Smash Cut (5 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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Doug Wheeler looked the part of exactly what he was, a successful businessman. He was fiftyish and well maintained, although as he entered Derek’s office he looked like a man with a lot on his mind. His handshake, however, was dry and firm.
“I understand you’ve just returned from a trip abroad.”
“Paris. I came here straight from the airport. Which accounts for my rumpled appearance. I apologize.” Derek felt particularly disheveled in contrast to Wheeler, who was immaculately dressed and groomed.
“No apology necessary, Mr. Mitchell. I’m just happy you agreed to see me today.”
Derek motioned him into a chair. In the center of the furniture grouping was a coffee table, on which Marlene had set a tray with an ice bucket, two glasses, and bottles of water. He preferred meeting with clients in the seating area rather than from behind his desk.
“Help yourself, Mr. Wheeler.”
Wheeler shook his head.
“My assistant, Ms. Sullivan, told me about your brother,” Derek said as he poured himself a Perrier. “I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you. It was ghastly.”
“It was. She provided me a thumbnail sketch of what happened, but I didn’t have time to read all the newspaper stories. Do you feel like talking about it?”
Derek listened for the next five minutes while Doug Wheeler related what he knew about the fatal shooting. Derek noted that it had occurred on the day he left for France.
Wheeler ended with “That’s my knowledge of it, based on what Julie and the others who were in the elevator told the police.”
“Julie’s the woman who was with your brother when it happened?”
“Yes.” Wheeler reached for one of the bottles of water, uncapped it, and took a drink.
Marlene had referred to Julie Rutledge as Wheeler’s mistress. Derek wondered if her relationship with Paul Wheeler had caused the family any embarrassment. He assumed by Doug Wheeler’s obvious reluctance to elaborate on it that it had.
“The culprit hasn’t been identified?”
Wheeler shook his head.
“Ms. Sullivan told me that the police don’t seem to have any real leads.”
“As of this morning, no.”
“Who’s heading the investigation?”
“A detective name Homer Sanford.”
“I know him. He’s a good investigator.”
“I suppose,” Wheeler said, shrugging. “So far he hasn’t come through on this case. He had nothing new to report to me earlier today.”
Derek knew the former all-star football player to be a methodical and dogged detective. He was well thought of by his comrades. He was tough only on criminals. If he’d failed to produce, it wasn’t for lack of trying.
“As I understand it,” he said to Wheeler, “all Sanford had to go on was the bullet, and that the ballistics test turned up nothing.”
“That’s right. According to all the databases, the pistol hadn’t been used in a previous crime.”
Derek purposefully let the silence stretch out, waiting to see what Wheeler would say next. Up to this point, he didn’t know why the man had called this urgent meeting. Finally he spoke aloud what had been on his mind since hearing about the shooting. “Seems an odd place for a robbery, doesn’t it? The eighth floor of a hotel.”
Wheeler’s gaze locked on his. “Yes.” Then his eyes skittered away. “It does.”
“Has Detective Sanford mentioned the oddity of it?”
“Not to me.”
“Huh.”
Derek’s jet lag was catching up with him. He didn’t look at his watch, but he could tell by the placement of the sun that it was getting close to quitting time, and his body ached with fatigue. It was time to cut to the chase. “Mr. Wheeler, why did you ask for this meeting?”
“Because I know your reputation as a defense attorney. You’re said to be excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“I want to retain you to represent my family during all this.”
“‘All this’ meaning—”
“The police interviews.”
“They’ve questioned you regarding your brother’s killing?”
He nodded. “Which is routine. Pro forma, I’m told.”
Bullshit
. Derek didn’t believe anything the police did was pro forma, and apparently Wheeler didn’t think so, either.
“During these interviews, have you had counsel present?”
“Yes.” Wheeler made a dismissive gesture. “He’s a capable man when it comes to petty lawsuits and traffic tickets. But we felt we needed someone with bigger balls. If you’ll excuse the expression.”
“I do, especially since the referred-to balls are mine.” They shared a grin. “Who’s ‘we’?”
Derek’s follow-up question caught the other man off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“You keep saying ‘we.’ You and who else?”
“My family. My wife and son.”
“I see.” Derek waited for Wheeler to elaborate. He didn’t until he’d taken another gulp from the water bottle.
“Suspicion is automatically cast onto anyone who would benefit from Paul’s death,” he said.
“You?”
“Not specifically. I’m not Paul’s heir. Although I will become CEO of the company, there’s no monetary gain.”
