Free Smash Cut by Sandra Brown

cameras.
“We’re looking specifically at the time frame just before and just after your elevator reached the lobby and all hell broke loose, to see if the camera got someone leaving the hotel who can’t be identified as an employee, guest, friend of a guest, someone attending a meeting or conference. Someone who didn’t retrieve a car from the valet or request a taxi.”
“That’s hundreds of people,” she’d said. “How long will that take?”
The two detectives had admitted that it was a labor-intensive task.
“Nothing else?”
They’d told her they hadn’t found the mask, the glasses, or the tracksuit. His socks had left fibers on the carpet in the corridor, but they matched those of a popular name brand sold in nearly every retail outlet that carried men’s socks. He hadn’t touched anything with his skin, hadn’t left a strand of hair, none they’d found, and even if they had scraped up some of his DNA, they still had to identify him before they could even try for a match that would place him at the scene.
“Cars in the parking garage?”
“We’re checking each one,” Sanford had told her. “There’s a security camera at the exit. No one drove out within ten minutes of the shooting, and by that time, no one was allowed to. That’s why we think he walked away. He’d probably left a car parked a few blocks from the hotel.”
Julie’s jet lag had compounded her pessimism and despondency. She’d decided on the spot to throw caution to the wind. “You have the lobby video for that day?”
“We’ve already viewed it several times,” Sanford had replied.
“Did Creighton Wheeler appear on it?”
“No.”
Kimball’s reply had come so quickly, Julie knew with certainty that they’d specifically looked for him.
Following that, she had thanked them for their diligence and left. She hadn’t expected to be pounced upon by reporters outside the building. “I don’t have anything to tell you,” she’d said as she tried to push her way through them.
“Do they have any leads, Ms. Rutledge?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“Are they any closer to finding the man who shot Mr. Wheeler?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Do you think the robber acted alone?”
That question had halted her because it was the first time anyone had asked it of her. Now, as she watched the replay of that scene on her TV screen, she saw the conviction in her own face when she leaned into the microphone and said, “No, and I don’t think it was a robbery, either.”
The video ended there, and the anchorwoman reappeared. “Although our own Chris de la Cruz asked Ms. Rutledge to expand on that statement, she declined.”
Julie clicked off the TV and turned out her lamp.
She probably would catch hell from the detectives for making that statement, but she didn’t care. The crime was almost two weeks old. By now, they were probably working on a dozen other homicides in addition to Paul’s. Each time she called or met with them, they reiterated their determination to see the case solved and the perpetrator brought to justice, but she wasn’t naďve. Soon the demands of their job would place this case on the back burner in favor of a new one.
Maybe her statement to the reporters would keep things stirred up for another day or two at least. Anything was possible. A lot could happen within a day or two.
Within a day or two, you could do something at 37,000 feet that you would never have believed yourself capable of doing.

    Creighton touched an icon on the video monitor that served as his remote, increasing the volume on the giant TV in his home theater.
The woman raised her head from his lap and with some pique asked, “Am I boring you?”
“If you were, you’d know.”
He planted his hand on the back of her head and pushed it down. She returned to what she’d been doing. Actually, she was very good at it. Since he was a regular client, the agency knew what he liked and sent over only the best girls. As soon as she’d arrived, he’d said, “In the theater.” Once he was settled in his chair,