Smash Cut (21 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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He cupped her cheek in his palm and tilted her head up. “Creighton saw us together.”
Speechlessly, she gaped at him.
“In Athens. But even before. He saw me here with you last night. Followed us to Coulter House. He remarked on the romantic storm, the foggy car windows. He doesn’t know how we met, or when, but he lashed out at me for having sexual congress with ‘his accuser.’ In coarser language than that, but he knows the reason I wouldn’t represent him, and it pissed him off. To get back at me for turning him down and for failing to tell him why, he cut off Maggie’s head.” He struggled with a tight throat before he was able to continue. “You were circumstantial.”
“I dragged you into this mess.”
“Dragged? I don’t remember you dragging me up the aisle of that airplane.” His eyes grew dark and fierce, and he took a step closer. “I remember everything else.”
No doubt he would enjoy knowing how vividly she remembered, too. She’d been reliving the encounter earlier tonight in stunning detail. Standing this near him, feeling his body heat, having his fingertips lightly caressing her face, she felt her memory being reawakened. Dangerously. Especially when he leaned down and placed his lips against her neck.
She angled her head back, breaking the contact. “I hope you can rest. Good night.”
He reached out and caught her hand. “Stay with me.”
“No, Derek.”
“Just lie beside me. That’s all.”
She gave him a knowing look, one he couldn’t misinterpret, and pulled her hand free.
Swearing under his breath, he pushed his fingers through his hair. “Why not? The cat is out of the bag. Creighton knows. Soon Doug will. What’s the harm now?”
“The harm now is—”
“Are you pregnant?”
“What? No!”
“If you’re carrying Paul Wheeler’s baby—”
“I’m not!”
He held her gaze, gnawing the inside of his cheek, his body taut with frustration. “You loved him.”
“Yes.”
“Him or what he did for you? He rescued you from an unhappy marriage, helped set you up in business, and treated you like a princess. You gave him frequent home-cooked meals and the all-important Tuesday afternoons.”
She felt a flash of red-hot anger. “Is that what you think of me? If so, you’re no better than Creighton. My relationship with Paul wasn’t anything like you paint it to be.”
“It was love,” he said, his inflection snide.
“Yes, it was.”
“For both of you?”
“Yes.”
“For you as much as Wheeler?”
“Why do you keep coming back to that? Why do you doubt that?”
“Because you sought me out on that airplane.”
“And you know why.”
“I might buy that reason as the only reason, except that when I touched you, you were wet.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were there.
“And because you came, Julie,” he said roughly. “You came.”
Creighton Wheeler was a fucking lunatic.
No sooner had Billy closed the door behind him than he bent at the waist and, with his hands planted on his knees, took several deep, cleansing breaths.
There was something seriously wrong with the man, something missing in him. He was empty and cold, like one of those holes in space that swallows light. Creepy like nobody Billy had ever run across.
He cursed the day Creighton had walked into his life. Damn him and his foolproof plan, which Billy should have recognized as too good to be true. But, actually, by the time Creighton had explained the “plot,” as he’d called it, the first act had already been played, hadn’t it? Billy had been suckered before he’d even been given a choice.
Although, in all honesty, he couldn’t claim to be a victim.
No, he’d been willing enough to go along. Even glad to. He’d been seduced by Creighton’s aristocratic charm, which came from having money. Creighton had been the embodiment of everything Billy Duke had always aspired to be. So Billy had latched on, hoping that some of the millionaire’s polish would rub off on him.
And, stupidly, Billy had believed that Creighton had chosen him for his enormous potential, talent, and savvy.
But that was history, and it was too late to call back decisions already made. Now, he was in damage-control mode. He had to think of a way out of this whereby he could get away clean. And not only from criminal prosecution. He also must escape Creighton Wheeler. Of the two, that might be the trickier to pull off.
When you bargained with the devil, you had to watch your back for the rest of your life. He’d been a fool not to realize this sooner. Billy Duke was a thread Creighton wouldn’t leave loose.
He had left himself extremely vulnerable. It occurred to him now that Creighton hadn’t touched a thing in the room, not this morning, not tonight. Everything he’d touched, he’d taken away with him. You could be damn certain the DVD case had been wiped clean of his fingerprints.
