Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: #Legal, #Suspense, #Fiction, #General, #Georgia, #Thrillers, #Rich people, #Atlanta (Ga.), #Trials (Murder), #Legal stories, #Rich People - Georgia
Smash Cut (6 page)
There was a Post-it note stuck to Dereks back door.
Warning! Shes in a sulk. Good luck, buddy.
It was signed by Dereks next-door neighbor who looked after his house while he was away. In addition to collecting the mail, gathering newspapers, and watering the plants, hed had to deal with Maggie and her shifting moods. After twelve days of it, Derek would be lucky if the guy ever spoke to him again.
He let himself in with his key. Mags?
No response. He hauled in his suitcase and roll-aboard, then shut the back door, loudly enough to be heard throughout the house, even upstairs. Maggie? Leaving his bags to be unpacked later, he went through the kitchen and past the dining room, checked the living room and his home office, both of which were empty, and then climbed the stairs, removing articles of clothing as he went. Hed been up for almost thirty hours with only that nap on the airplane to sustain him. He hoped Maggie would be merciful and not demand more of him than he had the energy to deliver.
When he left the airport, hed intended to drop into the office only to check the mail and handle whatever was absolutely necessary. He hadnt counted on the meeting with Doug Wheeler, and hadnt regretted making the appointment on short notice.
Until now.
As he trudged upstairs, he felt like hed been whipped with a chain. He was eager to do his research and learn more about Paul Wheelers slaying. Hed even carried home the bundle of newspapers Marlene had collected for him, thinking he might give them a glance at least. But the details of the robbery that had turned to homicide would have to keep until he slept. His brain was almost as tired as his body.
He pushed open his bedroom door. Before leaving for Paris, hed closed the shutters, and they were still closed. The room was dark except for the floor lamp beside his leather reading chair. The lamp had been dimmed to provide only a dull glow on that side of the room. The housekeeper, whod come even during his absence, had left everything spotless, ready for his return.
Maggie was stretched out on the bed.
She didnt even lift her head from the pillow when he appeared, but her eyes were brimming with reproach. Even before crossing the threshold into the room, he said, Look, first of all, I know youre still pissed because I didnt take you with me. But you and Mom have never got along, and this trip was about her.
Bravely entering the room, he laid his jacket on the chair and finished unbuttoning his shirt as he toed off his shoes. And I know you expected me to come home as soon as I landed, but there were pressing matters that needed my immediate attention.
He approached the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Maggie rolled onto her back. Mags. He sighed, turned away, stared into near space for a moment. He never asked a client whether or not theyd done the deed for which they were charged. He didnt need to know because it wasnt his job to pass judgment. His job was to see that the accused received the best possible defense.
But experience had taught him that most people who were guilty of a malfeasance were just itching to confess it. Like he was now. Mags, something happened on the return flight that you should know. I met somebody. A woman. He glanced down. Dont look at me like that. Im not in the habit of picking up women on airplanes. It was the shortest fling Ive ever had. Besides, she shut me down. It was over before it started. He turned to her, scratched her tummy. So Im still all yours.
The chocolate Lab whined, then sat up and enthusiastically licked the side of his face.
Thanks for understanding.
The dog nuzzled his neck while he scratched her behind the ears. Come on, he said, patting her rump as he stood up. Keep me company while I take a shower. He noticed she took her time coming off the bed. Is your arthritis acting up? Ill call the vet tomorrow. And by the way, youre not supposed to be on the bed.
While Maggie dozed on the bathroom rug, he took a long, hot shower, letting the water pulse against his shoulders until his skin was stinging. When he got out, he toweled off and gave his hair sixty seconds with the dryer, then wrapped the towel around his middle and returned to his bedroom, where he set the alarm clock on his nightstand. Do you need to go out?
Rather than head for the door, Maggie circled her mat at the end of his bed, then lay down, settling her head on her front paws. Okay, but its a long time till morning. Remember I asked.
