Smash Cut (2 page)

Read Smash Cut Online

Authors: Sandra Brown

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

BOOK: Smash Cut
9.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
J
ULIE?”
She’d been staring into near space, unaware of the ringing telephones, the busywork being done, the people passing by, the curious looks cast her way. At the sound of her name, she turned, then stood up to greet the man walking toward her. “Doug.”
When Paul’s brother saw the bloodstains on her clothing, he drew up short, the features of his face collapsing with grief. Using the strong-smelling disinfectant soap in the police station ladies’ room, she’d washed her face and neck, her arms and hands, but she hadn’t yet had an opportunity to go home and change clothes.
For Paul’s sake, she and Doug were friendly but never entirely comfortable around each other. But her heart went out to him now. It must have been shocking for him to see his brother’s blood on her, indelible proof of the violent act that had taken his life.
She closed the distance between them, but it was he who reached out and hugged her. Awkwardly. Leaving a wide gap between them. The way a man would hug his brother’s girlfriend.
“I’m sorry, Doug,” she whispered. “You loved him. He loved you. This has to be horrible for you.”
He released her. The shine of tears was in his eyes, but he held himself together admirably, as she would have expected him to. “How are you?” he asked. “Were you hurt?”
She shook her head.
He looked her over, then scrubbed his face with both hands as though to remove the sight of the bloodstains on her clothing.
Standing deferentially apart from her and Doug, allowing them this private moment, were the two detectives who’d introduced themselves to Julie when they arrived at the hotel to investigate the crime scene.
Detective Homer Sanford was a tall black man, wide in the shoulders, having only a slight paunch to give away his age, which Julie guessed was just past forty. He looked like a former football player.
Physically, his partner was his polar opposite. Detective Roberta Kimball stood barely over five feet and tried in vain to camouflage the extra twenty pounds around her middle with a black blazer worn over gray slacks that were stretched tight across her thighs.
The first responders to the Hotel Moultrie had been uniformed policemen from the local Buckhead office. But immediately they’d requested a CSI unit. It and the two homicide investigators had been dispatched from the main police headquarters.
Sanford and Kimball had impressed Julie as being wholly professional but human. At the scene they’d treated her with kid gloves, apologizing numerous times for having to launch their investigation immediately by asking her questions when she was still shell-shocked over the crime that had left Paul dead.
Now, Kimball addressed Doug gently. “Do you need a few extra minutes before we begin, Mr. Wheeler?”
“No, I’m all right.” He said it briskly, as though trying to convince himself.
The detectives had escorted him here straight from the morgue. A distinctive odor clung to the three of them. Julie was still chilled, body and soul, from her visit to that grim domain.
“I hope you don’t mind if Mr. Wheeler listens in while we go over your statement,” Sanford said to her.
“Not at all.” Doug would want to hear her account of the shooting at some point. It might just as well be now.
They entered the violent crimes unit, and Sanford herded them toward a cubicle, apparently his. Julie had guessed right. There was a photo of him in a Bulldogs jersey and scratched helmet, crossing the goal line with the football tucked under his arm. Other photos were of a pretty lady and three smiling children. He wore a wedding ring. Roberta Kimball didn’t.
Sanford held a chair for Julie. “Ms. Rutledge.” She sat. He brought in an extra chair for Doug. Kimball said she preferred to stand. Sanford sat down at his desk and reached for a ring-binder notebook labeled with the date, Paul’s name, and a case number. He had died barely five hours ago but already he was a statistic.
Sanford turned to Julie. “The other witnesses have given their statements. The one you recorded earlier has been transcribed. Before you sign the transcription, I’d like to talk you through it, see if you’ve remembered something else, see if you want to add or change anything.”
Julie nodded. She crossed her arms and hugged her elbows.
Noticing the gesture, Kimball said, “We understand how difficult this must be for you.”
“It is, yes. But I want to help. I want the culprit captured.”
“So do we.” Sanford picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it several times while he scanned one of the typed sheets in the binder. “Prior to the incident, you and Mr. Wheeler were occupying room 901? That’s a corner suite, correct?”
“That’s right.”
The detectives were looking at her in silent query. Doug was staring down at his shoes.
“Paul and I met there around one-thirty,” Julie said.