There was nothing linking Billy Duke to Creighton Wheeler. If the cops busted through the door right now, Billy would be up shit creek all alone. In his possession were the items taken in the robbery. Keeping them no longer seemed a smart thing to have done. And how long would the hundred grand stay in that account if Billy was arrested? Only as long as it took Creighton to go online and, with a few keystrokes, empty it.
The only thing connecting them was Ariel. All day, in an attempt to warn her against Creighton, he’d been calling the number he knew, but apparently she was at work, and he had no idea what her job was now. If he got near her, she’d call the police, and they would arrest him on the spot for Wheeler’s murder, and he couldn’t protect anyone if he was in jail.
The thought of Creighton reenacting the scene in that movie with his ex made his stomach heave. Their affair had turned out badly, but while they were together, he had loved her. In his way, he truly had loved her.
So if you don’t want her to die,
think!
He had a good grasp on all the ways he was screwed.
Now, he must concentrate on what he had going for him.
He went to the bureau drawer, took out the bag of jewelry, and set it on the bed. He then took out another cell phone, one he’d bought as a backup. Just in case Creighton somehow got wise to him. “I wasn’t born yesterday,” he mumbled.
These were his resources. Limited, yeah, but he had to make them work for him. He snapped open the new phone and speed-dialed the number he’d already programmed into it. It rang several times without an answer. He hung up. He considered redialing and leaving a message for Ariel, but he knew she wouldn’t listen to it. The minute she heard his voice, she would delete it. He had to make her talk to him. Tonight. That was imperative.
At the same time he was saving the life of a young woman who would die solely because of her former association with him, he had to devise a way to protect himself. But how?
Starting with the day they’d met, Billy reviewed everything that had passed between him and Creighton, and the one thing that Creighton had been fanatical about was that his uncle’s murder could not come back to him. “An equal swap. It’s only fair,” he kept saying. Tonight, as he’d left, he’d said it again. “Be sure not to leave anything behind that could lead them to you. Or to me, Billy. Especially to me.”
So, wasn’t that the key to the solution of Billy’s problem?
The only way he could escape Creighton was to leave him free and clear of any suspicion. If Creighton was absolutely certain that he’d got away with conspiring to have his uncle killed, it would be pointless for him to kill anyone else. Right? Hopefully.
Thinking along that track, Billy stared at the velvet bag. At the phone. At the bag. And suddenly, he had two simultaneous recollections. One was Creighton’s frequent refrain. The other was something that had been said to him years ago, at a time when he’d been in a real jam. (At least it had seemed like a real jam. Compared with the jam he was in now, that had been kids’ play.)
But when it was happening, the situation had looked grim. He was guilty as charged. Indefensible. But his lawyer wasn’t that worried. He’d told Billy that when your defense didn’t have legs to stand on, you left it alone and stacked a case against somebody else instead.
“Your defense boils down to one statement, Billy boy: ‘Some other dude did it.’”
Billy remembered with perfect clarity the sly lawyer’s words, and they caused him to laugh out loud. Hot damn, he wasn’t without ideas or advantages, at all!
Creighton Wheeler thought he was so fucking scary, but not even he could outfox Billy Duke.

CHAPTER
19

H
E ARRIVED AT COURT ON TIME.
As expected, Derek hadn’t got a wink of sleep in Julie’s guest room. At dawn, he’d called a taxi to pick him up. It had taken a half hour to arrive. He’d been sitting on the curb waiting when it finally pulled up.
Last night, Julie had stalked away from him and angrily slammed her bedroom door. It had remained shut all night. He’d left without seeing her.
His house had seemed incredibly empty and cold without Maggie there to greet him. Nausea had risen in his throat when he entered his bedroom and saw the obscene, dark, moist Rorschach form on his mattress. He’d showered and dressed in a hurry, and was in and out of the house in under fifteen minutes.
He’d driven to his office. Marlene, bless her, had already been there and the coffee was brewed. Handing him a steaming cup, she’d given him a critical once-over, noticing his bloodshot eyes. “Hard night?”
“Maggie’s dead.”
She’d listened in stunned silence as he told her what had happened, leaving out any mention of Julie and his spending the night at her house.
“You’re sure Creighton Wheeler is responsible?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” For the time being, that was all he wanted to say on the subject. “Call a staff meeting for eleven o’clock. Unless someone’s in court, I want him here. I need concise, and I emphasize that, updates on the cases each is working on.”