He removed the towel and peeled back the covers on his bed. Sighing gratefully, he slid between the cool sheets and picked up the TV remote. He scrolled through his TiVo list and highlighted the local evening news. It was set to record every day because he often didnt get home in time to watch it live. He probably wouldnt make it till the first commercial tonight.
But he bunched his pillow beneath his head and brought up the picture on the flat screen mounted on the wall opposite his bed. The lead story was a major wreck involving a school bus. Bleeding kids, distraught parents, two small yellow body bags on the ground.
He fast-forwarded through that story and the one that followed, about patient mistreatment in a nursing home. He stopped when a picture of a Doug Wheeler look-alike flashed onto his screen. The name superimposed beneath it was Paul Wheeler. He caught the anchorwoman in midsentence, giving a recap of the crime.
There was a sound bite from Homer Sanford, who was lamenting the scarcity of solid leads but emphasizing the departments determination to capture the culprit. Mr. Wheelers assailant will be brought to justice, the detective pledged while his partner, Roberta Kimball, stood at his side. The top of her head didnt even reach Sanfords shoulder, but her demeanor was equally resolute.
The two halves of the partnership were comically mismatched, but together they made a formidable pair. It flitted through Dereks exhausted mind that, if he was a criminal on the lam, he wouldnt want these two on his tail.
Back to the anchorwoman. Julie Rutledge, a close personal friend of Mr. Wheeler who was with him when he was fatally shot, met with investigators again this afternoon. Following that meeting, she had this to say.
Cut to the exterior of the police department, where a woman exiting the building was swarmed by reporters, all poking microphones and hurling questions as the camera zoomed in for a close-up.
Derek came off the bed so suddenly that Maggie leaped to her feet and gave two sharp barks.
He paused the picture, then dropped the remote. It landed hard and painfully on his big toe. Naked, hands on hips, he gaped at the frozen image on his TV screen. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, made three tight circles in the center of his bedroom floor, and slammed his fist into his opposite palm.
Son of a
bitch!
Warning! Shes in a sulk. Good luck, buddy.
It was signed by Dereks next-door neighbor who looked after his house while he was away. In addition to collecting the mail, gathering newspapers, and watering the plants, hed had to deal with Maggie and her shifting moods. After twelve days of it, Derek would be lucky if the guy ever spoke to him again.
He let himself in with his key. Mags?
No response. He hauled in his suitcase and roll-aboard, then shut the back door, loudly enough to be heard throughout the house, even upstairs. Maggie? Leaving his bags to be unpacked later, he went through the kitchen and past the dining room, checked the living room and his home office, both of which were empty, and then climbed the stairs, removing articles of clothing as he went. Hed been up for almost thirty hours with only that nap on the airplane to sustain him. He hoped Maggie would be merciful and not demand more of him than he had the energy to deliver.
When he left the airport, hed intended to drop into the office only to check the mail and handle whatever was absolutely necessary. He hadnt counted on the meeting with Doug Wheeler, and hadnt regretted making the appointment on short notice.
Until now.
As he trudged upstairs, he felt like hed been whipped with a chain. He was eager to do his research and learn more about Paul Wheelers slaying. Hed even carried home the bundle of newspapers Marlene had collected for him, thinking he might give them a glance at least. But the details of the robbery that had turned to homicide would have to keep until he slept. His brain was almost as tired as his body.
He pushed open his bedroom door. Before leaving for Paris, hed closed the shutters, and they were still closed. The room was dark except for the floor lamp beside his leather reading chair. The lamp had been dimmed to provide only a dull glow on that side of the room. The housekeeper, whod come even during his absence, had left everything spotless, ready for his return.
Maggie was stretched out on the bed.
She didnt even lift her head from the pillow when he appeared, but her eyes were brimming with reproach. Even before crossing the threshold into the room, he said, Look, first of all, I know youre still pissed because I didnt take you with me. But you and Mom have never got along, and this trip was about her.
