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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

Smash Cut (16 page)

BOOK: Smash Cut
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“First off, I want you to know that I feel just terrible about this.” Kate Fields twisted the tissue in her damp hands. She looked at Roberta Kimball and Homer Sanford in turn, receiving from each a nod of sympathetic understanding.
“I love Julie,” she said. “She’s been so good to me. Giving me this job straight out of college. Placing such trust in me, not just as an employee but as a friend. I wouldn’t do or say anything to hurt her.”
“We don’t question your loyalty to Ms. Rutledge,” Kimball said. “However, you have an obligation to us as officers of the law, as well as to yourself, to tell the truth.”
“Of course, I know that.” Kate sniffed into the tissue. “I’ve been hoping for a miracle, praying that something would happen to prevent me from having to tell you.”
“Tell us what?” Sanford leaned forward. “You suggested to Detective Kimball that Ms. Rutledge hadn’t been entirely truthful with us.”
“I don’t know that for certain.” She cut her eyes between them. “But she…she may know more than she’s telling you.”
“More about what?” Kimball pressed. “The shooting?”
Kate shook her head. She swallowed. She asked herself for the thousandth time if she must do this, and arrived at the heartrending conclusion that yes, she must. Her conscience wouldn’t permit otherwise. “The truth about this man Billy Duke.”
The two detectives exchanged a look that immediately made her regret her decision to share with them what she knew. “Oh, please don’t suspect her of conspiracy or something. She couldn’t have had anything to do with Mr. Wheeler’s death. She absolutely could
not
. She loved him. You don’t know, you can’t imagine, how it was between them. They were wholly, totally devoted to each other.” Tears she’d been trying to hold back spilled from her eyes.
Kimball passed her a box of Kleenex. “Kate, we know this is painful for you, but it’s vitally important that you tell us what you know about Ms. Rutledge and Billy Duke.”
Kate yanked a fresh tissue from the box. After several starts and stops, she brought her sobs under control. “I recognized him from his picture the first time you showed it to Julie. I was serving you espresso, remember? We were in the parlor, and—”
“I know when you mean,” Kimball said. “How did you recognize him?”
“He came to the gallery.”
“When?”
“I can’t be certain of the date.”
“After Mr. Wheeler was shot?”
“No. A few weeks before. I’m positive about that.”
“Did he come to see Ms. Rutledge?”
“Yes.”
Kimball cut her eyes over to Sanford, but then they came right back to Kate. Again, that silent communication between them seemed significant and made her feel even more miserable for betraying the woman she admired above all others.
“But Julie didn’t see him.”
“She refused?”
Kate shook her head. “No, she wasn’t there. He came in. Asked for her. I told him she was consulting clients in their home, and that I didn’t expect her back for the rest of the day. I offered to help him. He said no, his business was with Julie, and that he would catch her later.”
Now that what she’d been holding back was finally out, she exhaled with relief. At the very least she could swear that she’d never seen Julie and this Billy Duke person together, in conversation.
“Did they ever make contact?” Sanford asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Did he return to the gallery?”
“Never. Not while I was there, anyway. And he didn’t seem like someone who’d be into art. He didn’t look at any of the paintings, not like he’d discussed a particular piece with Julie and had come back to reconsider it. I didn’t get the impression that he was a potential client. He didn’t show any interest in our inventory at all.”
“Only in Julie.”
Reluctantly, Kate nodded at Kimball. “Only in Julie.”
“Did she ever mention him to you?”
“No, but I didn’t know his name until this morning, when you told us.”
“But he acted as though he knew her?”
Kate hesitated. This had been the question she most dreaded. “Well, yes. He referred to her by her first name, giving me the impression that he was someone she’d met or had had some prior dealings with. And the way he said he would catch her later, in those words, sounded casual, like something an acquaintance would say. Doesn’t it?”
The detectives murmured agreement that it did. “Did you ever tell her about his visit?” Kimball asked.
Kate told them she had. “He didn’t leave his name or a business card, or a phone number, so all I could tell her was that a man had come in asking for her and had left saying he would get in touch. Since there was no point of reference, she dismissed it, and so did I. I didn’t think any more about him until you showed the picture from the security camera. I recognized him instantly, but when Julie told you very matter-of-factly that she didn’t recognize him, I…I…”
“You kept quiet,” Sanford said with a trace of chastisement.
“I didn’t want to get her into trouble.”
Sanford asked, “What about now?”
“What do you mean?”
Kimball leaned toward her. “Kate, are you withholding other information that could mean trouble for her?”
