Page 27 of Romancing the Rumrunner
Officer: Can’t or won’t.
Jessica: Can’t.
Officer: Young lady, if you do not answer my questions we will charge you with obstruction of justice. You’ll go to jail.
Jessica: I am answering your questions. I can’t help it if you don’t like my answers.
Officer: You are not answering my questions.
Jessica: I have answered every question you’ve asked.
Officer: Where is the Phoenix’s booze operation?
Jessica: The Phoenix doesn’t have one.
Tony rubbed his hand over his eyes, torn between frustration and flat-out laughing. The woman had really taken the poor officer for a ride, though she was correct. She had technically answered every question she’d been asked. Tony had to admire the officer’s restraint in not strangling her, though. He turned back to the statements.
Officer: Can you tell us what days the speakeasy is open?
Jessica: No.
Officer: Why not?
Jessica: Because it always changes.
Officer: But the Phoenix tells you what days it’ll be open so you can pass the information along. Is that right?
Jessica: No.
Officer: No, he doesn’t give you the information?
Jessica: Yes.
Officer: Yes he does?
Jessica: No.
Officer: You said yes.
Jessica: That’s correct.
Officer: What’s correct? Can you clarify your answer?
Jessica: Certainly. What was the question again?
Tony finally gave in to the urge and laughed. He’d love to be the one interrogating the little bearcat. A quick mental flash of her sparkling eyes, full, smiling lips and soft, luscious curves gave him a few other ideas of what he’d like to do the next time they were alone. But he pushed those thoughts away and focused on the case at hand.
The interview had gone on along these lines for a while before the interrogator had given up and let her go. They didn’t have enough to hold her and she wasn’t giving up any information. She never admitted that she knew the Phoenix, but the way she answered other questions made it obvious she did know the man, or at least details of his operation. Though according to her, the man didn’t have a supplier nor did he make his own booze. Which left the question, if he doesn’t buy it or make it, where is he getting the booze he sells? Perhaps he’d stolen it. That could explain why Willie was so interested.
It’d be much easier if he could just ask her what he wanted to know. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. He preferred to be straightforward and this subterfuge bit wasn’t sitting well with him. He had to admit, now that he was getting to know her, he couldn’t understand why she’d be mixed up with a man like the Phoenix. She didn’t seem the type. She’d seemed more comfortable swinging a knife in her butcher shop than draped in tassels and feathers onstage in the speakeasy.
Then again, she’d been with Russo, though by all accounts it hadn’t lasted long. But now she was mixed up with yet another bootlegger. As incongruous as it was, she must be hiding the man for a reason. Maybe she’d been threatened, though nothing about her indicated that she was afraid. She had come into the precinct when summoned. She had answered questions calmly and coolly. She never seemed to get ruffled. That suggested to Tony that she was willingly hiding something, not being coerced into lying.
She probablywasthe Phoenix’s dame. Lying to protect her rum running lover. Which made her just as bad as the criminal.
Tony didn’t want to examine why that thought made his gut turn like he’d ingested a vat of rotgut. In the end, it didn’t matter. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. No matter how he felt about it.
Chapter Ten
