Smash Cut (19 page)

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Authors: Sandra Brown

Tags: #Legal, #Suspense, #Fiction, #General, #Georgia, #Thrillers, #Rich people, #Atlanta (Ga.), #Trials (Murder), #Legal stories, #Rich People - Georgia

BOOK: Smash Cut
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Creighton entered his condo building through the lobby and stopped to pick up his mail. Wedged into the narrow slot on the front of his brass mailbox was a folded sheet of paper. He spread it open, read the message quickly, then cursed as he headed for the elevator.
Billy wanted to see him. Immediately. Underlined and printed in capital letters.
He formed a fist, crumpling the note. The idiot had actually come into his building, stuck a note in his mailbox, when how many times had Creighton told him not to contact him under any circumstances?
Of course Creighton had broken that covenant this morning when he’d gone to the motel, but Billy wasn’t allowed the same privileges.
He took the elevator up to his condo and went straight to his bathroom, where all the walls were mirrored. He stripped and turned on the shower. That fucking mutt of Mitchell’s had made a mess.
Killing it had been in the back of his mind for a couple of days. An Ace hardware store had equipped him, complete with painters’ overalls, just in case he decided to reenact the scene from
The Godfather.
The rude manner in which Mitchell had treated him today in his office had doomed his dog. Creighton had got some payback for that by catching Mitchell in Athens with Julie, groping her like a horny teenager. Then the guy had had the nerve to dress him down. When Mitchell had stopped at a restaurant on his way back to Atlanta, it had seemed providential that Creighton go ahead and do the dog.
A man who defended thieves for a living really should know better than to leave his house without setting the alarm. That had been Creighton’s only concern. That and the dog barking. But the drive-through at Burger King had solved that problem. She’d growled and barked a couple of times, then he’d tossed her the burger and she’d almost choked herself gobbling it down.
It didn’t take any time at all.
Then, in the shelter of shrubbery in Mitchell’s backyard, he’d removed the ugly jumpsuit, boots, and gloves he’d worn over his clothes, stuffed them into a garbage bag, then tossed the bag into a Dumpster behind a supermarket on his way home. He’d stopped at a car wash with a high-powered hand wand and used it to blast the gore off the knife with which he’d severed the jugular and the hacksaw that had finished the job.
But he could smell stale blood on himself. He liked the odor only when it was fresh.
As he scrubbed himself now, he thought about Billy, who apparently couldn’t take instruction. He sensed edginess in the note he’d left, a mounting desperation that could prove troublesome.
Creighton could relate to having an urge so strong it made your skin itch from the inside. Of course, he knew how to govern his impulses, but he mistrusted Billy’s ability to do so. He reasoned that, despite the risk involved, he must heed the man’s frantic summons.
By the time he’d lathered and rinsed twice, his plan was in place. He dried off and slicked his hair back with gel, which made it appear shades darker. He dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt.
Then he raided his kitchen, packing the items he took from the pantry and fridge in a foil-lined tote bag provided by the gourmet market where he shopped.
A half hour after entering his building, he left through the same door. Tonight he was driving something less conspicuous than the Porsche. The SUV was navy blue with tan trim. The interior was tricked out with every available option, but from the outside, it looked like any one of a thousand such vehicles on the streets of Atlanta and her suburbs. Which was why he had driven it today. It hadn’t attracted attention in either Athens or Derek Mitchell’s neighborhood.
And, just as a precaution, he’d switched the license plates on it twice this week.
He wasn’t happy to be again climbing behind the wheel. He’d already covered a lot of ground this evening. Driving to Athens, then speeding back ahead of Mitchell. Dealing with the dog—although the cheeseburger had made them friends, he’d had a hell of a time getting her onto the bed, which Mitchell had apparently made off-limits.
He’d had a full day already. He would much rather have been settling in to enjoy the cool, dark serenity of his home theater with an unlimited selection of films to watch.
But “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Colin Firth.
Love Actually.
To avoid his car being seen at the motel, he parked in the shadow of a discount carpet store that was already closed for the day, then took the tote bag and walked across the full parking lot of a seedy-looking lounge next to the motel.
How convenient
, he thought. He actually detected a path worn into the blacktop between the door of the lounge and that of the motel office.
Billy’s room was the last on the ground floor of the wing that extended behind the building, away from the busy street. As Creighton approached the room, he glanced over his shoulder, but as far as he could tell, just like this morning, his arrival had gone unnoticed. This wasn’t the kind of place that catered to people who wanted to be seen.