Regardless of everything else that was happening, Derek still had a legal practice to run. Actually, he was glad to have the work and responsibility. He needed somewhere to channel his anger-fueled energy, so that he wouldn’t hunt down Creighton Wheeler and kill him bare-handed. Work wouldn’t provide him near the satisfaction, but of the two, it was the acceptable outlet for his wrath.
“If our meeting spills over into the lunch hour, have box lunches delivered. No one leaves. If anyone has lunch plans, they’re to be canceled.”
As he’d rattled off directives, Marlene had furiously scribbled notes in her pad. He’d finished his coffee in one gulp and checked the time. “Call my cleaning lady and warn her before she goes upstairs. Tell her to dispose of the bag in the corner. Call a mattress company. Ask them to—”
Marlene had interrupted. “All that will be taken care of, Derek. I’ll see to it that you have a new bed when you get home this evening. I’m more worried about
you
. How are
you

“I’ve been better.” The sympathy in Marlene’s eyes had caused his to sting with renewed emotion. “I’m going to be late for court.” He’d headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, “And get in touch with Dodge. This hearing shouldn’t take more than an hour. I’ll meet him here after.”
He was going to court to appeal for a postponement of the Jason Connor trial. The DA’s office had finally delivered their discovery files, but not until yesterday afternoon, shortly after his meeting with the Wheelers.
Despite his volatile mood and gritty eyes, he walked confidently into the courtroom. He greeted his client, who was shackled and unresponsive. Derek wanted to smack him for the attitude but instead applied himself to the business at hand and argued persuasively, citing the delinquency of the DA’s office to hand over discovery.
After twenty minutes of heated argument, the prosecutor said, “Your Honor, the file was delivered in good faith as soon as it was complete. If the demands on Mr. Mitchell’s time didn’t permit him to look through it, then he shouldn’t have taken this case. Which he did only to get himself some headlines.”
Derek could have kissed him. He’d let his mouth run away from him, and Derek knew, even before the judge pronounced it, that the matter would be ruled in his favor. He was granted another month in which to shake loose something from the recalcitrant teen before he went to trial.
He asked for a minute alone with his client, and the jail guards granted it. “Jason, I can’t help you if you won’t help me.”
Except for his perpetual scowl, he was a good-looking boy. Compact build, dark hair, dark eyes, sullen lips. “Help you how?”
“By giving me something to work with. Something to build a defense around. I did look through the discovery file. They’ve got you, unless I can argue a reason for you taking that knife to your parents.”
He waited. Got nothing. Jason shifted his legs, which caused his shackles to rattle, but otherwise, he didn’t respond.
Derek said, “Know what I think? You’re a punk and a jerk, and not nearly as tough as you want everyone to think.”
The boy turned his head toward Derek then, his eyes ablaze. “What the fuck do you know about me?”
Having won his attention at last, Derek leaned in. “I know you’re going to death row if you don’t lose the attitude and give me something.”
“I was mad. Okay?”
Derek slapped his palm on the table. “‘Mad’ isn’t going to hack it, Jason. Kids get mad at their parents all the time. They don’t butcher them. Are you listening to me? I’m trying to save your life.”
“Who asked you to?” He shot from his chair. The guards leaped forward. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” he screamed at Derek. He wrestled with the guards as they escorted him away.
Disheartened, Derek was packing up his briefcase when one of the bailiffs approached and handed him a standard letter envelope. “Guy asked me to give you this. Said you’d know what it was in reference to.”
Dodge was standing in the shade of his office building, smoking, when Derek arrived. He looked Derek over with the same critical eye as Marlene had, but he didn’t remark on his haggard appearance. He extinguished his cigarette in the soil of a potted plant as they entered the building. They were alone in the elevator.
Derek said, “Jason Connor is bound and determined to let the state execute him.”
“Bummer.”
“Creighton Wheeler killed Maggie last night.”
Dodge looked at him sharply.
Derek didn’t spare him the gruesome details, describing them as they entered the law firm and made their way toward his corner office.
“That motherfucking son of a bitch,” Dodge muttered.
“I heard that,” Marlene said.
“Sue me.”
Sue me
was Dodge’s favorite expression—his favorite
clean
expression.
