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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

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Before leaving Chez Jean, Creighton had told Julie that he had a date, but that was wishful thinking. He could get to Ariel any time he wanted, of course. He knew where she lived, where she worked. But he’d rather make this second contact appear as random as the first.
Hoping she would be a creature of habit, he’d returned to Christy’s and stood at one of the tall cocktail tables along the wall. The position placed him in shadow but afforded him a view of the whole bar, and particularly the entrance. If she came in, he would see her.
Again, he’d left the Porsche at home in favor of the SUV, not wanting the valet to remember him. He’d dressed down, too, wearing designer jeans with a linen sport jacket, but neither as distinguishable as one of his suits.
Even should he catch someone’s eye, it was doubtful they would know his name. To the vexation of his parents, he rarely accompanied them to charity events or social gatherings where photographers were likely to be clamoring for snapshots for the society pages of the newspaper. He didn’t want his face and name out there, making him easily identifiable.
His mother, bless her ignorance, thought his camera shyness was endearing, believing it arose from a deep-seated shyness. He didn’t know what his father thought about it. Probably he didn’t think about it at all.
Creighton went to such great lengths to avoid being photographed, one would have thought he was ugly. As handsome as he was, it was difficult to make himself invisible, but he’d learned how not to stand out and had become quite adept at becoming part of the wallpaper instead of the centerpiece.
When he desired anonymity, he kept to the shadows and did nothing to draw attention to himself. Tonight it was vitally important that he not be remembered, so he didn’t flirt with the cocktail waitress who took his order for a club soda, didn’t make eye contact or conversation with anyone. It was still relatively early, and the place hadn’t reached full capacity, so he was able to keep the table to himself without being asked to share it.
He’d been there almost an hour when Ariel arrived alone, and looking even more uncertain and self-conscious than she had on the previous occasion. In a vain attempt to conceal her insecurity, she’d applied eye makeup with a heavy hand. When she came in, she gave a toss of her blond hair, but the movement looked rehearsed, not natural.
Just inside the entrance, she paused to scan the crowd. When she spotted him, she tensed. The indecision in her expression was as plain as day. This was the guy who’d come on strong and with promise, then cruelly abandoned her and made her feel like a fool. Should she ignore him, or confront him and tell him what a bastard he was, or try again to make him like her?
She went with option one. Giving another haughty toss of her head, she walked to the bar and, with a show of bravado, snapped her fingers to get the bartender’s attention.
Creighton waited until she’d been served the pastel green martini that looked positively nauseating, then moseyed over. She sipped her drink, not deigning to look at him.
“‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”
She turned her head toward him as though just then noticing that he was there. She didn’t say anything.
“I was called away unexpectedly. You were in the ladies’ room. There was no way to let you know that I couldn’t carry on with our plans.”
She went back to her drink. She smiled at the bartender when he walked past and made certain that Creighton noticed she didn’t give a damn about him and his apology.
“I had to leave, Ariel. I had no choice.”
She set her martini down hard enough to slosh some of the sticky liquid onto the bar. “The parking valet told me you left with a woman.”
“My assistant.”
That deflated her. “Assistant?”
“My family had been frantically trying to reach me. I was out enjoying myself and didn’t answer their calls to my cell phone. They asked my assistant to track me down.”
“Why?”
“My niece.” He looked down at the bar, rubbed at a puddle of condensation beneath his water glass. “She was raped.”
“Raped? Oh my
God!”
It was the perfect lie for this occasion and elicited the expected response. He exhaled a sigh. “By a guy she considered a friend.”
Ariel’s eyes were as round as saucers, full of concern, outrage, and empathy.
“He drove her to a remote place. Made her…use her mouth on him, then…” He stopped as though it was too difficult for him to continue.
She covered his hand with hers. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”
Actually he was enjoying describing how he’d lured sweet little Allison Perry to go for a ride with him. He had just obtained his driver’s license. To commemorate the occasion and his sixteenth birthday, his parents had given him a BMW convertible.
Allison had been dazzled and told him she’d never ridden in a convertible before. But when things got interesting, he’d had to raise the top to muffle her screams. Ultimately, he’d had to knock her unconscious to silence her.