Bravely entering the room, he laid his jacket on the chair and finished unbuttoning his shirt as he toed off his shoes. And I know you expected me to come home as soon as I landed, but there were pressing matters that needed my immediate attention.
He approached the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Maggie rolled onto her back. Mags. He sighed, turned away, stared into near space for a moment. He never asked a client whether or not theyd done the deed for which they were charged. He didnt need to know because it wasnt his job to pass judgment. His job was to see that the accused received the best possible defense.
But experience had taught him that most people who were guilty of a malfeasance were just itching to confess it. Like he was now. Mags, something happened on the return flight that you should know. I met somebody. A woman. He glanced down. Dont look at me like that. Im not in the habit of picking up women on airplanes. It was the shortest fling Ive ever had. Besides, she shut me down. It was over before it started. He turned to her, scratched her tummy. So Im still all yours.
The chocolate Lab whined, then sat up and enthusiastically licked the side of his face.
Thanks for understanding.
The dog nuzzled his neck while he scratched her behind the ears. Come on, he said, patting her rump as he stood up. Keep me company while I take a shower. He noticed she took her time coming off the bed. Is your arthritis acting up? Ill call the vet tomorrow. And by the way, youre not supposed to be on the bed.
While Maggie dozed on the bathroom rug, he took a long, hot shower, letting the water pulse against his shoulders until his skin was stinging. When he got out, he toweled off and gave his hair sixty seconds with the dryer, then wrapped the towel around his middle and returned to his bedroom, where he set the alarm clock on his nightstand. Do you need to go out?
Rather than head for the door, Maggie circled her mat at the end of his bed, then lay down, settling her head on her front paws. Okay, but its a long time till morning. Remember I asked.
He removed the towel and peeled back the covers on his bed. Sighing gratefully, he slid between the cool sheets and picked up the TV remote. He scrolled through his TiVo list and highlighted the local evening news. It was set to record every day because he often didnt get home in time to watch it live. He probably wouldnt make it till the first commercial tonight.
But he bunched his pillow beneath his head and brought up the picture on the flat screen mounted on the wall opposite his bed. The lead story was a major wreck involving a school bus. Bleeding kids, distraught parents, two small yellow body bags on the ground.
He fast-forwarded through that story and the one that followed, about patient mistreatment in a nursing home. He stopped when a picture of a Doug Wheeler look-alike flashed onto his screen. The name superimposed beneath it was Paul Wheeler. He caught the anchorwoman in midsentence, giving a recap of the crime.
There was a sound bite from Homer Sanford, who was lamenting the scarcity of solid leads but emphasizing the departments determination to capture the culprit. Mr. Wheelers assailant will be brought to justice, the detective pledged while his partner, Roberta Kimball, stood at his side. The top of her head didnt even reach Sanfords shoulder, but her demeanor was equally resolute.
The two halves of the partnership were comically mismatched, but together they made a formidable pair. It flitted through Dereks exhausted mind that, if he was a criminal on the lam, he wouldnt want these two on his tail.
Back to the anchorwoman. Julie Rutledge, a close personal friend of Mr. Wheeler who was with him when he was fatally shot, met with investigators again this afternoon. Following that meeting, she had this to say.
Cut to the exterior of the police department, where a woman exiting the building was swarmed by reporters, all poking microphones and hurling questions as the camera zoomed in for a close-up.
Derek came off the bed so suddenly that Maggie leaped to her feet and gave two sharp barks.
He paused the picture, then dropped the remote. It landed hard and painfully on his big toe. Naked, hands on hips, he gaped at the frozen image on his TV screen. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, made three tight circles in the center of his bedroom floor, and slammed his fist into his opposite palm.
Son of a
bitch!
CHAPTER
6
JULIE TURNED OFF THE FAUCETS AND SQUEEZED THE WATER FROM her hair, then stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. The mirror above the sink was foggy, but she could still see a ghostly reflection of herself. Her eyes, however, seemed sharp-focused with reproach.
To escape that self-incrimination, she buried her face in the towel. But the attempt to hide her shame, even from herself, was futile. Would she ever be able to look at herself in the mirror again?
