Smash Cut (30 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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“Hey, Linds. Is this a bad time?”
Even dressed in jeans and a baggy T-shirt instead of a beaded gown, Derek’s red-haired friend was ravishing. Today her glorious hair had been pulled into a messy topknot. She divided a curious look between him and Julie, then stepped aside and motioned them into the foyer of her house.
Derek kissed her on the cheek. “I would have called first, but we’ve been sorta busy.”
“I heard. You’ve both been mentioned on the news. You’re her lawyer now?”
“As of last night. Lindsay Graveau, this is Julie Rutledge. Julie, Lindsay.”
The woman smiled at her, saying, “We met the night of the auction.”
“It’s unforgivable,” Julie said, “our barging in on you like this.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“A little,” Derek admitted. “But not to the extent that you’re breaking the law by letting us inside.”
She laughed. “I would let you in if you had a posse after you. Come on back. I was repotting some plants on the deck.” They followed her through the house and into a neat but lived-in kitchen.
“Where’s Jackson?” Derek asked.
“At a friend’s house. I’m supposed to pick him up at five. Would you like something to drink?”
“Nothing for me,” Julie said.
“Actually, we came to watch a movie.” He held up the plastic bag from the rental store containing the DVD they’d picked up on the way. “Can we borrow your TV?”
“Sure, but what’s the matter with yours?”
“I’m reluctant to go home. And we can’t use Julie’s house because it was searched by the police this morning. I’m sure it’s a wreck.” He didn’t tell his friend that the hotel room in which they’d spent the night together didn’t have a DVD player. “It’s complicated, Linds, but we think this movie might provide a clue.”
“To what?”
“We’re not sure,” Julie replied honestly.
Julie liked her for accepting the situation without qualification. She indicated a room adjacent to the kitchen and said to Derek, “You know where it is because you had it installed. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Julie followed Derek into a cozy den that looked like the room where Lindsay and her son spent a lot of time. There was a Game Boy on the end table and a pair of sports shoes with cleats poking from beneath the sofa. The jigsaw puzzle on the card table was half finished. Books that appeared well read were stacked on the second level of the coffee table. There was an array of DVDs in the shelves below a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
“You gave them the TV?”
“For Christmas last year.”
“What did you give them this year?”
“A Wii.” Reading her expression, he shrugged. “I spoil Jackson. I know I do. But I enjoy it, and he’s not a bratty, demanding kid. Lindsay sees to that.”
They sat down on the sofa, and he used the remote to get the movie started. “Ever seen this?”
“No.”
“Me neither.” During the opening credits, he said, “We’re in the back row. Want to just mess around instead?” She looked across at him, and he grinned. “It’s been hours, after all.”
“Half that time you’ve been furious with me.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to jump your bones.”
He reached for her hand and used his thumb to draw intimate circles in her palm. The sensations traveling up her arm were delicious, but she whispered, “We’re missing the opening scenes.”
It was another Hitchcock thriller, a chilling story about a serial killer in London. Derek fast-forwarded through most of it, looking for the violent scenes. “I feel like a sicko speeding through, interested only in the violence.”
The pivotal scene was cinematic violence at its most shocking. After watching it, Derek paused the DVD. For a moment they were too disturbed by the images to speak. Finally Derek exhaled a long breath. “Did that bother you as much as it did me?”
She nodded.
“Violence without blood.”
“Like in
Strangers on a Train.
Brutal. Calculated.”
“And like that villain, this one is so—”
“Focused. Cold. Cruel.”
Saying no more, they watched the movie till its conclusion. Lind say came in just as it ended. “It’s almost five. I’ve got to go get Jackson. Anything I can do for you two while I’m out? Pick up some carryout?”
“No, thanks. You’re a doll to let us do this.” Derek got up, went to her, and gave her a hug. “I doubt we’ll be here when you get back.”
“As you go, lock up and set the alarm. You know the code.”
Julie stood. “I really appreciate this, Lindsay.”
“Don’t mention it. Next time we meet, I hope things are better for you.” She smiled kindly at Julie, then whispered something in Derek’s ear and kissed his cheek.
Julie waited until she was certain Lindsay had gone, then asked, “What did she say?”
He removed his cell phone from the holster on his belt and checked the LED. “I had it on vibrate. Dodge has called twice. I didn’t want to answer and hear what he might have to tell us.”
“Did Lindsay say something about me?”
“She said she was glad we’d got together.”
“How did she know?”
“I guess she saw that dreamy glaze in your eyes every time you look at me.”
Julie glared at him, and he laughed. “Women’s intuition? I don’t know.” He shrugged indifferently and continued to fiddle with his phone. “Dodge didn’t leave a message. Which probably means the news is bad.”
“Have you talked to Lindsay about me?”
“Not really. But the night of that charity thing, when I was driving her home, she told me I should wait an appropriate amount of time out of respect for Paul Wheeler and then ask you out.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. But I told her I was in no rush because I’d already fucked you, so—”
“What?”
He looked across at her and grinned. “Just kidding.”
“You didn’t tell her about the airplane?”
