Read Online Sleep Tight by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Frasier
Tags: Crime
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Intercontinental."
"I'll have to look for it sometime," Gillian said dryly. There were only two years between them, but sometimes she felt like his mother.
Detective Wakefield finally got Tate corralled so they were sitting across from each other at the long, narrow table.
"What is your full name?"
Tate turned to the glass and smiled. "Sebastian Griffin Tate."
"How old are you?" Wakefield continued.
"Why don't you just invite them in?" Tate asked, obviously enjoying his stardom. "Whoever's behind the glass."
Wakefield lifted his eyebrows and looked in the direction of Gillian and Ben. What do you think?
"Who's there? A couple of detectives? Or how about the agent who came to my place? Gillian Cantrell. Yeah, that was her name. She seemed pretty cool."
"This is going nowhere," Gillian said, moving toward the door. "I may as well make an appearance." Ben started to follow, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. He might just get the notion to strike up some inane conversation with their suspect. "Stay here. Maybe you'll catch something we miss."
"Ah-hah!" Tate said as soon as Gillian stepped into the interview room. "I knew it was you!" The guy was beaming at her.
Until questioning Tate yesterday, she hadn't thought about the similarity between herself and the victims, and now it was creepy standing there knowing she came close to fitting the physical description of all three of the dead girls.
She sat down at the end of the table, and Wakefield resumed the interview. "How old are you?"
Tate glanced at Gillian, then back to Wakefield.
She could tell he was one of those arrogant guys who thought every girl in the room was attracted to him. Trouble was, a lot of girls probably were attracted to him. She supposed he was nice-looking in a high cheekboned, big-lipped, spooky model sort of way.
"Twenty-eight."
That was followed by his address and phone number.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a full-time student." With every answer, he looked in Gillian's direction and smiled.
"Where do you attend school?"
"The U."
"Would that be the University of Minnesota?"
"Uh-huh."
"What's your major?"
"Theater."
"Have a minor?"
"Photography."
Fraternities were big at the U, and Tate had the closely cropped hair and pumped-up body of a frat weight-room addict. If Tate were the murderer, Gillian found something especially unnerving about a psycho hiding in plain sight while posing as an average student.
"Have you ever seen any of these girls?" Wakefield spread three eight-by-tens on the table. The third victim's name was Justine Ramsey, a twenty-two-year- old former university student who had a reputation for going home with a new guy every night.
Tate leaned forward and looked at the photos one at a time, then fell back in his chair. "No."
"Are you sure? Care to take another look?"
"I don't need to take another look. I've never seen any of 'em."
Wakefield separated the photo of the Ramsey girl from the others. "We checked school records and discovered you had some classes with this individual." He pushed the photo across the table in case Tate wanted to examine it again.
"So? Some of my classes have four hundred kids. How would I recognize everybody?"
"Someone said you and Ramsey went out a few times."
"Who told you that?" he asked, his face turning red.
"Someone reliable—that's all you need to know. Did you maybe forget about going out with Justine Ramsey?" Wakefield paused, giving Tate time to think about the corner he'd painted himself into. "You're a good-looking guy. Probably gone out with a lot of girls. I know how girls can be. Maybe you stop and say hi to one of them, and pretty soon she's telling everybody you're dating."
Gillian had watched several of Wakefield's interviews. He had a nice technique, relaxed, friendly, not too aggressive. And he never directly accused the interviewee of anything if he could give him a way out.
Tate shot Gillian a nervous smile, some of his cool beginning to
"I'll have to look for it sometime," Gillian said dryly. There were only two years between them, but sometimes she felt like his mother.
Detective Wakefield finally got Tate corralled so they were sitting across from each other at the long, narrow table.
"What is your full name?"
Tate turned to the glass and smiled. "Sebastian Griffin Tate."
"How old are you?" Wakefield continued.
"Why don't you just invite them in?" Tate asked, obviously enjoying his stardom. "Whoever's behind the glass."
Wakefield lifted his eyebrows and looked in the direction of Gillian and Ben. What do you think?
"Who's there? A couple of detectives? Or how about the agent who came to my place? Gillian Cantrell. Yeah, that was her name. She seemed pretty cool."
"This is going nowhere," Gillian said, moving toward the door. "I may as well make an appearance." Ben started to follow, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. He might just get the notion to strike up some inane conversation with their suspect. "Stay here. Maybe you'll catch something we miss."
"Ah-hah!" Tate said as soon as Gillian stepped into the interview room. "I knew it was you!" The guy was beaming at her.
Until questioning Tate yesterday, she hadn't thought about the similarity between herself and the victims, and now it was creepy standing there knowing she came close to fitting the physical description of all three of the dead girls.
She sat down at the end of the table, and Wakefield resumed the interview. "How old are you?"
Tate glanced at Gillian, then back to Wakefield.
She could tell he was one of those arrogant guys who thought every girl in the room was attracted to him. Trouble was, a lot of girls probably were attracted to him. She supposed he was nice-looking in a high cheekboned, big-lipped, spooky model sort of way.
"Twenty-eight."
That was followed by his address and phone number.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a full-time student." With every answer, he looked in Gillian's direction and smiled.
"Where do you attend school?"
"The U."
"Would that be the University of Minnesota?"
"Uh-huh."
"What's your major?"
"Theater."
"Have a minor?"
"Photography."
Fraternities were big at the U, and Tate had the closely cropped hair and pumped-up body of a frat weight-room addict. If Tate were the murderer, Gillian found something especially unnerving about a psycho hiding in plain sight while posing as an average student.
"Have you ever seen any of these girls?" Wakefield spread three eight-by-tens on the table. The third victim's name was Justine Ramsey, a twenty-two-year- old former university student who had a reputation for going home with a new guy every night.
Tate leaned forward and looked at the photos one at a time, then fell back in his chair. "No."
"Are you sure? Care to take another look?"
"I don't need to take another look. I've never seen any of 'em."
Wakefield separated the photo of the Ramsey girl from the others. "We checked school records and discovered you had some classes with this individual." He pushed the photo across the table in case Tate wanted to examine it again.
"So? Some of my classes have four hundred kids. How would I recognize everybody?"
"Someone said you and Ramsey went out a few times."
"Who told you that?" he asked, his face turning red.
"Someone reliable—that's all you need to know. Did you maybe forget about going out with Justine Ramsey?" Wakefield paused, giving Tate time to think about the corner he'd painted himself into. "You're a good-looking guy. Probably gone out with a lot of girls. I know how girls can be. Maybe you stop and say hi to one of them, and pretty soon she's telling everybody you're dating."
Gillian had watched several of Wakefield's interviews. He had a nice technique, relaxed, friendly, not too aggressive. And he never directly accused the interviewee of anything if he could give him a way out.
Tate shot Gillian a nervous smile, some of his cool beginning to
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