Later, it was his word against hers as to the tone of the encounter. Ultimately—not without some histrionics first—the Perrys declined to follow through with the police investigation and were persuaded that “the children” would be much better off if it were kept private. The amount of hush money paid to them had been dear, but it hadn’t cost Creighton anything except a stern lecture.
Now, he said to the wide-eyed Ariel, “My assistant knows I come here sometimes, so this was one of the places she looked. She found me while you were in the restroom. I…”
“It’s okay. I understand.” She pressed his hand.
“I didn’t know your last name.”
“Williams.”
“I didn’t know where you lived. Like an idiot, I hadn’t got your number. You must have thought…God knows what you thought.”
“I was pretty bummed.”
He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“How’s your niece?”
“She’ll live. She’ll never get over the trauma, of course.”
“Is the guy in jail?”
“Pending formal charges.”
“I hope they lock him up and throw away the key.”
“He’d better hope so, too.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if I ever get my hands on him, he’ll wish he was safe behind bars.”
Her face glowed with admiration for his chivalry. He ordered her another martini and suggested they move away from the bar and find a more private spot. The place had grown more crowded. A group had claimed his table, but he steered Ariel to a corner where it was quieter and darker. By the time she’d finished the second martini, she was mellow and then some.
He looked at his wristwatch, swore softly.
“What?” she asked.
“My parents and I are visiting my niece in the hospital tonight.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want to stay, or can I walk you to your car?”
If he was leaving, she had no desire to stay. He was glad to learn she hadn’t used the valet. “Too expensive,” she told him as she led him around the building, across an alley, and into the employee parking lot behind an office building where everyone had left for the day. Hers was the only car in the lot. There was no one around.
“I appreciate your understanding more than you know, Ariel.”
“Don’t mention it. I just feel so bad for all of you. That poor girl. Her family.”
They were quiet for a moment, then he placed his hands on the backs of her arms and rubbed them lightly. “You were disappointed?”
“When I came out of the ladies’ room? Devastated. I probably shouldn’t admit it, but I was.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He leaned into her and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”
“Hmm.” She turned her head so that their lips came into contact.
The smell of apple liqueur was strong on her breath. It nearly gagged him. But when he groaned softly, he made it sound like he was aroused. “Can I come to your place? I want to be alone with you. Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all. My roommate is out of town.”
He jerked his head back and scowled. “Roommate? Male or female?”
She giggled. “Female.”
He smiled. “Ah. Good. We’ll have the apartment to ourselves?”
“House, actually. And yes. All to ourselves.”
He leaned into her again and nuzzled her ear. “I’m loving the sound of this. If I were to come over tomorrow night, any chance the roommate will come home unexpectedly?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
She told him about her roommate—Carol—having a teaching job lined up for the fall, but she was working as a waitress to tide her over till school started. Barely taking a breath, she went on ad nauseam about Carol and this cool sports bar in Athens where she worked and made oodles of tips because she was cute and well endowed. “And”—eye roll here—“you know how you men are about big boobs. Those college boys, especially.”
Coyly, she continued on that track for several minutes until he thought for certain he was going to throttle her. Finally she ended with “To keep from driving back and forth each night, with all the drunk drivers on the road, she’s staying at a house that belongs to one of the other girls who works at the bar. She’s gone to Spain for the summer to study the language, so Carol is, like, subletting.”
When she paused to take a breath, Creighton jumped in. “All that to say, we’re in no danger of being interrupted at an…inopportune moment?” His fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts. He watched her eyes to make sure she’d noticed.
She had. Her breathing was light and rapid when she whispered, “No danger at all.”
“Perfect.” He kissed her again, pressing her against the car and forcing himself to push his tongue into her mouth. When he pulled back, he framed her face between his hands. “Tomorrow night then?”
Her head wobbled an agreement.
He asked for her address. He asked what time he should be there. She offered to cook dinner, and he asked if he could bring anything, and she said just himself. “Then it’s a date.” He gave her another hard, quick kiss, then released her and stepped back. “Get out of here before I forget how badly my niece needs my support.”
“You must go to her,” she said. She unlocked her car, got in and turned on the ignition, then lowered the window. “See you tomorrow night.”
Playfully, he touched the tip of her nose. “You can’t imagine how much I look forward to it.”

