Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? by Kerrie McNamara

Perhaps he just pushed someone too far. He did that so easily. Whenhe was drinking he was unpredictable. I’d have to walk on eggshells, and it turned me into a nervous wreck. He did some wonderfully generous, unselfish things for people, but he could be a complete bastard to others.
    â€œI’ve been asked to put together something on him for the magazine, but I don’t want to do it. James lived his life to the full and without rules, and now someone has killed him. Perhaps he deserved it. Who knows? And who am I to judge? All I know is that it wasn’t me and I don’t know who did it.” The Labrador stood up and climbed onto the sofa next to Jack. She buried her nose in his lap and sighed. I added the dog to my hate list.
    â€œAnd for the record, I was with my mother all day on Friday until she died just before midnight. She was buried yesterday, and Honey was her dog. We both miss her.”

chapter fourteen.
    The next person we had to talk to was Anna Jameson, wife number six. Boo had painted a picture of a cold, calculating control freak. And she was right.
    Anna Jameson was tightly coiled, perfectly groomed and very, very beautiful in a “don’t even think of touching” sort of way. She led Constable Jack and me into a small room off the large entrance hall and left us there for ten minutes. No explanation. Not even a glass of water.
    Normally, I would have used the time to check out my surroundings: I learn a lot from observing how other people live and from their display of personal items. But this room told me nothing. Clinically clean. The wallpaper was white gloss on matte white. The furniture was white. Even the carpet was white – well, cream – but there were no stains or traffic areas. No magazines, newspapers, books or photographs, although there were tasteful groups of anonymous objects displayed on the matched side-tables. Compared to this room, the morgue was a toy shop.
    Did three children actually live within 100 metres of this room? Were they kept in a parallel universe? Jack looked uncomfortable as he sat on the white, self-striped lounge, checked the soles of his shoes twice and wiped his hands on his trousers. Some neatnik must have really freaked him out at one stage of his life.
    I kicked myself that I had walked around that pile of dog shit on the footpath.
    The ex-Mrs Jameson entered the room and sat in the chair opposite me. She was dressed for tennis, bronzed to perfection and sparkling with diamonds. Diamond ear-rings, diamond rings and a diamond bracelet. Were these what you call “tennis diamonds”? Crossing her long, shiny legs, she leaned back and looked at me coolly. “And what can I do for you, detective?”
    You can get me a blanket before I get frost-bite, I thought, but was too chicken to say it. I decided that I would out-freeze her with a display of professionalism. “Thank you for your time, Mrs Jameson. As you are no doubt aware, we’re investigating the death of your ex-husband, James Jameson, and would appreciate any assistance you can give. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but perhaps you know of someone who would have wanted him dead?” She stared at me with ice-cold, pale grey eyes, and I felt the temperature drop even further. “Really, detective. How fascinating. And what on earth do you think I can possibly tellyou?”
    I swallowed hard, and leaned forward. “We hope you can tell us if you know of anyone who would want to kill him. Who would want to shoot him. Although we’re still waiting on the medical report, we can say that your ex-husband was shot three times, which you probably already know.” No reaction.
    â€œCould you please tell me when was the last time you saw Mr Jameson?”
    â€œThe last time I saw my ex-husband was two hours after our divorce was granted. I accidentally passed him in the hallway of the Family Court.”
    â€œAnd