“No.” When they regarded her doubtfully, she added, “I swear I’m not! Actually, it’s a relief to get it off my chest. Although…” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she felt the pressure of unshed tears. “Julie has been through hell since the day Mr. Wheeler died. I hope that by telling you this I haven’t made things more difficult for her. Especially after what happened last night.”
The detectives looked at each other with puzzlement, then back at Kate. Sanford asked, “What happened last night?”

CHAPTER
15

H
ERE YOU GO, MAGS.” DEREK’S CELL PHONE STARTED RINGING as he set Maggie’s food bowl on the kitchen floor. “Eat up.” He looked at the caller ID and flipped open his phone. “Hey, Dodge.”
“Is this a bad time?”
Not that Dodge ever cared if he was catching his boss at a bad time. When he had news to impart, he didn’t wait for a convenient time to impart it. “Just got home. Feeding Maggie. What’s up?” Derek took a beer from his fridge and twisted off the cap.
“Just heard something interesting off the PD grapevine.”
“Sanford and Kimball located Billy Duke?”
“Nope, but they might’ve got a lead.”
“I’m listening.”
“Appears there’s a link between the mystery man and Julie Rutledge.”
Derek lowered the beer bottle from his mouth and carefully set it on his kitchen counter. “Come again?”
“Yeah. She’s got this young woman who works for her.”
Derek envisioned the pretty and pert Kate.
“She went behind Julie Rutledge’s back to have a closed-door meeting with the two detectives.”
Dodge’s methods of obtaining information might be murky, but the information itself never was. It was always one hundred percent reliable. Which was why Derek suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
Dodge was saying, “She cried her heart out for having to rat on her boss. Divided loyalties, you see. The woman she idolizes versus conscience, with some civic duty thrown in. They practically had to wring the information from her.” Dodge paused. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I…Maggie was whining to go out, and I had to open the door. Go on.”
“Well, what was eating at her, she recognized Billy Duke from his picture. A few weeks before Wheeler was hit, he came to that fancy gallery Ms. Rutledge owns. She wasn’t there, but he asked for her by name, and the girl says it seemed to her like he was acquainted with her boss. Familiarly acquainted. Didn’t state his business, just said he would catch Julie Rutledge later, and left.”
Impatiently Derek pulled at the stubborn knot of his necktie. Sweat was trickling down his ribs. “He could have been a customer.”
“The girl didn’t think so. Besides, that would be one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Yes, he did. Derek had staked defense arguments on coincidences just that remarkable, but juries would stretch reasonable doubt only so far. “How did Kimball and Sanford react to this news?”
“They treated her with kid gloves, commended her for doing the right thing, like that. But you can bet they pounced on it and are looking at Wheeler’s lady friend through a high-powered magnifier. Oh, something else.”
Jesus. There was
more
?
“Small thing, but you never know. This girl told the detectives that the electricity had gone off in Julie’s house last night, and that she hadn’t been quite right since.”
“What did she mean by ‘not quite right’?”
“Acting strange. Doing weird shit. She stayed home this morning. Kate called her house about a routine matter at the gallery. The maid asked if whatever she’d called about could keep. Said Julie was on a tear to have the house cleaned top to bottom. Told Kate she was discarding stuff right and left, even a set of bar towels. Antiques from France that she was partial to on account of Paul Wheeler had bought them for her.
“Now, if these towels were a gift from him, you’d think she’d want to keep them, wouldn’t you? This Kate did. She told the detectives that maybe it’s just grief setting in, or a delayed reaction to Wheeler’s getting popped, something like that, but bottom line, Julie isn’t herself these days.” It was a long speech for Dodge. He paused to gasp a breath. “What’s your take, Counselor?”
Derek was blotting up streams of sweat with his shirt. “My take doesn’t matter. I’m no longer involved. I told the Wheelers today that they needed to obtain other counsel.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“No.”
“How come?”
“Unless one or all of them are charged, they don’t need me.”
“And if one or all of them
are
charged?”
“The firm doesn’t have time in its schedule for a trial of that magnitude.”
“Huh,” Dodge said with evident regret. “It’s a juicy case, Counselor. All that loot. All that sex. More salacious details to come. Kind of a shame we’ll be outside observers.”
“Yeah. But even though we’re out of it, I’d like you to tell me any scuttlebutt you hear regarding Billy Duke and his relationship to Julie Rutledge. Keep me posted.”
“I’m on it.” Then, after a telling pause, Dodge asked, “Want to tell me why?”