CHAPTER
22

J
ULIE LOOKED ACROSS AT DEREK, WHO WAS BEHIND THE WHEEL OF his car, intent on his driving. “They didn’t arrest me.”
He hadn’t told her where they were going. Strangely, she was apathetic about their destination, so long as it wasn’t her house. Although she probably wouldn’t have been allowed to stay there tonight even if she’d wanted to because it was a crime scene.
“They will,” he said. “Tomorrow. Tonight if they get a warrant.”
“They’ll find the blouse. It’s hanging in my closet. I just got it back from the dry cleaners. When I removed the plastic bag, I noticed the button was missing.” She gave him a quick glance. “I thought I’d lost it on the airplane.”
“How did a button off your blouse get in that squalid room at the Pine View Motel, Julie?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m your attorney, not the police. If you were ever there, you can tell me.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
He stopped at a red light and turned to her. “I’m trying to help you.”
“By calling me a liar?”
The light turned green, and the driver behind them honked his horn. Swearing under his breath, Derek sped through the intersection. The air was charged with resentment. Finally he said, “What explanation do you have for your button—assuming it is yours—getting into that room?”
“Creighton. He took the button when he was in my house. He took something innocuous, something I wouldn’t miss right away, planning to use it to link me to Billy Duke.”
“Maybe Creighton wasn’t your intruder. Maybe it was Billy Duke all along.”
“No. I’m positive it was Creighton. It was so like one of his tongue-in-cheek, I’m-smarter-than-you pranks.” She looked over at Derek. “I would have told the detectives about that if you hadn’t hustled me out of there.”
“They wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Like you don’t.”
“It’s reasonable. As you say, it feels like Creighton.”
“However?”
“You can’t prove it, Julie.”
“I thought the burden of proof was on the police.”
“It is. But believe me, it helps if you can cancel their suspicions. As it stands, everything you’ve done looks peculiar. Yesterday you ordered your maid to thoroughly clean the house.”
“Because Creighton was there, and I couldn’t stand the thought—”
“I get it. But you can’t prove he was there. Especially now that everything’s been sanitized. Under oath, I’d have to testify that I didn’t see any signs of an intrusion. This housecleaning resonated with Sanford and Kimball.”
She looked at him inquisitively.
“It’s part of the scuttlebutt, Julie. Dodge heard about it through the police grapevine. It could be alleged that you were destroying evidence. Now, I’ve got to ask, in case it comes up again, what possible excuse can you give for having your maid scour everything you own with disinfectant?”
“Creighton had gone through my things. The house felt unclean.”
“I can relate to that,” he said. “My house will never feel the same, either.” Leaving the rest of it for the time being, he told her about the note he’d received from Creighton.
“As if what he did weren’t bad enough, he taunted you about it.”
“Because he wanted me to go after him. He probably expected me to immediately after I discovered the carnage. Since I didn’t, he sent the note. It was a red cape and tough to ignore, believe me. I wanted to beat the shit out of him. But if I had, he’d have won. I’d rather beat him in a court of law, have him put away forever.
“I sent the note to the police,” he continued. “But there’s a problem with the chain of evidence. They’ll contend, rightfully, that I could have typed it myself. Several people handled it. They won’t consider it a smoking gun.”
“Have they questioned Creighton about Maggie?”
“Not to my knowledge, although when they asked by rote if I had any known enemies, I named him first.”
“He’s a convincing liar. He denied knowing what I was talking about when I mentioned Maggie to him.”
“What?” He shot her a look, but they were in traffic, so he had to return his attention to the road. “When was this?”
“He surprised me at the gallery just after closing. He probably watched until he saw Kate leave, and then slipped in through the back door.”
“It wasn’t bolted?”
“Since I was there when Kate left, she hadn’t locked it behind her. Or Creighton might have a key. I wouldn’t put it past him. All I know is that he appeared, and he frightened me.” She recounted the incident.
“His casual comment on the UPS box made me afraid to open it for fear of what I’d find inside. That’s why I was so jumpy when I got home. What I told the detectives was the truth. I was shaky and scared, but I thought I had let my fear get the best of me and that I was being foolish. That’s why I didn’t leave or call the police when my alarm failed to go off.” Quietly she added, “I should have heeded my instinct.”