“Of course not. I’m her kid’s godfather, for crying out loud.” He speed-dialed Dodge’s number. “But she did urge me to call you. She said you were smart, classy, lovely, just the kind of woman I needed.”
“How did you respond?”
He shot her a smile. “I mumbled something to the effect that I didn’t need a matchmaker, thank you very much. Then I drove straight to your house and almost got shot. Hey, Dodge. Sorry I’m just now—”
Julie could hear Dodge’s voice coming through the phone. He sounded perturbed.
Derek interrupted. “No, we’ve got all our clothes on. We’re at Lindsay Graveau’s house. We came here to watch the movie that Billy Duke—Okay, hold on.” He switched on the speaker. “Talk. We can both hear you now.”
Without preliminary, Dodge asked, “Ms. Rutledge, have you ever taken a prescription pain reliever?”
“Why?”
“Just answer.”
“Last spring.”
“I got the skinny on the autopsy,” he said, sounding unhappy about it.
“Did he die of the knife wound?”
“No. But it would’ve been better for you if he had. You could have pled self-defense.”
Holding Derek’s worried gaze, Julie sat down on Lindsay’s sofa, dreading what Dodge was about to tell them.
“ME’s best guess, Billy Duke ingested a lethal overdose of a prescription painkiller.”
Dodge stopped there, apparently waiting for a reaction from one or both of them. Derek remained silent, watching Julie.
She made a gesture of helplessness. “Paul got it into his head that I should learn to golf so we could play together. I was terrible at it and not really into learning the game. I was almost glad when I pulled a muscle in my lower back. It gave me an excuse to quit the lessons. The doctor prescribed an anti-inflammatory and a knock-you-senseless painkiller. I was afraid of it. I only took two to get me through that first night. After a day of bed rest, the anti-inflammatory kept the pain to a minimum. I didn’t need anything else.”
“The police emptied your medicine cabinet during the search. No prescription painkiller,” Dodge said. “But Kimball called your pharmacy. You got the prescription in March.”
“Did you keep the leftover pills, Julie?”
“Yes,” she replied to Derek. “I wanted them on hand in case my back bothered me again. Creighton must have taken the bottle when he was in my house. I wouldn’t have missed them, not even the next day, when I was cleaning.”
After a short but significant pause, Dodge continued. “Sanford did some research. These overdose symptoms include vomiting, jaundice, disorientation, difficulty speaking and walking, convulsions. And so forth. Exactly how you described Billy Duke in your statement to the police.”
“That’s inconclusive,” Derek said. “Those are symptoms of other ailments, too.”
“They’ll do a complete toxicology workup. His liver may’ve been fried by something else. But in the meantime…”
“It’s another mark against me.”
Neither of the men said anything contradictory, so she knew they were thinking the same. “I suppose you think this confirms my guilt, Mr. Hanley.”
Dodge’s cough sounded wet and gurgling. “No, Ms. Rutledge. In fact, I owe you an apology.”
Derek’s brows shot up. “Why’s that?”
“Creighton did have a juvie file, just as you suspected. It’s been in my possession all of five minutes, which is enough time for me to see that she’s been right about this guy all along. He’s twisted. It’s a lot of stuff, and I’m only gonna give you the highlights because, having seen this, I’m real scared we’re running out of time.”
Derek and Julie were looking at each other, their expressions as solemn as Dodge’s voice. Neither interrupted.
“One Jerry Bascomb was a classmate at Creighton’s school. A tony prep school in North Carolina. Creighton claimed Jerry solicited sex in the locker room, so he cut off his little finger with a hunting knife. Instead of saying a simple no thank you, he maimed that boy for life.
“The Bascomb kid swore up and down he didn’t have one homo sexual tendency and no such proposition had ever occurred. Police questioned what Creighton was doing with a hunting knife in his gym locker in the first place. While they were conducting further investigation, the Wheelers went to the other family and said surely they could work out their differences through a mediator.”
Derek said, “I’ll bet there was an implied threat that if the Bascombs didn’t want Jerry exposed as a degenerate who propositioned his fellow students, they should let the matter drop.”
“Whatever,” Dodge said, “Creighton was never charged. The problem went away.”
“Money changed hands?”
“What do you think, Counselor? Roll around to the following summer. Creighton’s fifteen and away at camp. One Sarah Walker accused him of raping her. She admitted to getting sloshed on contraband liquor at the wiener roast. Creighton invited her to go for a walk alone in the woods. When she staggered out an hour later, she was bleeding from the vagina. Hysterical. His version was that he hadn’t known she was a virgin, that he was following her lead, giving her what she wanted.”
“Oh, no doubt she asked to be brutalized,” Julie said with sarcasm.
“He called it ‘rough sex.’ That’s a quote from his statement. The girl was a mess. Had to get counseling. Wouldn’t leave her room. Her family was pressuring the DA to bring an indictment when, suddenly, several of the other boy campers came forward, ready to testify to hand jobs, blow jobs, and other sexual acts. Said Sarah was a virgin only in the most technical sense, and had they been enticed into the woods with her, they would have responded exactly as their good buddy Creighton had.”
“Creighton doesn’t have buddies,” Julie said.
“Just lots of dough to spread around.” That from Dodge, said after a spitting sound.
