the horrible image of the woman dropping from the block of wood still vivid in his mind.
“You know,” the saleswoman continued, “you should give her something nice.” She reached for a small bottle on a purple velvet cloth. “This is called Allure,” she said. “It’s one of our best sellers.”
Wright moved to the counter slowly. “It would be for my wife,” he murmured.
“Of course it would,” the saleswoman said, brushing her fingers over Wright’s left hand and his wedding band. “You two having a little tiff?”
“Well, we—”
“Hi, David.”
Wright’s gaze shot from the woman’s fingers into the eyes of a man he’d never seen before. A stocky, swarthy man with dark hair and a crooked nose. “Who are you?”
The man snickered and looked at the saleswoman. “What a joker,” he said in a thick New York accent, spreading his arms wide and smiling. “He always does this to me. Acts like he doesn’t know me. It’s his thing, ya know?”
The saleswoman shrugged.
The man patted Wright on the shoulder, then reached into his jacket, pulled out a photograph, and held it up so Wright could see.
As Wright focused on the photo, his heart rose in his throat and his upper lip curled. It was a picture of him whipping the woman as she hung from the iron rings.
“Follow me,” he ordered, his tone gruff. He wheeled around and headed toward the elevators.
Wright followed him like a puppy after its mother, head down and in the same tracks, all the way to a waiting elevator. Moving into the car obediently when the man waved him in. As the doors closed, the man turned toward Wright, resting his finger on the “stop” button. Pushing it hard when the elevator had risen a few feet, halting it between the first and second floors.
“What’s going on?” Wright asked. “Please,” he begged, “tell me.”
The man smiled, his demeanor becoming pleasant again. “Everything’s going to be fine, David, as long as you cooperate.”
“How did you get that?” Wright asked, gesturing at the photo the man was still holding.
“We were there, in a side room. We saw everything. We got pictures
and
a tape of the whole thing.” The man shook his head. “Poor woman.”
“It was an accident,” Wright muttered.
“Of course it was,” the man agreed, “but the cops might not think so when they see the tape up to the point you put the noose around her neck.”
Wright started to say something, but the man held up a finger and cut him off.
“Don’t worry, David, your secret’s safe as long as you work with us. Right now, all the cops have on their hands is a missing persons case. We picked the woman up and put her in cold storage. We took care of the owner, too, so he couldn’t point the cops at you.” The man chuckled snidely. “I doubt anybody will miss him, though. Pretty much a scumbag.”
Wright shut his eyes tightly. “I didn’t kill her,” he said, gritting his teeth. “It was an accident.”
“Of course it was,” the man said, pulling a pocketful of pictures from his jacket and tossing them so they scattered on the floor of the elevator. “But try telling the cops that when they see these.”
Wright dropped to his knees, scooping them up quickly. “This is crazy,” he muttered over and over. “Crazy.”
“And don’t worry about the shop, we cleaned everything up.” The man laughed harshly and pushed the elevator’s “start” button. “The NYPD crime lab won’t find nothing.”
Wright picked up the last picture as the car jerked to a start. “What’s going on?” he whispered, looking up at the man. “Please tell me.”
The car came to a stop and the doors parted on the second floor. “We’ll be in touch soon,” the man said as he moved past several people waiting to get on. “By the way, David, my name’s Paul. Remember that, because we’re going to be talking a lot from now on.”
DÉJÀ VU, Gillette thought, watching Stiles hoist a juicy piece of
“You know,” the saleswoman continued, “you should give her something nice.” She reached for a small bottle on a purple velvet cloth. “This is called Allure,” she said. “It’s one of our best sellers.”
Wright moved to the counter slowly. “It would be for my wife,” he murmured.
“Of course it would,” the saleswoman said, brushing her fingers over Wright’s left hand and his wedding band. “You two having a little tiff?”
“Well, we—”
“Hi, David.”
Wright’s gaze shot from the woman’s fingers into the eyes of a man he’d never seen before. A stocky, swarthy man with dark hair and a crooked nose. “Who are you?”
The man snickered and looked at the saleswoman. “What a joker,” he said in a thick New York accent, spreading his arms wide and smiling. “He always does this to me. Acts like he doesn’t know me. It’s his thing, ya know?”
The saleswoman shrugged.
The man patted Wright on the shoulder, then reached into his jacket, pulled out a photograph, and held it up so Wright could see.
As Wright focused on the photo, his heart rose in his throat and his upper lip curled. It was a picture of him whipping the woman as she hung from the iron rings.
“Follow me,” he ordered, his tone gruff. He wheeled around and headed toward the elevators.
Wright followed him like a puppy after its mother, head down and in the same tracks, all the way to a waiting elevator. Moving into the car obediently when the man waved him in. As the doors closed, the man turned toward Wright, resting his finger on the “stop” button. Pushing it hard when the elevator had risen a few feet, halting it between the first and second floors.
“What’s going on?” Wright asked. “Please,” he begged, “tell me.”
The man smiled, his demeanor becoming pleasant again. “Everything’s going to be fine, David, as long as you cooperate.”
“How did you get that?” Wright asked, gesturing at the photo the man was still holding.
“We were there, in a side room. We saw everything. We got pictures
and
a tape of the whole thing.” The man shook his head. “Poor woman.”
“It was an accident,” Wright muttered.
“Of course it was,” the man agreed, “but the cops might not think so when they see the tape up to the point you put the noose around her neck.”
Wright started to say something, but the man held up a finger and cut him off.
“Don’t worry, David, your secret’s safe as long as you work with us. Right now, all the cops have on their hands is a missing persons case. We picked the woman up and put her in cold storage. We took care of the owner, too, so he couldn’t point the cops at you.” The man chuckled snidely. “I doubt anybody will miss him, though. Pretty much a scumbag.”
Wright shut his eyes tightly. “I didn’t kill her,” he said, gritting his teeth. “It was an accident.”
“Of course it was,” the man said, pulling a pocketful of pictures from his jacket and tossing them so they scattered on the floor of the elevator. “But try telling the cops that when they see these.”
Wright dropped to his knees, scooping them up quickly. “This is crazy,” he muttered over and over. “Crazy.”
“And don’t worry about the shop, we cleaned everything up.” The man laughed harshly and pushed the elevator’s “start” button. “The NYPD crime lab won’t find nothing.”
Wright picked up the last picture as the car jerked to a start. “What’s going on?” he whispered, looking up at the man. “Please tell me.”
The car came to a stop and the doors parted on the second floor. “We’ll be in touch soon,” the man said as he moved past several people waiting to get on. “By the way, David, my name’s Paul. Remember that, because we’re going to be talking a lot from now on.”
DÉJÀ VU, Gillette thought, watching Stiles hoist a juicy piece of
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