Thinking about Billy Duke’s final moments caused her to shudder. The details were vivid in her memory. The sight and smell of him. The feel of the knife as it punched through his skin. How hot and wet the gore was that plastered her shirt to her skin. How horrible the gurgling sounds were that he made as he tried to speak. The rapping of his bones against the floor.
The street scene beyond the hood of the car became blurred as tears filled her eyes. “I hope they discover that something else killed him. That it wasn’t the knife. How could I live with myself?”
He reached across the console and took her hand. “You were in mortal danger, Julie.”
“Maybe I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t strike him with the knife. He fell against it.”
“I swear he did. But still…”
“Try not to think about it. We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
A few minutes later they arrived at Coulter House. He parked in front and turned to look at her. “Both our houses have been corrupted. Is this okay?”
“Any place would do.”
“But ‘any place’ wouldn’t give us this service.”
He got out and came around to open the door for her. The doorman greeted him by name. Derek asked, “Do you have a vacancy?”
“I’m sure we do for you, Mr. Mitchell.”
A few minutes later, a bellman used an old-fashioned brass key to open the door of a suite on the top floor and ushered them in. A sitting room was separated from the bedroom by a pair of French doors with panels of sheer fabric stretched across the panes of glass. When he was assured that they didn’t need anything for the moment, the bellman left them.
“They like their chintz,” Derek remarked as he switched on a floor lamp.
She smiled. “They do. But it’s charming. Actually, I’m impressed that you know what chintz is.”
“My mom does amateur decorating for her friends.”
“I’d like to hear about that.”
“Food first.”
“I can’t eat, Derek.”
“You’ll eat.”
He ordered up a supper of corn and crab chowder, accompanied by green salads and crusty rolls. She discovered that she could eat after all. He also ordered a bottle of white wine for her while he sipped a whiskey from the minibar. When they had finished eating, the room service waiter came and removed the table.
Julie carried her glass of wine to the sofa and sat in the corner of it, taking off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath her. “Why are we here?”
“I told you. Both our houses have been tainted by blood. Maggie’s. Billy Duke’s.”
Technically what he said was correct, but she thought there was more to it. She continued to look at him until he gave her a guilty smile. “We’re here because I don’t want you to be found. Not yet anyway.”
“By the detectives, you mean. You think they’ll arrest me?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll search your house. It’s a crime scene, but they’ll cover their asses and obtain a search warrant, entitling them to turn it inside out.”
“Like my life has been.”
He said nothing to that.
“Are you afraid of what they’ll find?” she asked.
“Yeah, I am. Not because I think you’re lying to me. But because I think you’re right about Creighton. If he was clever enough to take that button and plant it in Billy Duke’s room, God knows what else he’s done to make it look as though the two of you, you and Duke, were working together.”
She stared down into her wine, circling the rim of the glass with her fingertip. “I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
“This afternoon at the gallery, I was truly afraid that he would hurt me. Physically. I revealed my fear to him. I didn’t want to. I tried not to, but—”
“But you’re human.”
She smiled wanly, and he returned her smile. “Terribly so, it would seem.” She sipped her wine, then set her glass on the end table, folded her hands in her lap, and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Talk to me, Derek. Talk to me about anything else. Tell me about your mom’s home decorating.”
He laughed. “It’s a hobby, but she has a knack for it. Friends come to her for an opinion on what color to paint the walls, and she winds up redoing their whole house.”
For the next half hour, he talked about his family, and his animation made it apparent how fond of them he was. His older brother, who was a CPA, lived in Augusta with his wife and two teenage daughters. “The oldest goes to college in the fall. I can’t believe it. Seems like yesterday she was in pigtails, coming to me to kiss her bony, skinned knees.”
His sister had quit her nursing career when she married an anesthesiologist from Houston. “He’s a nice guy, but so boring he could put you to sleep without the juice. They’ve got three boys. Aged nine through four. Getting them through the Louvre without mishap was a challenge.”
Julie laughed. “I’m sure.”
“I was afraid they’d damage something, and that would create an international incident. ‘American Hell-raisers Rampage Through Louvre.’ ‘U.S. Delinquents Destroy Priceless Antiquities.’”
It felt good to laugh.