Yes, she would. She must. It was too late for second-guessing. She dried quickly and put on a pair of pajamas. In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of orange juice and carried it into her bedroom. Settling onto her bed, she picked up the phone and called the gallery.
Chez Jean. How can I help you?
Are you trying to impress me by working late?
Hey, youre back! How was your trip? Was Paris fabulous?
To their clients, she was Katherine Fields. To Julie she was Kate. When she answered the gallery telephone, the caller would swear she was French. Her pronunciation of the gallery namea holdover from the previous owner, from whom Julie had bought the businesswas perfect. But when in conversation with Julie, Kate lapsed into her native Georgian accent. She had a natural exuber ance that bubbled out of her lanky frame like foam from a bottle of champagne.
At twenty-five, almost a decade younger than Julie, Kate held dual degrees in French and art history. The clientele adored her, not only for her sense of style and natural charm but also because she was knowledgeable beyond her years. They trusted her opinion, as they should.
Yes, Im back, Julie said. Why are you open late?
Im not. The door is locked. I was straightening up the back room, about to leave. But tell me about your trip. How was Paris?
Lovely as always, although I didnt see much of it.
I told you you werent staying long enough.
I accomplished what I went for.
You bought the painting?
That had been the pretext of her sudden trip. I did. And two others by the same artist. Were the first gallery in the States to feature his work, and he came by my hotel to thank me personally. He covered my hands with kisses. Very effusive. Very French.
Cute?
In that effete, Euro-male sort of way.
Hmm. Not my type, Kate said with regret.
The paintings are being shipped. We should receive them next week.
Ill get on the phone tomorrow and put out the word.
Good idea. Ill be there in the morning.
Sleep in, Kate said. Your turnaround was so quick, you must have jet lag. Did you sleep at all on the flight back?
Julies cheeks grew warm at the memory of what shed done on the flight back. Not long and not well. But Im going to bed now, so Ill be right as rain tomorrow.
After a slight hesitation, Kate asked, How are you doing?
Fine.
I mean about Paul.
I know what you meant. Julie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Im coping. What choice do I have?
You should get some grief counseling.
Ill think about it.
As if losing Paul wasnt enough, the guy who killed him is still free.
I met with the detectives this afternoon, even before I came home. They made no headway while I was in Paris.
Its never this hard to solve a mystery on TV.
Julie smiled in spite of the grim subject. Ill see you tomorrow.
Rest well.
Julie set her cell phone on the bedside table and picked up the TV remote. She was just in time to catch herself on the news, being ambushed by reporters as she left the unproductive meeting with Detectives Sanford and Kimball, whod seemed more upset over her sudden departure from the country than by their failure to apprehend Pauls killer.
Dont leave like that again, Sanford had told her sternly. We didnt know you were gone until it was too late.
Too late for what?
Too late to stop you from leaving.
Was I supposed to ask permission?
You must admit it didnt look good, Kimball had said.
To whom?
The detectives hadnt answered that. Instead Sanford had asked, What was so important in Paris that it couldnt keep?
Shed told them about the artist who was all the rage. Granted, the timing was inconvenient. Ordinarily I wouldnt have chosen to go during this period of mourning, but a narrow window of opportunity opened up, and I needed to get the jump on my competition, which is every other art gallery in the country.
It was a valid excuse for the sudden trip, and theyd accepted it without argument, never guessing that the real reason for the trip had been the flight home.
Shed had plenty of questions for them, but they all boiled down to one: Has there been a breakthrough? And their roundabout answers amounted to one succinct reply: No.
However, Kimball had said, weve got experts looking at the security videos from cameras in the hotel lobby. They record a frame every four seconds.
Like in a bank.
Yes, theyd said.
But what good will they do? We dont know what he looks like.
No, we dont, Sanford had said. So its a long, tedious process of elimination.
Im afraid Im still not following.