“You went straight to the suite. You didn’t check in.”
“Paul had checked in for us. I was a few minutes late. He was already in the suite when I got there.”
The detective and his partner communicated silently with a quick glance at each other, then Sanford looked back down at the notebook. Julie didn’t think he was reading from the typed page. She didn’t think he needed to. By now he would know that she and Paul had a confirmed reservation for that suite each Tuesday, rain or shine, fifty-two weeks out of the year. She wasn’t going to elaborate on their arrangement. It wasn’t relevant.
“You ordered lunch from room service,” Sanford said.
Followed by Kimball, who added, “We have that from the hotel staff.”
No doubt they also knew what she and Paul had eaten. They would know that Paul had ordered champagne today. What, if anything, would they make of that? Since they didn’t address it, she wasn’t going to make anything of it, either.
Sanford asked, “Other than the room service waiter, no one else saw you in the suite?”
“No.”
“You were alone the whole time?”
“Yes.”
After a significant and awkward gap, Sanford said, “You told us earlier that you left the suite at approximately three o’clock.”
“I had an appointment scheduled for four.”
“At your gallery?”
“Yes.”
“The 911 call came in at three-sixteen,” Sanford said.
As though completing his sentence, Kimball said, “So the robbery would have occurred a few minutes before that.”
“Then I guess it was several minutes after three when we left the suite,” Julie said. “Because we walked straight from the suite to the elevator and we didn’t have to wait long for it.”
Doug, seemingly impatient with the timing details, spoke for the first time. “The killer got away?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Mr. Wheeler,” Sanford said. “Every guest of the hotel is being questioned. Every employee.”
“He couldn’t have walked around the hotel wearing that ghastly mask,” Julie said.
“We figure he got rid of it immediately,” Kimball said. “But a thorough search of the hotel hasn’t turned up anything. Not the tracksuit, the mask—”
“Nothing,” Sanford said, finishing for her.
“There are a lot of hiding places in a hotel the size of the Moultrie,” Doug said.
“The search is ongoing,” Sanford said. “We’re also searching trash receptacles, manholes, culverts, any place in the area where he could have stashed the stuff if he carried it out with him.”
“He simply walked out?” Doug asked incredulously.
Kimball seemed reluctant to admit it, but she said, “It’s a possibility.”
Doug swore beneath his breath.
Sanford clicked the pen a few more times as he read from the material. “Let’s back up a minute.” He looked at Julie. “There was no one in the corridor when you left the suite?”
“No.”
“Housekeeper, room service—”
“No one.” She remembered making that walk to the elevator. Paul had laid his arm across her shoulders. He’d been such a solid presence beside her. Strong, warm, vibrant. So different from the form beneath the sheet in the morgue. He’d asked her if she was happy, and she had told him she was.
Kimball asked, “Did you speak to the other passengers when you got into the elevator?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Wheeler?”
“No.”
“Did any appear to recognize either of you?”
“No.”
“None of them spoke to you? Acknowledged you?”
“Not really, no. The two women were talking and paid no attention to us at all. The young man didn’t say anything, although he politely moved back so we could get in. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.”
“He was here from California for a job interview at three-thirty. He was afraid he wouldn’t make it in time,” Kimball supplied. “We’ve checked that out.”
“The two women are from Nashville,” Sanford said. “They’re in town for their niece’s wedding this weekend.”
“How awful for them,” Julie murmured.
Certainly everyone in the elevator had been traumatized. But those three hadn’t lost someone like she had. Beyond sharing that brief elevator ride, they had no connection to Paul Wheeler. He was nothing more to them than a name, an unfortunate victim. Undoubtedly they would be affected by the incident, and would think of it each time they got into an elevator, but it hadn’t left a vacuum in their lives. The consequence to them wasn’t irreparable.
Sanford dropped the pen onto his desk. “Why don’t you talk us through it from there? For Mr. Wheeler’s benefit as much as for ours.” He laced his long fingers and settled them on his belt buckle in an attitude of listening.
Kimball propped herself against the corner of his desk. Doug had one hand cupped around his chin and mouth, his eyes steady on Julie.
She related the short descent to the next stop, on the eighth floor, the doors opening, the robber reaching into the elevator and pressing the button to keep the doors open.
“Your first impression?” Kimball said.
“The mask. The shark’s mouth.”
“You couldn’t distinguish any of his features?”