“Your wife?”
“Sharon. As the saying goes, I married well. Sharon’s great- grandfather bought tens of thousands of shares of Coca-Cola stock when the company was young.”
“Congratulations.”
Wheeler smiled wanly. “She isn’t after Paul’s money. Besides, she was at home when he was killed.”
“That leaves your son.”
“Creighton.” He paused, then added, “He’s Paul’s heir.”
Derek leaned back in his chair and gazed at the man for a moment, then said, “If I was a cop, he’s the first person I’d look at, Mr. Wheeler. No offense. I’m being brutally honest with you. The police always follow the money.”
“I understand that. They’re right to do so.”
“How old is Creighton?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Derek had hoped for younger, a minor with less independence and more supervision. “The police aren’t holding him, are they?”
“No, nothing like that. The interviews have been very civil, and took place at our home, not at the police station.”
“That’s good. Counsel was always present?”
“I made sure of that. And, fortunately, Creighton has an ironclad alibi. He was at our house on the tennis court taking a lesson from his private coach at the time of the robbery and shooting. I’d gone home to change for a golf game and saw them on the court when I arrived, which was only minutes before Julie called to tell me that Paul was dead. Our housekeeper, who wouldn’t lie if her life depended on it, said they’d been playing there for at least an hour.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem, really. Retaining you is a precautionary measure. I don’t want my son browbeaten because the detectives have nowhere else to look and nothing else to do.”
“Why would they do that?”
Wheeler hesitated, then said, “Paul and Creighton had their differences.”
“Over?”
“Just about everything,” Wheeler replied with a snuffled laugh. “Basically Creighton doesn’t apply himself to the business as Paul thought he should. Paul was a workaholic. So am I for that matter, but not to the extent my brother was. He didn’t understand people who don’t thrive on work. Creighton has other interests.”
Derek raised his eyebrows in query. “Tennis?”
“He plays nearly every day. He likes cars. Clothes. But his real passion is film.”
“You mean movies?”
“I think he’s seen every movie ever made. They’re more than entertainment to him. They’re an avocation. One that consumes much more of his time than Wheeler Enterprises. He thinks…artistically.” Wheeler sighed. “Paul couldn’t understand or accept Creighton’s disinterest in commerce and pressured him about it, even more than I did.
Do.
It was a real bone of contention between them.”
“Was this antagonism between them well known?”
“To those well acquainted with the family, yes.” He frowned. “Julie’s mentioned it to the detectives.”
“Hmm. The family discord was exposed to the police by the woman who was with your brother when he died. In a hotel. In the middle of the day.”
Taking the hint, Doug said, “My brother and Julie…Paul never referred to her as his girlfriend per se. But everyone who knew him knew about their affair, even though they kept it under the radar.”
“Why was that?”
“I suppose out of respect for Mary, Paul’s late wife, whom he had loved body and soul. They were a prominent society couple. Inseparable. Totally devoted to each other.”
“Children?”
“No. Apparently Mary couldn’t conceive. But she and Paul made up for it with their philanthropic work. When Mary died, he was devastated. I didn’t think he would ever look at another woman. But then Julie came along, and he fell head over heels.”
“How long ago?”
“Going on two years. Something like that.”
“Did they live together?”
He shook his head. “They were together all the time, though. Several times a week, at least, and for a nooner every Tuesday after noon at the hotel. He told me once that it was their special time, and that nothing would interfere if he could help it. He worked his schedule around it.”
“The hotel staff can confirm that standing reservation?”
“They already have. They provided records to the police.” He set his empty water bottle on the table between them. “Can I count on you for legal counsel, Mr. Mitchell? Will you be our official spokesperson to the media? I hope we won’t need your services at all. But if we do, I’d feel better knowing you’re on standby.”
“I’ll have to do some homework. Catch up on the case and the ongoing investigation. I also want to meet your family, especially Creighton.”
“Of course. He welcomes the idea of having you in our corner should the need arise. Naturally, we’ll provide you a healthy retainer.”
Smiling, Derek stood up and extended his hand. “You certainly will.”
Wheeler laughed. “I’ll have a check delivered by courier tomorrow.”
“You can get the details from Ms. Sullivan on your way out,” Derek said. Then his expression turned appropriately somber. “I’m terribly sorry for the reason behind this meeting. My sympathies to you and your family.”
“Thank you.”
Wheeler turned to go and had almost reached the door when Derek said, “Are the police looking at her? At the girlfriend?”