Derek forced out a dry laugh. “As you said, more salacious details to come.”
The investigator snickered and hung up.
Derek reached for his beer, but discovered he no longer had a taste for it and poured it down the sink. He stared into near space, so lost in his thoughts that Maggie had to practically scratch the paint off the back door before he realized she was there, asking to come in.
“Sorry, girl.” He bent down and scratched her behind the ears. “Talk me out of what I’m about to do, Maggie. Please, I’m begging you.”
Panting with contentment, she plopped down on the cool tiles of the floor.
“Thanks for nothing.” He retrieved his cell phone from the countertop and punched in a number he’d looked up earlier and committed to memory.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
Julie didn’t say anything for several beats, then, dubiously, “Okay.”
“Can you meet me?”
“Now?”
“In Athens. There’s an Italian restaurant on Clayton, just off the corner with Jackson.”
“Where—”
“Near campus. You’ll find it.”
“Athens is an hour drive.”
“At this time of day an hour and a half.”
He hung up before she could refuse.
The restaurant was redolent with the aromas of oregano and garlic, the yeasty smells of beer and fresh-baked bread, the fruity bouquet of inexpensive wine. It was crowded with UGA summer school students, which was why Derek had chosen it. There was little likelihood they would be recognized here.
He was no longer representing the Wheelers, so technically this meeting with Julie wasn’t unethical. But it felt covert for reasons he couldn’t specify. Perhaps because of the way he and she had started. Everything since that Paris-to-Atlanta flight had felt illicit.
Sometimes deliciously so.
He arrived first and, with the help of a ten-dollar bill, managed to jump the line for tables, which was long even during summer. He secured a booth and was watching the door when Julie came in.
She was dressed in jeans faded almost to white and a snug red pullover. In that getup, and with her hair hanging loose, she didn’t look much older than the coeds. A group of frat boys, conditioning themselves for upcoming rush week with pitchers of beer, vocally appreciated her ass as she walked along the bar on her way to the booth.
Ignoring their remarks, she slid in across from him, her eyes inquiring.
He said, “I ordered red. Is that okay?”
“Red’s fine.”
“The spaghetti is cheap, and so’s the wine, but both are good. I came here a lot when I was a student.”
“You went to Harvard Law.”
“But I got my BA here.”
A waiter brought a carafe of red wine and two glasses. He asked if they’d had time to look at the menu. Derek told him they’d let him know when they were ready to order. “In the meantime,” he said, “I’d like to rent the table and buy some privacy.” He slipped the guy another ten.
After the waiter left them, Derek filled both their glasses and raised his. “In vino veritas.”
Julie clinked her glass against his, then took a sip.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“What?”
“That in the wine there will be truth.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“Because you and bald honesty rarely go hand in hand.”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “That’s why you had me come all this way, so you could tell me that you doubt my veracity?”
He sipped his wine, set down his glass, then let her have it. “Kate Fields went to see Kimball and Sanford this afternoon and told them that she recognized Billy Duke from his picture because he had come to the gallery asking for you a few weeks before Paul Wheeler was killed.”
She pressed herself back against the seat as though she’d just learned that he had a highly contagious disease. “That’s impossible.”
“Which aspect of it is impossible, Julie?”
“All aspects of it.”
“I have it on unimpeachable authority.”
She seemed about to argue, then her gaze dropped to the checked tablecloth. “Kate said her stomach was upset and asked to leave early.”
“Her stomach may very well have been upset. I was told she cried a lot, that the detectives had to wring the information out of her because she didn’t want to betray you.”
Meeting his gaze head-on, she said, “I swear to you, I don’t know that man. I’d never seen him before I was shown his picture. I’d never heard his name until this morning, when the detectives came to the gallery and told me that he’d been identified by an anonymous caller.”
Placing his forearms on the table, he leaned across it, asking her in an urgent, angry whisper, “Why would Kate lie to the police?”
“She wouldn’t! But she must have thought
I
had, and that would have created a terrible conflict for her.”
“Have you and she argued? Did you slight—”
“No!” She gave an adamant shake of her head. “Kate’s motivation for going to the police wasn’t malicious. I’d stake my life on that. If she told the detectives that this man came to the gallery asking for me, then he did. But that doesn’t mean I know him.”
“Well, that’s how it looks.”
“That’s how it looks to
you

Derek settled back, and for a time they simply stared at each other with hostility and mistrust. Finally she said, “Why are you alerting me to this?”
“Hell if I know,” he grumbled, reaching for the carafe. Marlene was right. He didn’t particularly like wine, but pouring it gave him something to do.