She shook her head. “No skin or hair was exposed. Not even his wrists. He had the sleeves of the tracksuit pulled over the gloves. The mask went into the neck of the hoodie, which was zipped up high under his chin.”
“Height, weight?”
“Taller than me, but not by much. Average weight.” The detectives nodded as though that was how he’d been described by the other witnesses.
Sanford said, “In the next day or two, we’d like you to listen to some recordings, see if you can pick out the voice from some used in other crimes.”
Mention of the eerie voice caused the hair on Julie’s arms to stand on end. “It was awful.”
“One of the ladies said it was like fingernails on a chalkboard.”
“Worse. Much more frightening.”
She experienced a disturbing flashback to the wraparound sunglasses. “The sunglasses were very dark, making his eyes as black and unreadable as a shark’s. But I felt his eyes on me.”
Sanford sat forward slightly. “If you couldn’t see his eyes, how do you know he was looking at you?”
“I just do.”
No one said anything for a moment, then Kimball prompted her. “He told everybody to kneel.”
She continued uninterrupted until she reached the part where Paul addressed the robber. “He said, ‘All right. You’ve got what you wanted. Leave us alone.’ I could tell by his tone of voice that he was more angry than afraid.”
“I can believe that,” Doug said.
“I turned my head and was about to urge him not to provoke the thief. That’s when—”
An involuntary and unexpected sob issued out of her throat, stopping the words. She lowered her head and placed her hands over her eyes in an attempt to blot out the image of the bullet’s impact.
No one spoke, creating a silence interrupted only by the ticking of someone’s wristwatch. It served as a reminder. Julie lowered her hands from her face. “Why did he rob us of jewelry and wristwatches only? Why not wallets? Wouldn’t that be more practical? Jewelry has to be fenced or pawned, but wallets have cash, credit cards.”
“We speculate he wanted to travel light,” Kimball said. “He didn’t want to be burdened with wallets or handbags he’d have to rifle through and dispose of before leaving the hotel.”
“After shooting Paul, what did he do? Where did he go?” Doug asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Julie replied. “I was…I really don’t remember anything past the gunshot.”
Sanford said, “The other three in the elevator were also too horrified to notice where he went, Mr. Wheeler. The young man says when he recovered some of his wits, the gunman had vanished. He punched the buttons for the elevator to descend. He didn’t know what else to do.”
“He could have tried to chase the man down.”
“Don’t blame him, Doug,” Julie said softly. “I’m sure he was afraid. He’d just witnessed Paul being shot in the head.”
Again no one said anything for several moments. Sanford clicked his ballpoint. “Well, unless you remember—”
“I do,” Julie said suddenly. “He wasn’t wearing shoes. Did anyone else notice that?”
“One of the Nashville women,” Sanford said. “She said he was in stocking feet.”
“Again it’s a guess,” Kimball said, “but he probably knew that shoes, especially athletic shoes, leave tracks that can be imprinted.”
Julie asked, “Did he leave footprints?”
“Our crime scene unit checked. No.”
Doug exhaled a sigh. “It seems he thought of everything.”
“Not everything, Mr. Wheeler,” Sanford said. “There’s no such thing as a perfect crime. I’m confident we’ll catch him.”
Underscoring her partner’s optimism, Kimball said, “Count on it.”
Sanford waited to see if anyone else was going to add anything, then said, “That’s all for now then, Ms. Rutledge. Are you ready to sign your statement?”
She did so with dispatch, and the two detectives ushered her and Doug out. As they walked down the hallway toward the elevator, Kimball touched her arm. “Would you rather take the stairs, Ms. Rutledge?”
Julie appreciated her sensitivity. “Thank you for asking, but no, I’m fine.”
Sanford was telling Doug that he would be notified when the ME had completed his work and the body could be released to the family for burial.
“As soon as possible, I would appreciate knowing when that may be,” Doug said. “We’ll have a lot of arrangements to make.”
“Of course. We’d also like to talk to the other members of your family. Your wife. Your son. Tomorrow if possible.”
Doug stopped and faced him. “What for?”
“Routine. If your brother had any enemies—”
“He didn’t. Everyone loved Paul.”
“I’m sure. But someone close to him may know something that they don’t even know they know.”
“How could they know anything? It was a random robbery.”
Sanford glanced at Kimball, then came back to Doug. “At this juncture, we believe so. However, we must cover every eventuality.”
Doug seemed on the verge of responding to that, but thought better of it. He said, “I assure you that Julie and I, my family, will do whatever we can to assist your investigation.”

Other books

Get Happy by Mary Amato
Love at First Snow: A Christmas Miracle by Boroughs PublishingGroup
Extraction by Stephanie Diaz
The Tapestries by Kien Nguyen