Wheeler looked confused by the question, then said, “For involvement, you mean? Like an accomplice?”
Derek shrugged.
Wheeler shook his head. “If they are, they’re wrong. Paul adored Julie, and vice versa.”
Derek kept his opinion of reciprocated adoration to himself. When a fortune like the Wheelers’ was at stake, adoration often took a backseat.

CHAPTER
5

SHARON WHEELER WAS ADDRESSING THE LAST SEVERAL DOZEN acknowledgment cards being sent to people in thanks for flowers and other kindnesses extended to the family following her brother-in-law’s death. It had been a time-consuming chore. Having been working on it for several days, she was glad to see the end of it.
When Creighton barged into the bedroom suite without even knocking, she actually welcomed the interruption. Until she saw that he was in a huff.
“Mother!”
“Here, darling.”
Seeing her at the desk, he glared. He was holding something in his hand, which he waggled as he came toward her.
“What is that, sweetheart? A DVD?”
“Yes, Mother,” he repeated, enunciating the words. “A DVD. A DVD that belongs to me.”
“You’d left it here. I watched it last night. I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t
think
. You just used it without asking me first.”
“Creighton, for heaven’s sake, calm down. I didn’t damage it, did I?”
“You left it out of the box. It was in the kitchen, just lying there on the counter. I happened to spot it as I passed through.”
“Ruby probably—”
“If you’re going to be careless, be careless with your own DVDs, or better still watch pay-per-view so you’re not responsible for touching anything.”
If he hadn’t wanted anyone else touching his DVD, it had been careless of him to leave it behind. But she didn’t point that out. Why vex him more than he already was? When he was in a temper, it was better just to let him vent it.
“I should have called and asked you before I watched it,” she said. “I apologize.”
He sailed the DVD onto her desk. “It’s ruined now, and I really don’t give a fuck for your apology.”
“Don’t use that kind of language with your mother.”
They turned to see Doug standing in the open doorway. He walked in and tossed his suit jacket onto the bed. “Apologize to her.”
“Like hell. She shouldn’t have used—”
“Enough!” Doug barked.
Creighton lapsed into a sulky silence. Doug looked ready to strike him. Sharon felt miserable for having caused the row, because Creighton had reason to be upset. Being careless with one of his precious DVDs was an unforgivable offense.
“I’ll buy you another DVD to replace this one,” she offered quietly. Then she laughed lightly. “All this brouhaha, and the movie isn’t even that good.”
“That’s not the point, Mother.” Creighton sighed, probably over her stupidity for not seeing the point. “I’m outta here. ‘Hasta la vista, baby.’ Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Terminator 2: Judgment Day.
” He turned to go.
“Stay where you are,” Doug said. “I need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Apologize to your mother first.”
“Jesus, what am I, eight?”
Sharon hated conflict because she’d grown up in a continual state of contention. Her parents’ marriage had been loveless and turbulent, the mansion in which they lived a war zone. Too much money was involved for divorce to be a workable solution, so they’d committed themselves to making each other miserable, with Sharon acting as the hapless arbitrator.
Consequently she avoided strife whenever possible, and the role of mediator came naturally to her. “It’s all right, Doug. He didn’t mean anything, did you, darling? He—”
“Don’t excuse him, Sharon. I could hear him all the way downstairs. He owes you an apology. I insist.”
She watched the two men in her life try to stare each other down, and for once it was Creighton who relented. He turned to her, bent at the waist, took her hand, and kissed it. “Please forgive me, Mother. I apologize for saying ‘fuck.’”
Then he straightened and addressed Doug. “Which, by the way, was repeated sixty-seven times in this particular film. It has a running length of ninety-four minutes. So last night while watching it, she heard
fuck
, or a derivative thereof, spoken every one and a half minutes, give or take a few seconds. But if my saying
fuck
offended her, then I’m fucking sorry.”
Sharon couldn’t contain her giggle, but Doug wasn’t amused.
Trying to defuse the situation, she said, “Look, I just finished addressing the acknowledgment cards. They can be mailed tomorrow. Everyone was so nice, but it’s been an ordeal to write all these thank-yous.”
“I appreciate your doing that,” Doug said. Then he turned to Creighton. “I’ve just come from a meeting with Derek Mitchell.”
Creighton shrugged, dropped down into an armchair, and rested his head against the back of it, apparently uninterested.
“Refresh my memory, Doug,” Sharon said.
“He’s the defense attorney. Remember we talked about retaining him.”
