where were you born, Winston?”
    His eyes skirted again to the two-way mirror. “Is this the typical sort of questioning that is done when one is confessing to murder?”
    “I don’t know if there’s any ‘typical’ questioning. This