“Let me guess,” Derek said. “It went away.”
“Charges were dropped when Sarah Walker refused to testify.”
“Were her family’s pockets lined?”
“That’s not in the file, but I wouldn’t bet against it,” Dodge said. “There’s more. Some minor offenses, dating back to when he was a kid. A man reported he and his wife woke up to find Creighton standing beside their bed, just staring at them. It was attributed to sleepwalking. A manicurist who’d gone to their house to do Sharon Wheeler’s nails accused him of exposing himself while ‘in an aroused state.’ He admitted to jerking off but to having no idea she was watching, which makes one wonder how his semen got on her shoe. But the manicurist suddenly gets a job in a fancy spa on Amelia Island.
“Another girl, an Allison Perry, went on a date with him on his sixteenth birthday. He took her for a ride in his new convertible, where she was sodomized. He said they’d agreed that would be the surest method of preventing pregnancy.”
“Christ.” Derek dragged both hands down his face.
“Was he ever jailed?”
“Not once, Ms. Rutledge.”
“The Wheelers bought off his accusers.”
“And probably bribed various and sundry public officials along the way,” Dodge said. “Whatever else he’s done, the little shit’s exhibited deviant behavior. What I’m thinking is, he’s graduated to murder.”
Julie laughed drily. “He’s the deviant, but I’m the prime suspect.”
“Keep us one step ahead of them, Dodge,” Derek told his investigator.
“I’m on it.”
He clicked off. Thoughtfully, Derek tapped his phone against his lips.
“What now?” She gestured toward the TV. “The movie didn’t provide a breakthrough.”
“I’m not so ready to dismiss it as insignificant.” He studied the blank TV screen as though seeing images playing across it, then looked at Julie. “It wasn’t like Billy Duke had an assortment of DVDs to help while away the time at the Pine View Motel. He had only one. This one. Why this particular movie? I’d never heard of it before today. Did Creighton give it to Billy Duke? When? And where?” He slammed his fist into his palm. “Goddammit! Why can’t we link them?”
“I pinned my hopes on the girl who identified Billy Duke. But according to Dodge, she didn’t have anything of use to tell Kimball.”
Suddenly Derek stopped pacing. “Remember earlier, when I told you that criminal law 101 was money as a motive?”
“Yes.”
“Know what criminal law 102 is?”
“What?”
“Everybody lies.”
Creighton left his parents’ estate by way of the service gate, in order to avoid the reporters out front hoping for a sound bite. He went to his condo and spent the next hour and a half in his home gym, exercising until his body glistened with sweat.
He toweled off, then got into his tanning bed to even out his skin tones. He followed that with fifteen minutes in his steam shower to sweat any impurities out of his system. Next came a hot, soapy shower, which he followed with a plunge into a tub of ice-cold water that closed his pores. He flossed before he brushed his teeth, cleaning them so vigorously that, when he spat, the toothpaste was tinged with blood.
He clipped and buffed his fingernails. He used an exfoliating mask on his face and followed it with a fragrant toner that made his skin tight and tingly. He took special pains with his hairbrush and blow-dryer.
Before dressing, he paused to admire the infinite reflections of himself cast by the mirrored walls in his bathroom. He could see his polished nude form from every angle. He couldn’t find a flaw.
From the back, he looked like a statue of Adonis. He was perfectly proportioned, toned from shoulders to hips. His buttocks were taut, slightly concave on the sides, beautifully curved where they melded into his thighs. Hours spent on the tennis court had shaped his calves.
He appreciated the front view even more. What wasn’t there to like? Sun-kissed hair. Aquamarine eyes. A nose that even the most expert, most expensive rhinoplasty surgeon couldn’t improve upon. His lips were well shaped and sensual, not too much pigment, not too little. His mouth was saved from being pretty by his angular jaw and square chin.
He didn’t have chest hair. If he had, he would have had it removed. Hairy chests reminded him of films about barbarians, hirsute men who gnawed on large animal bones and mated with women with dirty feet. Repulsive.
His chest was smooth and golden. He fingered his nipples, and when they were rigid, he pinched them till the pleasure turned to pain. His penis twitched, then swelled and stretched. The beauty of it brought tears to his eyes.
He masturbated slowly, taking his time, drawing out the pleasure of making love to the endless images of himself surrounding him. His climax left him weak but euphoric.
He dressed in clothes he’d never worn before. It was an important night, and he wanted to look his best. Unfortunately, no one would know about it except him. If only he could share how brilliantly he took a movie plot and turned it into living drama.
Julie was getting the credit for Billy Duke, just as Billy had got credit for Uncle Paul. No one knew, nor could they ever know, that Billy was just a facilitator. Creighton was the mastermind.
It was a shame, really, that he was denied the deserved recognition. But going uncredited was the price he must pay for his particular brand of brilliance. Even as a teenager he’d reconciled himself to the fact that no one ever would—or could—know of his genius except himself.
And his victims, of course.
Tonight’s leading lady was particularly naďve. She would die in a state of supreme bewilderment, because never in a million years would she see it coming. The perfect smash cut.

CHAPTER
26

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