Smash Cut by Sandra Brown Page A

prior to the shooting. The hotel keeps them for only four days before recording over them, so that’s as far back as we can go.
“We’ve got techies looking at them frame by frame to see if they can spot this guy again. And if they do, he’ll go to the head of the list as a viable suspect. Because in order to pull this off, he had to know where he was going, how long it would take him to do all that in the stairwell and get out before the shutdown.”
“He would have cased the joint.”
Kimball laughed at Julie’s deliberate use of jargon, so Julie was caught a bit off guard when the detective asked abruptly, “What do you think of Creighton Wheeler?”
“I believe I’ve made plain my low opinion of him.”
“You’ve dropped hints that you think he’s behind this robbery and shooting.”
Julie said nothing.
“Actually, your hints have been as obvious as an F-five tornado. Sanford and I would have to be really stupid not to have picked up on them.”
“I don’t believe you’re stupid.”
The detective returned the paperweight to the desk and folded her arms across her bulge, regarding Julie shrewdly. “Do you know Creighton well?”
“I base my opinion largely on what Paul had told me about him. But my personal dealings with him have borne out everything Paul said.”
“What personal dealings?”
“As few as possible, I assure you. But Paul was a very social ani mal. Get-togethers with his family were unavoidable. Holidays. Birthday dinners. Like that.”
“Do you think Creighton is capable of committing murder?”
Julie felt he was, but she couldn’t say so with certainty, because she had no basis for her opinion except an intense distrust and dislike of him. Paul had alluded to a darker side of his nephew, which his golden good looks concealed. Her intuition about his true character was strong, but also subjective and therefore fallible. Hedging, she flipped the question. “What do you think, Ms. Kimball?”
“Honestly? I think everyone’s capable of committing murder. But regarding Creighton Wheeler in particular, I think he’s a smart-alecky, condescending, rich snot who needs an ass whuppin’ about as bad as anybody ever did.” Kimball frowned. “But it seems a little too obvious that he had his uncle bumped off when, upon said uncle’s death, he’s due to inherit a shitload of money.”
“You’d have to know Creighton. He enjoys inside jokes.”
“Inside jokes?”
“He likes being one up on everyone else.”
“Example?”
“Hmm. Let’s see. Okay, a perfect example. A few months ago I hosted a private showing for a new artist. Champagne and caviar. Distinguished guest list. You know the scene.”
“The men in silk turtlenecks, everyone wearing black.”
Julie smiled at the detective’s accuracy. “During the course of the event, I noticed that Creighton and several of the guests were grouped around a particular painting. I went over to see what had drawn them to it.”
Julie’s blood still boiled when she recalled the incident and Creighton’s smugness. “He had sneaked in a canvas and hung it on the wall. It was an awful still life he’d picked up at a flea market. He’d forged my featured artist’s signature on it. He was mocking the artist, my reputation, and my clients, making them out to be gullible art snobs.”
“What did you do?”
“I maneuvered them away from him. Removed the painting. No real harm was done. The artist never knew. But that’s the kind of cruel trick Creighton likes to play. He likes to make a fool of a person, and anyone is fair game.”
“He pricks with people. That’s an annoying characteristic, but hardly a crime.”
Not to have her theory so blithely dismissed, Julie said, “He knows you would think him too glaringly obvious to be a prime suspect. You see? That’s his inside joke, and I promise you, he’s laughing up his sleeve.”
Kimball stared at Julie thoughtfully, then picked up the manila envelope containing the photograph of the unidentified man and tapped it against her palm. “I think that’s it for now. We