“Actually, they’re great kids.” He was lounging in a club chair, his feet on the matching ottoman. He’d taken off his suit jacket, his necktie was loose, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back. He raised his arms and linked his fingers behind his head. “How come I’ve done all the talking? Tell me about you.”
“You know about me, thanks to your Dodge.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, looking like he meant it. “I was acting in the best interest of my clients, who at the time were the Wheelers. Checking you out was part of my job.”
“Actually, it’s sort of a relief that you already know everything. All my skeletons have been exposed.”
“Have they? I know the facts of your life, but not much else.”
“Not true. You know that I’m passionate about art.”
“You don’t have a thing for that fat man, do you?”
She laughed. “No, but I have to keep an open mind for my clientele. Some of what I sell I wouldn’t want in my house.”
“What about the painting I bought? Could you live with it?”
“It I like. You’ve got good taste.”
“Thanks.”
“You know that I enjoy cooking.”
“I don’t know how good you are.”
“Very good.”
“Can I test that claim?”
“Maybe. Sometime.”
This exchange didn’t rule out a future between them. But it didn’t promise one, either. Each realized that, and it caused an awkward silence.
Eventually he said, “Your parents. Did you have a good relationship with them?”
“We had a few bumps. Typical stuff. But on the whole, we had a very happy family life. My dad was devoted to my mother. She loved him. They loved me.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“Not surprised. Grateful, maybe.”
“Why grateful?”
After a thoughtful moment, she said, “Mom was very young when she had me. I’m sure it was a struggle for her to finish her education and launch her career when she also had a husband and child to care for. Dad wasn’t a demanding husband. Not at all. I wasn’t a difficult child. But…but she never got to explore other options. She never traveled or experimented to see if she liked something better than school administration. She was just settled very early on. I often wondered if she regretted the choice she’d made.”
“Did you sense any resentment toward you or your dad?”
“None whatsoever. She treated me, both of us, with absolute love.” She gave a small shrug. “That’s what I marvel over. And why I’m grateful.”
He shifted his position in the chair, then met her gaze and held it, as he would with a witness before asking the big, delineating question. “How did your folks feel about you and Paul Wheeler?”
“Dad was almost a decade older than Mom. He had died a few years before I met Paul. Because of my unhappy circumstances in France, Mom didn’t tell me about her cancer until it was quite advanced. She knew about my meeting Paul, but she never saw us together.
“When I received word that she was declining fast, he paid for my airfare to come home. I arrived too late to say good-bye to her. Fortunately, Paul had come with me. I was so crushed by her death, by not being there with her, I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been there. He was a tremendous help.”
“From what I know of him, he would be.”
Another silence stretched between them. Wanting to switch subjects, she said, “I read about your case in the newspaper.”
“Which one?”
“Jason Connor.”
He sighed. “Tough case.”
“How can you defend what he did? He killed his parents in cold blood.”
“He’s
accused
of killing them.”
“The newspaper said they were hacked to pieces.”
“A ‘crime of rage.’ I’ve read the news coverage, too,” he said drily. “I hope prospective jurors haven’t.”
“He’s described as a chronic troublemaker.”
“True. But skipping school, smoking pot, petty thefts, and a few fistfights are a far cry from double murder. He’s also a rude smart-ass with a chip on his shoulder and a hatred for humankind. He’s made it clear he doesn’t appreciate me or my efforts on his behalf.”
“Is it true that you waived your fee?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this rude smart-ass deserves a better defense than the mediocre one he’d get from a public defender who would just go through the motions because he secretly agrees with the state. And because this kid, who never has had much going for him, is going to be executed if I can’t spare his life.” She was about to say something, when he stopped her. “Julie?”
“What?”
“If we talk about the Connor case, we’re going to argue.”
She acknowledged that he was right. “I suppose we should be talking about
my
case. Now that you’ve appointed yourself my lawyer.”
“Looked to me like you needed one.”
“Thank you for that.” She arched one eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’ll waive your fee for me.”
He grinned. “You, I’m charging double.”
Though they’d tried to make light of it, their common problem permeated the comfortable room like a foul odor. “When you showed up at my house, Kimball told Graham that you’d followed them from the motel where Billy Duke had been staying.”
BOOK: Smash Cut
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