Julie waited until he’d topped off their glasses. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You would have found out anyway.”
“But you blunted the shock. Kimball and Sanford are probably at my house now, waiting to spring this on me.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re digging to find the connection, stockpiling ammunition before they confront you with it.”
“There isn’t a connection. I’m telling you the truth.”
He sipped his wine, watching her. “Did you make it home okay this morning?”
“Kate picked me up.”
“How did you explain spending the night away from home?”
“I told her the electricity had gone out and I didn’t trust it to stay on through the night. I told her I’d called a taxi because my car was making a funny noise.”
“She bought that?”
“She seemed to. When I got home, I called my maid. The house underwent a thorough cleaning today. I had to scrub away Creighton’s presence.”
“Um-huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, meaning something. “It might have been better if you’d told the detectives about the suspected break-in, that’s all.”
Carefully she returned her wineglass to the table. “Why?”
He avoided answering that and instead told her about the meeting he’d called with the Wheelers. “I made the severance official.”
“How did Doug take it?”
“He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t try to change my mind. He left in somewhat of a huff and took Sharon with him.” Carefully gauging her reaction, he continued. “I had face time with Creighton. Just the two of us. I told him about your most recent accusations. The incident in the parking garage, your house.”
“He denied doing both, of course.”
“He said you were making up wild stories to support your allegation that he had Paul killed.”
“Is that what you think? That these are fabrications?”
“There were no visible signs of a break-in, Julie. I saw nothing to cause a panic.”
“You think I faked it for your benefit?”
He raised his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.
“To what end?” she asked.
“To make Creighton look bad.”
“Think, Derek. I didn’t know you were coming to my house. I wasn’t huddled there in the dark, on the outside chance that you would walk in so I could stage an emotional meltdown.”
He leaned forward and thumped the table with his fist. “If you were so certain you’d had an intruder, why didn’t you let me call the police? Why didn’t
you

“It would have been pointless,” she exclaimed. “Creighton made sure that things looked perfectly normal to anyone else.”
“Okay, but no one saw him in the parking garage, either.”
She stared at him for a moment, then whispered, “You think I’m lying. About it all. About everything. Don’t you?”
His suspicion seemed to have wounded her, diminished her. She looked very small against the tufted back of the booth. Her eyes had gone soft with bewilderment, looking at him the way Maggie did when he scolded her for pulling the stuffing out of one of her toys.
On the drive there, he’d given himself several stern admonishments to exercise extreme caution when in the presence of Julie Rutledge and her bottomless gray eyes. He’d ordered himself not to think about last night’s kiss, the way her mouth had clung to his, the unmistakable way her body had reacted to his touch.
But in spite of those lectures, he had no immunity against her bruised expression. His chest, and lower, grew tight with the desire to reach across the table and touch her, to tell her he was sorry, to ask her to disregard his nasty suspicions and what he’d said.
Instead, he steeled himself to be ruthless. “Did you come on to him?”
She processed that, then laughed drily. “
Creighton?
Are you insane?”
“In the pool house at his parents’ home. You tried to give him a blow job while Paul was less than twenty feet away. He said that the risk of getting caught was a turn-on for you.”
She was utterly still and silent for a count of ten, then she flew into action, grabbing her handbag off the seat and slinging the strap of it onto her shoulder as she clambered out of the booth. She bumped into a waiter holding a tray of food and drink high above his head, nearly sending several orders of pasta and two carafes of wine to the floor, but she didn’t stop to apologize or even slow down.
Hissing an expletive, Derek shot from the booth, dug a twenty-dollar bill from the pocket of his jeans, and shoved it into the hand of their startled waiter as he charged after Julie.
He fought his way through the crowd bottlenecked at the door and, when he exploded onto the sidewalk, looked frantically in both directions. Julie was already half a block away, walking rapidly, weaving between other pedestrians with the sinuousness of a water snake.
She darted across the street, causing a driver to brake hard and honk the squawking horn of his Volkswagen. Derek defied oncoming traffic in order to run after her, catching up with her after another two blocks when she reached the parking lot where she’d left her car. She was pawing through her handbag in search of her keys when he closed his hand around her biceps, turning her toward him.
“Julie.”
She wrenched her arm free. “And the horse you rode in on.”
“Listen to me—”
“Not anymore.”
“I believe you.”
“I don’t give a damn whether you do or not.”
He captured her hand. “I
want
to believe you.”
“Right.”
“Dammit, I do. And you know why.”