Sanford had explained. Weve come up dry with hotel guests and employees. Were still interviewing, but so far, nothings sparked. We feel almost certain our boy walked in, did the deed, walked out.
Julie had looked at them in turn.
Its mere speculation at this point, but thats what were going on, Kimball had said.
Sanford had picked up. We figure that, after he shot Mr. Wheeler, he ran into the stairwell where hed left his shoes, along with a bag of some kind. Suitcase, duffel, something that wouldnt attract attention in a hotel.
He whipped off the mask, the glasses, and the tracksuit. He had on clothes underneath so that all he had to do was put on his shoes. He stashed his disguise in his suitcase or whatever, ran down the stairs to the lobby, and walked out of the hotel before anyone realized what had happened and security put a clamp on anyone leaving.
Julie didnt remember the elevators descent to the lobby, but she remembered those several minutes of sheer havoc after the doors opened and the people waiting for the elevator were exposed to the horror inside. Her bending over Paul, the blood forming a lake on the marble floor, and the distress of the other three passengers. That grisly scene had created pandemonium. The man responsible for it could easily have walked out unnoticed.
Unnoticed at the time, but caught on the security cameras.
Were looking specifically at the time frame just before and just after your elevator reached the lobby and all hell broke loose, to see if the camera got someone leaving the hotel who cant be identified as an employee, guest, friend of a guest, someone attending a meeting or conference. Someone who didnt retrieve a car from the valet or request a taxi.
Thats hundreds of people, shed said. How long will that take?
The two detectives had admitted that it was a labor-intensive task.
Nothing else?
Theyd told her they hadnt found the mask, the glasses, or the tracksuit. His socks had left fibers on the carpet in the corridor, but they matched those of a popular name brand sold in nearly every retail outlet that carried mens socks. He hadnt touched anything with his skin, hadnt left a strand of hair, none theyd found, and even if they had scraped up some of his DNA, they still had to identify him before they could even try for a match that would place him at the scene.
Cars in the parking garage?
Were checking each one, Sanford had told her. Theres a security camera at the exit. No one drove out within ten minutes of the shooting, and by that time, no one was allowed to. Thats why we think he walked away. Hed probably left a car parked a few blocks from the hotel.
Julies jet lag had compounded her pessimism and despondency. Shed decided on the spot to throw caution to the wind. You have the lobby video for that day?
Weve already viewed it several times, Sanford had replied.
Did Creighton Wheeler appear on it?
No.
Kimballs reply had come so quickly, Julie knew with certainty that theyd specifically looked for him.
Following that, she had thanked them for their diligence and left. She hadnt expected to be pounced upon by reporters outside the building. I dont have anything to tell you, shed said as she tried to push her way through them.
Do they have any leads, Ms. Rutledge?
Youll have to ask them.
Are they any closer to finding the man who shot Mr. Wheeler?
Not to my knowledge.
Do you think the robber acted alone?
That question had halted her because it was the first time anyone had asked it of her. Now, as she watched the replay of that scene on her TV screen, she saw the conviction in her own face when she leaned into the microphone and said, No, and I dont think it was a robbery, either.
The video ended there, and the anchorwoman reappeared. Although our own Chris de la Cruz asked Ms. Rutledge to expand on that statement, she declined.
Julie clicked off the TV and turned out her lamp.
She probably would catch hell from the detectives for making that statement, but she didnt care. The crime was almost two weeks old. By now, they were probably working on a dozen other homicides in addition to Pauls. Each time she called or met with them, they reiterated their determination to see the case solved and the perpetrator brought to justice, but she wasnt naďve. Soon the demands of their job would place this case on the back burner in favor of a new one.
Maybe her statement to the reporters would keep things stirred up for another day or two at least. Anything was possible. A lot could happen within a day or two.
Within a day or two, you could do something at 37,000 feet that you would never have believed yourself capable of doing.
6
JULIE TURNED OFF THE FAUCETS AND SQUEEZED THE WATER FROM her hair, then stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. The mirror above the sink was foggy, but she could still see a ghostly reflection of herself. Her eyes, however, seemed sharp-focused with reproach.