He tapped the door once. Billy opened it almost immediately and sagged with relief upon seeing him. “Thank Jesus. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
Creighton nudged open the door with the toe of his shoe and stepped into the room. The air inside was warm and humid, and reeked of Billy’s anxiety. “I sensed an emergency.” He carried the tote bag into the kitchenette and set it on the bar. “But what were you thinking to come into my building?”
“Nobody saw me.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Positive. Do you think I’m an idiot? I don’t want to get caught any more than you do.”
Billy was trying his best to maintain his swagger, but Creighton detected fissures in his cocky façade. Which validated Creighton’s decision to act quickly, before the man shattered completely and ruined everything.
He took a bottle of beer from the tote bag. “I think you have a touch of cabin fever. How about a beer?”
“Thanks.”
“Bottle opener?”
“Behind you. Top drawer.”
Creighton found a rusty church key and used it to open the beer. It foamed over the lip of the bottle and onto the countertop. Some dripped onto the floor. Creighton ripped off a paper towel and knelt to wipe it up. Billy seemed not to notice the mess or the time Creighton was taking to clean it up. He was pacing like an animal in a cage.
Once he’d tidied up, Creighton turned around and passed the bottle to Billy, who snatched it and sucked from it greedily. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Aren’t you having one?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Right. I forgot.” Billy looked at the tote bag as though noticing it for the first time but showed little curiosity in it. He rolled his shoulders and assumed an aggressive stance. “Listen, Creighton…”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t want you to do it.”
Creighton began removing food and utensils from the tote bag. He knew exactly what Billy was talking about, but he pretended bewilderment. “Do what?”
Billy drank from the bottle of beer. “Nobody else gets hurt, okay?”
“Oh. You’re referring back to our conversation of this morning. Why are you obsessing over that?” He smiled as he unwrapped a package of deli sliced ham. “It’s not your concern, it’s mine. And I’m not worried in the least. You shouldn’t be, either. I trust you like ham.”
“She wasn’t part of our deal.”
“Not initially. But I’m flexible. Another beer?”
Billy looked vexed, but he said ham was fine and agreed to another beer.
Creighton turned his back to open the second bottle, but he saw out of the corner of his eye the nervous movements that Billy didn’t want him to see. Billy wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans. He ran one hand around the back of his neck. His teeth pulled at a loose piece of skin at the corner of his lip.
Creighton swapped bottles with him, the empty for the full one. “Ready for a sandwich?”
“Sure. Okay. I haven’t eaten much today. There’s mayo in the fridge.”
“I brought deli mustard.”
“Great.”
Creighton nodded toward one of the barstools. “Sit down, Billy. You’re making me nervous.” Billy took a seat, but he was far from relaxed. He propped his foot on the lower rung of the stool and jiggled his knee. By contrast, Creighton’s motions were slow and methodical as he prepared two sandwiches, spreading slices of bread with mustard, stacking the ham just so. “Swiss or provolone?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Watching him, Billy said, “You don’t have to do it.”
Intentionally misunderstanding, Creighton said, “I don’t mind. Really. For weeks, you’ve been eating out of cans. I thought you’d welcome the change of cuisine.”
“Cut the bullshit, Creighton. You know what I’m talking about, and it’s not the goddamn sandwich. You don’t have to kill her.”
Creighton continued stacking cheese and ham onto the slices of bread.
Billy propped his forearm on the bar and leaned across it. “She doesn’t know anything about Paul Wheeler. It would never cross her mind that I was involved in that.”
“It might.”
“It won’t. How could it?”
“Things have a way, Billy. The smallest thing can trip you up. You’re my partner. I have an obligation to protect you.”
“No you don’t. The main reason I wanted to see you tonight was to tell you that we’re square. I’m gonna split. Tomorrow. You were right. I should have left Atlanta right after killing Wheeler. Did you see that black detective on the six o’clock news this evening?”
“No, I missed that.”
“Well, one of the people I got cute with, a secretary at one of the businesses where I picked up a job application, she recognized me from the security camera photo and called the police.”
“She didn’t have any information on you, did she? Not even your real name?”
“No.”
“Or an address. Phone number?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.” Creighton had brought along the well-sharpened knife, clean and sanitized now, that he’d used on Mitchell’s dog. He took it from the tote bag and used it to halve the sandwiches, then laid it on the counter and slid a paper plate toward Billy. “Eat.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Creighton took a bite of his sandwich. “Hmm. Delicious if I do say so. I love that black pepper crust on the ham, don’t you?”