She stopped trying to pull away and looked up at him warily, as though asking
What’s the catch?
He said, “Tell me everything you know about Creighton.”
“What for?”
“Curiosity.”
“Prurient interest?”
“Okay, call it that. Call it any damn thing you like. I just want you to tell me what you know.” He glanced around and nodded toward the park benches in front of the Athens City Hall. Looking back at her, he said, “Please?”
After a momentary resistance, she let herself be led down the sidewalk. They sat on one of the benches of weathered wood. Two squirrels played chase on the grass in the small side yard of the building, eventually racing up the trunk of a tree and disappearing into the foliage. A couple strolled past, their arms around each other, talking and smiling. Otherwise, he and Julie had their immediate surroundings to themselves.
She began without prompting. “I can only tell you what Paul told me.”
“That’s what interests me.”
“It’s not much. Paul was very protective of his family.”
“Families with that kind of wealth typically close ranks, especially if one gets into trouble.”
“I suppose it was like that. Any time he talked about Creighton, he was very discreet. It was more what he didn’t say than what he did.”
“Making you believe there was much more to tell.”
She gave him a wry smile. “You’re leading the witness.”
He smiled back. “I’m good at it.”
“I’ll bet.”
Their shared smile lasted for several seconds, then her expression turned serious again. “Paul once made a reference to bailing Creighton out.”
“Out of jail?”
“I don’t know if he meant it literally or figuratively. I didn’t ask for specifics. If he had wanted me to know them, he would have told me.”
She became quiet, and Derek sensed the reason for her silence. “I don’t want you to share a confidence if you don’t feel comfortable about it.”
She glanced at him, then lowered her head. “You read people very well.”
“Part of my job.”
“Talking about this, I feel like I’m being disloyal to Paul.”
More disloyal than when you were making love to me?
Derek didn’t speak the thought aloud, of course. He waited.
Eventually she reached a decision and began to talk. “Paul never said anything flattering about Creighton. He made clear his disapproval. But he really opened up to me about him only once. He was very angry at him, more so than usual. He was venting over something Creighton had done or failed to do. He called him totally irresponsible and lacking initiative.”
“A typical complaint by the older generation of the younger.”
“Yes, but he went on to say that he shouldn’t be surprised that Creighton was a dissolute adult because he had exhibited bizarre behavior even as a boy.”
“How bizarre? Did he elaborate?”
“No. Except to say that sometimes Creighton was cruel to other children, without provocation. Yet they yielded to him. He was a masterful manipulator and could get others to bend to his will. He was a leader, but not necessarily in a good way. Paul also said that one of Creighton’s schoolteachers had resigned at midterm, naming him as the cause for her abrupt departure.”
“Why? What had he done?”
“I don’t know. Paul claimed not to know, either. He said the teacher had declined to give them an explanation. She simply refused to go back to the classroom, even though it was a private academy and she was giving up a well-paying position.”
Derek digested all that. “Did Creighton ever undergo counseling? Psychiatric treatment?”
“Sharon wouldn’t hear of it. Doug was wishy-washy. Paul kept after Doug until he gave in. Later, however, Paul realized that the therapy was a waste of money. Creighton knew what to say, knew how to manipulate the analysts.”
“His mother seems blind to his flaws.”
“He’s very skillful at role playing. He can be the affectionate son, the nephew falsely accused of involvement in his uncle’s murder, whatever suits him at the time.” Turning toward him so that their knees touched, she said, “He operates in a fantasy world, Derek.”
She hesitated, realizing she’d used his given name again, but went on before he could comment on it. “Creighton’s life is a movie script, and it’s a work in progress. He’s rewriting it constantly.” For emphasis, she placed her hand over his. “You’re in his script whether you want to be or not.”
“Me?”
“You. Me. Everyone. He casts us in roles. I think Paul knew he was dangerous, or strongly suspected that he was. But he was reluctant to accuse his own nephew of being a psychopath. However, he did tell me to stay away from Creighton.”
“He warned you against him?”
“Not in so many words. He said the less I had to do with him, the better.”
While Derek was pondering that, he noticed her brushing a mosquito off her arm. “You’re getting eaten alive.”
Together they stood and started walking back toward her car. While they’d been talking, night had fallen. The public buildings were empty. Music, voices, and laughter wafted from the various bars and restaurants across the street, although the area wasn’t as congested as it was during the fall and spring semesters. A jogger listening to her iPod ran past. A bearded professor type rode by on a rattling, rusty bicycle, which looked as old as he.
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