Smash Cut Read Free Page B

incredulously.
Kimball seemed reluctant to admit it, but she said, “It’s a possibility.”
Doug swore beneath his breath.
Sanford clicked the pen a few more times as he read from the material. “Let’s back up a minute.” He looked at Julie. “There was no one in the corridor when you left the suite?”
“No.”
“Housekeeper, room service—”
“No one.” She remembered making that walk to the elevator. Paul had laid his arm across her shoulders. He’d been such a solid presence beside her. Strong, warm, vibrant. So different from the form beneath the sheet in the morgue. He’d asked her if she was happy, and she had told him she was.
Kimball asked, “Did you speak to the other passengers when you got into the elevator?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Wheeler?”
“No.”
“Did any appear to recognize either of you?”
“No.”
“None of them spoke to you? Acknowledged you?”
“Not really, no. The two women were talking and paid no attention to us at all. The young man didn’t say anything, although he politely moved back so we could get in. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.”
“He was here from California for a job interview at three-thirty. He was afraid he wouldn’t make it in time,” Kimball supplied. “We’ve checked that out.”
“The two women are from Nashville,” Sanford said. “They’re in town for their niece’s wedding this weekend.”
“How awful for them,” Julie murmured.
Certainly everyone in the elevator had been traumatized. But those three hadn’t lost someone like she had. Beyond sharing that brief elevator ride, they had no connection to Paul Wheeler. He was nothing more to them than a name, an unfortunate victim. Undoubtedly they would be affected by the incident, and would think of it each time they got into an elevator, but it hadn’t left a vacuum in their lives. The consequence to them wasn’t irreparable.
Sanford dropped the pen onto his desk. “Why don’t you talk us through it from there? For Mr. Wheeler’s benefit as much as for ours.” He laced his long fingers and settled them on his belt buckle in an attitude of listening.
Kimball propped herself against the corner of his desk. Doug had one hand cupped around his chin and mouth, his eyes steady on Julie.
She related the short descent to the next stop, on the eighth floor, the doors opening, the robber reaching into the elevator and pressing the button to keep the doors open.
“Your first impression?” Kimball said.
“The mask. The shark’s mouth.”
“You couldn’t distinguish any of his features?”
She shook her head. “No skin or hair was exposed. Not even his wrists. He had the sleeves of the tracksuit pulled over the gloves. The mask went into the neck of the hoodie, which was zipped up high under his chin.”
“Height, weight?”
“Taller than me, but not by much. Average weight.” The detectives nodded as though that was how he’d been described by the other witnesses.
Sanford said, “In the next day or two, we’d like you to listen to some recordings, see if you can pick out the voice from some used in other crimes.”
Mention of the eerie voice caused the hair on Julie’s arms to stand on end. “It was awful.”
“One of the ladies said it was like fingernails on a chalkboard.”
“Worse. Much more frightening.”
She experienced a disturbing flashback to the wraparound sunglasses. “The sunglasses were very dark, making his eyes as black and unreadable as a shark’s. But I felt his eyes on me.”
Sanford sat forward slightly. “If you couldn’t see his eyes, how do you know he was looking at you?”
“I just do.”
No one said anything for a moment, then Kimball prompted her. “He told everybody to kneel.”
She continued uninterrupted until she reached the part where Paul addressed the robber. “He said, ‘All right. You’ve got what you wanted. Leave us alone.’ I could tell by his tone of voice that he was more angry than afraid.”
“I can believe that,” Doug said.
“I turned my head and was about to urge him not to provoke the thief. That’s when—”
An