Billy bit into his sandwich, chewed, washed the bite down with beer. “So, you’re good?”
“Good?”
“With leaving things alone. I skip town. We never see each other again. We don’t have any further contact. Nobody else dies.”
Creighton held his gaze as he took another bite of sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully. “You surprise me, Billy. When we met, you couldn’t say enough bad about this girl.”
“I know what I said. That’s how I felt then, but now…” He swallowed a gulp of beer, reached for his sandwich, but changed his mind, returned it to the plate, and rubbed his forehead instead.
“What’s on your mind, Billy?”
“I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. That fucking movie.”
Creighton blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Which movie?”
“The one you left this morning.”
“You watched it?”
“Yeah.”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“It’s sick. That guy, the killer, he’s sick. That scene where he—”
“I can guess the one you mean. It’s the signature scene. The brutality is so graphic, the effect is—”
“Whatever,” Billy said with agitation. “I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Creighton whispered, “Did it turn you on?”
Billy’s jaw dropped. “Hell no.”
Creighton winked. “Just a little?”
“Jesus, Creighton. No.”
Creighton wanted to laugh. He was enjoying the hell out of this. Poor Billy, not so much. Creighton almost felt sorry for him.
“Look, Creighton, I was pissed off at her. At one time I might have said something like ‘I could kill her.’ But I didn’t mean it. It was just talk.” He gestured toward the TV. “I wouldn’t want anything like that happening to her.”
“Billy, you hypocrite. You vaporized my uncle’s brain. It was sprayed all over that elevator. You boasted of it this morning, and unless I’m wrong you were disappointed that I hadn’t seen pictures of your handiwork.”
“That was different.”
Still amused, Creighton said, “Really? Enlighten me.”
“I didn’t know him. I didn’t have any feelings for him. It was quick. He never knew what hit him.”
“I see.” Creighton pushed his plate aside and brushed bread crumbs from his hands. He’d eaten all of his sandwich. “You don’t mind me murdering the lover who betrayed you, so long as it’s benevolent.”
“No. Yes. I mean…” He came off the stool like it had suddenly become hot. “I mean I don’t want you to do it at all.”
“It’s only fair, Billy.” Creighton calmly wrapped the leftover ham and cheese. He replaced the cap on the mustard. He picked up the knife and used the razor-sharp tip to point at Billy’s plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah, thanks. What’s only fair?”
Creighton dumped the scraps, including the paper products, into a gallon-size plastic bag, sealed it, then put everything, even the empty beer bottle, back into the tote bag. “Hershey’s Kiss?”
“No thanks. What’s only fair?”
Creighton removed the foil wrapper from the candy and popped it into his mouth, then dropped the foil into the tote bag. “She’s a loose thread for me, too. By rights, you should be the one to eliminate her. She’s your baggage, after all. But”—he smiled—“I can see how difficult that would be for you. I understand how you’d have conflicting emotions over it. So, I’ll relieve you of the distress it would cost you.”
Billy looked like he was having trouble keeping down the beer and sandwich. “You can keep—”
“My uncle Paul’s watch?”
“What? No. I told you. I threw away all the stuff I took in the robbery.”
Creighton held his gaze for a moment, then gave the squalid room a slow, detailed survey. “Honest Injun? If I searched this place, do you cross your heart and hope to die that I wouldn’t find a bag of jewelry?”
“I swear.”
“Your cell phone.”
“Huh?”
“Your cell phone. You’re too smart to have been making phone calls from this room.”
“It’s one of those disposable ones. I bought it before the robbery.”
“Ariel told me—”
“I never said anything. I told you. I just called a few times and hung up. If she told you it was me calling, she’s guessing, that’s all.”
Creighton held out his hand, palm up.
Billy worried that loose piece of skin on his lip, then went to a bureau drawer, took a cell phone from it, and gave it to Creighton, who slipped it into his pants pocket.
“Makes no fucking difference,” Billy muttered. “No calls can be traced to me.”
Creighton smiled. “I feel so much better now.” He hesitated, then said, “It goes without saying that if you’ve e-mailed—”
“There’s my laptop.” It was on the nightstand. “Check it out. Of course I haven’t e-mailed. All I’ve used my computer for is to check on that bank account using the password you gave me.”

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