Unrevealed

of public opinion. It can’t help but infect a jury pool — ”
    “But I’m confessing ,” he said quickly. “That means no trial, right?”
    “Your lawyer is going to fight you on that. They hate it when you confess.”
    “I don’t want a trial,” he stressed. “ That’s why I’m confessing .”
    “You know that you’ve got the right to remain silent? Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law — ”
    “Yes. Fine. Understood.”
    “No. I really have to finish this spiel. This is how the defense likes to catch us up later in court and I’m not going there.” I rattled off the rest of his Miranda rights. “Take a sip of water,” I suggested.
    He took a rushed sip and shook his head. “You must think I’m awful.”
    I studied him. “You’re not the first husband to confess killing his wife. You won’t be the last.” He looked at me briefly, pain laced in his blue orbs. “I see the guilt all over your face.”
    “You do?” He seemed shocked by my statement.
    “Oh, yeah. I saw the guilt when I talked to you in the entryway of your house too. Guilt has a way of shadowing all of us. The things we strive to conceal from others tend to hide in the baggage around the eyes.”

    He was taken aback. “Really?” he said quietly.
    “It’s not obvious to everyone,” I assured him. “You have to be observant . You have to know the codes.”
    “What codes?”
    “If I told you that, I’d give away all my secrets and then I’d be an open book, and we can’t have that now, can we?”
    “I suppose not.”
    “You want a cigarette?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “A cigarette? Sometimes it helps to calm you down. I’m sorry I don’t have any Dunhill ciggies to offer you — ”
    “Dunhill?” Gambrel looked at me, his mouth slightly agape. He gulped another sip of water.
    “That’s a fancy English brand? Lots of well-heeled Brits and celebrities favored them back in the day.”
    He was flustered. “Yes. I know.”
    “I figured you probably smoked 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