To escape that self-incrimination, she buried her face in the towel. But the attempt to hide her shame, even from herself, was futile. Would she ever be able to look at herself in the mirror again?
Yes, she would. She must. It was too late for second-guessing. She dried quickly and put on a pair of pajamas. In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of orange juice and carried it into her bedroom. Settling onto her bed, she picked up the phone and called the gallery.
Chez Jean. How can I help you?
Are you trying to impress me by working late?
Hey, youre back! How was your trip? Was Paris fabulous?
To their clients, she was Katherine Fields. To Julie she was Kate. When she answered the gallery telephone, the caller would swear she was French. Her pronunciation of the gallery namea holdover from the previous owner, from whom Julie had bought the businesswas perfect. But when in conversation with Julie, Kate lapsed into her native Georgian accent. She had a natural exuber ance that bubbled out of her lanky frame like foam from a bottle of champagne.
At twenty-five, almost a decade younger than Julie, Kate held dual degrees in French and art history. The clientele adored her, not only for her sense of style and natural charm but also because she was knowledgeable beyond her years. They trusted her opinion, as they should.
Yes, Im back, Julie said. Why are you open late?
Im not. The door is locked. I was straightening up the back room, about to leave. But tell me about your trip. How was Paris?
Lovely as always, although I didnt see much of it.
I told you you werent staying long enough.
I accomplished what I went for.
You bought the painting?
That had been the pretext of her sudden trip. I did. And two others by the same artist. Were the first gallery in the States to feature his work, and he came by my hotel to thank me personally. He covered my hands with kisses. Very effusive. Very French.
Cute?
In that effete, Euro-male sort of way.
Hmm. Not my type, Kate said with regret.
The paintings are being shipped. We should receive them next week.
Ill get on the phone tomorrow and put out the word.
Good idea. Ill be there in the morning.
Sleep in, Kate said. Your turnaround was so quick, you must have jet lag. Did you sleep at all on the flight back?
Julies cheeks grew warm at the memory of what shed done on the flight back. Not long and not well. But Im going to bed now, so Ill be right as rain tomorrow.
After a slight hesitation, Kate asked, How are you doing?
Fine.
I mean about Paul.
I know what you meant. Julie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Im coping. What choice do I have?
You should get some grief counseling.
Ill think about it.
As if losing Paul wasnt enough, the guy who killed him is still free.
I met with the detectives this afternoon, even before I came home. They made no headway while I was in Paris.
Its never this hard to solve a mystery on TV.
Julie smiled in spite of the grim subject. Ill see you tomorrow.
Rest well.
Julie set her cell phone on the bedside table and picked up the TV remote. She was just in time to catch herself on the news, being ambushed by reporters as she left the unproductive meeting with Detectives Sanford and Kimball, whod seemed more upset over her sudden departure from the country than by their failure to apprehend Pauls killer.
Dont leave like that again, Sanford had told her sternly. We didnt know you were gone until it was too late.
Too late for what?
Too late to stop you from leaving.
Was I supposed to ask permission?
You must admit it didnt look good, Kimball had said.
To whom?
The detectives hadnt answered that. Instead Sanford had asked, What was so important in Paris that it couldnt keep?
Shed told them about the artist who was all the rage. Granted, the timing was inconvenient. Ordinarily I wouldnt have chosen to go during this period of mourning, but a narrow window of opportunity opened up, and I needed to get the jump on my competition, which is every other art gallery in the country.
It was a valid excuse for the sudden trip, and theyd accepted it without argument, never guessing that the real reason for the trip had been the flight home.
Shed had plenty of questions for them, but they all boiled down to one: Has there been a breakthrough? And their roundabout answers amounted to one succinct reply: No.
However, Kimball had said, weve got experts looking at the security videos from cameras in the hotel lobby. They record a frame every four seconds.
Like in a bank.
Yes, theyd said.
But what good will they do? We dont know what he looks like.