Marlene fanned her hand in front of her face, waving away his tobacco stench, as she handed Derek a handful of memos. “None of those is urgent. Attendance at the staff meeting will be one hundred percent, and I’ve warned them they’d better look sharp.” Then, in a gentler tone, she added, “The vet called and wanted you to know that he’s awaiting your instructions on the remains.”
Derek nodded and went into his private office, Dodge trailing him. He asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Have her cremated.”
“May wait a day or two on that,” Dodge advised. “The police might want to examine the body again.”
Derek made a scoffing sound. “I called the Zone Two headquarters before going to court. The rookies who came to the house are off duty this morning, but I talked to their supervisor. They filed the report. I was given a case number and was assured their investigation is ongoing, that they would be in touch if they had something to report.”
“But you’re not holding your breath.”
“No.”
“How do you know it was him?” Dodge lowered himself into one of the chairs facing Derek’s desk.
From his jacket pocket, Derek took the envelope delivered to him in the courtroom and walked it over to his investigator, who looked at it curiously, then opened it, removed the single sheet, and read the two typed lines.
“‘How’s that for wet work?’ Michael Douglas.
A Perfect Murder.
” He looked up at Derek. “
Wet work
refers to getting your hands bloody. What’s Michael Douglas got to do with it? Did I miss something?”
“Creighton Wheeler is a walking reference book on the movies. A historian. What he did to Maggie—”
“The Godfather.”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
Dodge put the paper back in the envelope and slid it across Derek’s desk. “You gonna hand that over to the police as evidence?”
“For all the good it’ll do.”
“Especially now that we’ve handled it.”
“They probably wouldn’t have followed up anyway, but I’m going to request they send it downtown to CID.”
Dodge grimaced. “Criminal’s got its hands full with people killing people.”
“I’m not hopeful anything will come of it.”
“Why’s this Wheeler son of a bitch got it in for you? Because you said no to representing him?”
Derek settled into his desk chair and swiveled it several times as he contemplated the scruffy investigator. He searched his mind, heart, and soul, and could find no reason why he shouldn’t trust him. “Dodge, I’m going to tell you something.”
“Judging by your tone, you’re going to have to kill me after. Frankly, I’d just as soon not know.”
Derek smiled grimly, then started at the beginning, with the return flight from France, and told Dodge everything, concluding with Julie’s theory that Creighton had swapped murders with someone, presumably the man identified as Billy Duke.
When he finished, a lengthy silence ensued. Finally Dodge said, “I need a smoke.”
“Well, you can’t have one until you give me some advice.”
“You’re the brains here, Counselor. You’re the one paid big bucks to get people out of trouble.”
Derek took the older man’s querulousness for what it was—a delaying tactic. He needed time to assimilate everything Derek had told him. Awarding him the time, Derek got up and went to the window. Looking out, he envied the people fighting traffic, rushing to make appointments, running errands, coping with everyday vexations, having a normal day.
Normal had deserted him the instant he’d looked into Julie Rutledge’s face. She was right in that respect: He was in this mess because of her. If not for her, Maggie would be alive. On the other hand, if not for her, he would be defending Creighton Wheeler, and the prospect of being that sicko’s advocate made Derek want to throw up. He would follow a punk like Jason Connor all the way to his execution. He wouldn’t defend Creighton Wheeler against a ticket for jaywalking.
As though following his thoughts, Dodge spoke. “No matter what else, this Creighton Wheeler is an asshole who needs to be taken out. I know some guys. For a case of cold Bud and a C-note—”
“Dodge.”
“I’m serious.”
Derek chuckled. “I know you are. And it’s tempting, believe me. But I’d rather ruin his life than end it.”
“For Maggie only, or do you think the Rutledge broad is right, that Creighton was the mastermind behind Paul Wheeler’s killing?”
Derek disregarded Dodge’s referring to Julie as a broad. “I’m inclined to believe she’s onto something. I watched a good portion of that Hitchcock film. The villain is eerily reminiscent of Creighton. He’s charming. Handsome and glib. Wealthy.”
“And a psychopath,” Dodge said. “I saw that movie, too. Long time ago. My first wife—or maybe it was number two—kicked me out of the house. I had to stay in a motel a couple of nights till she cooled off. There was a Hitchcock film festival playing in one of those old theaters that do that sort of thing, and the TV in my room didn’t have cable, so I went and saw all the features.”