“Oh, right.” There had been some discussion over dinner a couple of nights ago, but her mind had wandered.
“He wants to meet with you,” Doug said to Creighton.
“I’m getting sick of this. I really am. First those detectives and that limp dick lawyer of yours, hanging on to my every word, making notes.” Creighton mimicked frantic scribbling. “Now this guy. What makes him so special, anyway? And why do I need him?”
Doug didn’t address the questions. “His assistant made an appointment for you tomorrow.”
“I can’t tomorrow. You’ve got me taking those brick and stone people to lunch, remember?”
“Three o’clock.”
“My car is being serviced at three o’clock, and I stay with it. I don’t trust that cretin mechanic.”
“Here’s his address.”
Doug extended him a business card. Creighton shot each of them a hateful look, then in one uninterrupted motion, he snatched the card, came out of the chair, and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Neither Sharon nor Doug moved or said anything for several seconds, then he went to the bed and picked up his discarded jacket. She followed him into the closet, which doubled as a dressing room they shared. He whipped off his necktie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“It was my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have watched his DVD without asking.”
“Don’t do that, Sharon. It is
not
your fault. You’re excusing him again. He’s never going to grow up and assume responsibility if you undercut me every time I try and instill in him—”
“You sound like Paul.”
She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. They pained him, she could tell. He removed his shirt and tossed it along with his suit jacket into the hamper. She moved behind him and put her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I did sound like Paul.” He turned to face her and pecked a kiss on her lips. “But he was right, Sharon. Creighton is spoiled and we’re to blame.”
“Chiefly me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t want him to feel alone and unloved the way your parents made you feel.”
She tilted her head up and looked at him. “You’re a psychologist now?”
“You don’t need therapy to figure that out. But we’re both to blame for spoiling Creighton. I indulged him, too, because it was easier.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t recall him ever being easy.”
“Neither do I, really.” His grin was rueful.
“I just loved him so much, Doug. I wanted him to know it. I didn’t want him ever to be mad at me.” She hesitated, then said, “Maybe if we’d had more children…”
After Creighton, she’d miscarried twice before her doctor recommended a hysterectomy. Doug had never blamed her for not giving him more children, but Mary had once sadly joked that the Wheeler boys hadn’t done so well in the progeny department. They hadn’t married good breeders.
Doug rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “None of that.” He kissed her forehead as he released her. “Just, from now on, when I crack the whip, back me up.”
She nodded, but she didn’t make a promise she might be unable to keep.
He sat down on a padded bench to remove his shoes. “I hope this lawyer puts the fear of God into him.”
“What’s he like?”
“I liked him. Shoots from the hip. Supposed to be hell on wheels in the courtroom. Prosecutors dread to see him coming. Doesn’t like to lose and goes to the mat only when absolutely forced.”
“Creighton asked why we need him. I wonder that myself.” She had opened one of her jewelry drawers under the pretense of looking for something, but the fact was, this talk of lawyers made her nervous, so she was acting busy to hide it.
“The past five minutes demonstrate how recalcitrant Creighton can be. During the course of an interview, I’m afraid he’ll fly off the handle and say something to those detectives that will rub them the wrong way.”
“If he gets short with them, it’s their own fault,” Sharon said. “He’s getting impatient with their questions, and frankly I don’t blame him. He couldn’t have been involved in that robbery and shooting. He was here. Why don’t they start looking for the real culprit and leave Creighton alone?”
“Hopefully they will. But if not, at least we’ll have Derek Mitchell talking to the police for us and keeping a muzzle on Creighton.”
She gave the drawer a shove, and it closed with a clap. “That still doesn’t explain why they’re fixated on Creighton when he’s got such a solid alibi.”
Doug stood and removed his belt, carefully hanging it on a rack. “I’m sure that’s the first thing Derek Mitchell will demand to know.”
“Do you think Julie is responsible?”
“For the detectives’ interest in Creighton?”
Sharon shrugged.
“No,” Doug replied, shaking his head adamantly. He pulled off his trousers.
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Why would she point the finger at Creighton?”
“Because Paul might have poisoned her mind against him.”
“Paul wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have spoken ill of anyone in the family to Julie.”
Sharon made a scornful sound. “They shared a bed. Paul hated Creighton. He—”
“Paul did not hate Creighton,” Doug said sharply. “They had their disagreements, and Paul didn’t always approve of Creighton’s behavior. But he didn’t hate him. Please don’t ever say that within anyone’s hearing again, Sharon. They could get the wrong idea entirely.” He headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

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