No, we dont, Sanford had said. So its a long, tedious process of elimination.
Im afraid Im still not following.
Sanford had explained. Weve come up dry with hotel guests and employees. Were still interviewing, but so far, nothings sparked. We feel almost certain our boy walked in, did the deed, walked out.
Julie had looked at them in turn.
Its mere speculation at this point, but thats what were going on, Kimball had said.
Sanford had picked up. We figure that, after he shot Mr. Wheeler, he ran into the stairwell where hed left his shoes, along with a bag of some kind. Suitcase, duffel, something that wouldnt attract attention in a hotel.
He whipped off the mask, the glasses, and the tracksuit. He had on clothes underneath so that all he had to do was put on his shoes. He stashed his disguise in his suitcase or whatever, ran down the stairs to the lobby, and walked out of the hotel before anyone realized what had happened and security put a clamp on anyone leaving.
Julie didnt remember the elevators descent to the lobby, but she remembered those several minutes of sheer havoc after the doors opened and the people waiting for the elevator were exposed to the horror inside. Her bending over Paul, the blood forming a lake on the marble floor, and the distress of the other three passengers. That grisly scene had created pandemonium. The man responsible for it could easily have walked out unnoticed.
Unnoticed at the time, but caught on the security cameras.
Were looking specifically at the time frame just before and just after your elevator reached the lobby and all hell broke loose, to see if the camera got someone leaving the hotel who cant be identified as an employee, guest, friend of a guest, someone attending a meeting or conference. Someone who didnt retrieve a car from the valet or request a taxi.
Thats hundreds of people, shed said. How long will that take?
The two detectives had admitted that it was a labor-intensive task.
Nothing else?
Theyd told her they hadnt found the mask, the glasses, or the tracksuit. His socks had left fibers on the carpet in the corridor, but they matched those of a popular name brand sold in nearly every retail outlet that carried mens socks. He hadnt touched anything with his skin, hadnt left a strand of hair, none theyd found, and even if they had scraped up some of his DNA, they still had to identify him before they could even try for a match that would place him at the scene.
Cars in the parking garage?
Were checking each one, Sanford had told her. Theres a security camera at the exit. No one drove out within ten minutes of the shooting, and by that time, no one was allowed to. Thats why we think he walked away. Hed probably left a car parked a few blocks from the hotel.
Julies jet lag had compounded her pessimism and despondency. Shed decided on the spot to throw caution to the wind. You have the lobby video for that day?
Weve already viewed it several times, Sanford had replied.
Did Creighton Wheeler appear on it?
No.
Kimballs reply had come so quickly, Julie knew with certainty that theyd specifically looked for him.
Following that, she had thanked them for their diligence and left. She hadnt expected to be pounced upon by reporters outside the building. I dont have anything to tell you, shed said as she tried to push her way through them.
Do they have any leads, Ms. Rutledge?
Youll have to ask them.
Are they any closer to finding the man who shot Mr. Wheeler?
Not to my knowledge.
Do you think the robber acted alone?
That question had halted her because it was the first time anyone had asked it of her. Now, as she watched the replay of that scene on her TV screen, she saw the conviction in her own face when she leaned into the microphone and said, No, and I dont think it was a robbery, either.
The video ended there, and the anchorwoman reappeared. Although our own Chris de la Cruz asked Ms. Rutledge to expand on that statement, she declined.
Julie clicked off the TV and turned out her lamp.
She probably would catch hell from the detectives for making that statement, but she didnt care. The crime was almost two weeks old. By now, they were probably working on a dozen other homicides in addition to Pauls. Each time she called or met with them, they reiterated their determination to see the case solved and the perpetrator brought to justice, but she wasnt naďve. Soon the demands of their job would place this case on the back burner in favor of a new one.
Maybe her statement to the reporters would keep things stirred up for another day or two at least. Anything was possible. A lot could happen within a day or two.
Within a day or two, you could do something at 37,000 feet that you would never have believed yourself capable of doing.
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