He paused and thoughtfully scratched his cheek. “I can see where the gal is going with this, him being such a movie nut, and all. If he did that to Maggie, he’s pure-dee evil.”
Derek turned away from the window, knowing that the older man’s observations didn’t stop there. “But what?”
“Nothing.” Dodge patted his pockets in search of a phantom cigarette.
“Come on. What?”
He shrugged. “Somebody gets so pissed off at somebody else, they kill their dog. Happens all the time.”
“Do you think that’s all this is? Creighton was holding a grudge because I wouldn’t be his lawyer, so he sneaked into my house and beheaded my dog? That’s all this amounts to?”
“I don’t know,” Dodge replied, in as testy a voice as Derek’s. “I’m just saying.”
“Saying what, exactly?” Derek returned to his desk and sat down, and although Dodge tried to avoid looking at him straight on, Derek waited until he was. “Are you implying that Julie Rutledge manipulated me once, and she might be doing so again?”
“What I’m saying,” Dodge wheezed, “is that the surest way for a woman to get what she wants is to use that which we poor slobs cannot do without. That also happens all the time.”
“But she isn’t using it. She hasn’t let me touch her. Not since the airplane.”
“But you want to.”
Now Derek was the one to avoid eye contact.
“And she knows you want to.”
Derek didn’t respond.
“And the longer she holds out, the more you want it, and the more you want it, the blinder you get. There’s a direct correlation, you know, between a stiff dick and blind stupidity.”
Derek got up from his chair so quickly he sent it spinning. “Okay, say you’re right. Like the police, you think she conspired to have Paul Wheeler killed and now is trying to lay the blame on Creighton.” He braced himself on the back of a chair, leaning over it to make his point. “She loved the guy, Dodge. To what end would she want him dead?”
“Hell, I don’t know. And I’m not saying that’s the way it is. I just don’t want you canceling out the possibility. You gotta admit there are some strikes against her. Sanford and Kimball aren’t fools. On the contrary, each one’s good in his own right. Together they’re damn good. They wouldn’t be looking at her if they didn’t feel there was something out of joint.
“You your own self said you didn’t see anything that had been disturbed inside her house. You’re only taking her word for it that Creighton Wheeler broke in and messed with her stuff, that he was spooking her in the parking garage.”
“She didn’t kill Maggie. I was with her.”
“You said you took your time getting home and that you parted with her practically spitting at you.”
“She
did not
kill Maggie.”
Dodge backed down. “Probably not. But the rest…?” He paused to suck in another noisy breath. “Just consider that she might not be as lily-white as you want her to be. Look at her objectively before you get caught up in something that would ruin your career, your reputation, and your life. You’re too smart to throw away everything over a piece of ass.”
Derek glared at him.
“Puff up and get mad at me if you want to, doesn’t change the truth of what I’m saying. Besides, you asked,” Dodge added defensively. Then he clicked his tongue against his teeth and muttered something to himself. “I know whereof I speak, Counselor. Women will fuck you up worse and faster than anything, and I’ve got the track record with them to prove it. When one gets to you…” He looked at Derek and sadly shook his head.
Derek relaxed his hostile posture and returned to his desk. Never having felt so tired, he slumped in his chair. He knew Dodge was only giving it to him straight for his own good. Looking at him, he asked bleakly, “What’s your advice?”
“Walk away from it.”
Derek held his gaze for several moments.
“Right.” Dodge sighed, patting his pockets again. “I didn’t think so, but I dared to hope.”
“Whether Julie has cooked up this whole elaborate thing, or Creighton conspired to have Paul Wheeler killed, the key to the mystery lies with the guy who actually did it.”
“This Billy Duke?”
“He’s the best lead so far. Can you find him, Dodge?”
In answer, the investigator stood up and headed for the door.
“Something else.”
Dodge turned back.
“Can you find out if Creighton Wheeler has a juvie record?”
Dodge frowned. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“Impossible?”
“Well, Moses parted the Dead Sea.”
“The Red Sea. Will you try?”
Again Dodge turned toward the door, but Derek stopped him again. The older man groaned. “I really need a cigarette.”
“About Julie. You raised some valid questions, Dodge. Thanks for the input.”
The investigator looked mollified. “Hell. Wasn’t my place to lecture you. And I may be way off base about her. I hope I am. But what I know for dead certain…”
“Yeah?”
“She’s under your skin something bad.”

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