Read Online Sleep Tight by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Frasier
Tags: Crime
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strategy—or was he just trying to look cool?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if he's been in more trouble than we know and Daddy's gotten him out of it. He's avoided getting his name on the public-access sex offender blacklist. He avoided a prison sentence by agreeing to become a full-time student. That kind of thing is bullshit."
"I've seen him on campus," Ben said. "Girls seem to dig him."
"Not this girl," Gillian said.
"We'll try to get interviews with school acquaintances," Wakefield said. "See if we can come up with anything."
Outside the police station, Gillian and Ben split up. He headed for a class on West Bank. She needed to report back to the BCA in St. Paul.
She was walking toward her car on the third floor of the Federal Courthouse parking garage when someone jumped out from behind a cement pillar and landed flat-footed in front of her.
She let out a frightened yelp, at the same time recognizing Sebastian Tate.
"Hi." He flashed her a smile, proud of himself.
Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. "What the hell are you doing?" she shouted at him in disbelief.
"It's almost noon. I thought you might want to grab a bite to eat."
"Are you kidding?" If he hadn't just scared the hell out of her, she may have been a little more discreet in her response. As it was, she did nothing to hide her disgust.
He gestured with hands in the pockets of his unzipped, black leather bomber jacket, walking backwards while she strode toward her car. "Why not?" he asked innocently, as if expecting her to say she was too busy.
"Why not? Because you're a fucking asshole, that's why not!"
He stopped walking, and his jaw went slack. She shoved past him, unlocked her car with the remote, and slid behind the wheel. With a trembling hand, she jabbed the key in the ignition. Oh, that was good, she thought sarcastically. She locked the door and pulled the seat belt across her shoulder. Real professional. Cussing out a suspect. She was sure Mary did that all the time.
Chapter 7
"Would you like to try out my new potter's wheel while you're here?" Blythe asked. She and Mary were sitting at the bistro table in the kitchen sharing a light lunch. "You were getting pretty good at one time."
"I think that may have been Gillian." Mary was trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder, which had been getting increasingly worse since her encounter with Hitchcock. It hadn't helped that she'd been working on the profile for almost forty-eight hours straight. "I was never very good at throwing pots."
"Oh, you were too! Let's make an evening of it. Gillian can come. We'll get a bottle of wine. Be creative. What do you think?"
"Let's not rush into things."
Mary had come to terms with the fact that she and Gillian would be working together. She didn't like it, but she was a professional, and professionals had to adapt to unpleasant situations. That didn't mean she was ready to hop in the sandbox with her sister.
"Later, maybe," her mother said, momentarily deflated. Blythe gathered up a large canvas bag, water bottle, and car keys. "I've gotta run. Try to get some rest." She gave Mary a kiss on the cheek, then left to teach her afternoon and evening pottery classes at the Pot House.
Mary went upstairs and took a hot shower. She'd hoped the heat might help the pain, but by the time she'd dried off, her shoulder was aching even more. She made an ice pack out of a plastic bag and kitchen towel, then settled in bed with the pack on her shoulder and laptop on her lap.
Her phone rang.
Gillian was calling to tell her about a suspect they'd brought in for questioning. "Sebastian Tate," she said. "He's a student at the university and dated the third victim a few times."
"What did you find out?"
Gillian filled her in on Tate's rap sheet and how he'd reacted to her.
"I'm not sure you should be involved in the questioning of suspects," Mary said, surprised that they'd sent Gillian out on the initial canvas.
"It's my job." Gillian didn't
"I wouldn't be surprised if he's been in more trouble than we know and Daddy's gotten him out of it. He's avoided getting his name on the public-access sex offender blacklist. He avoided a prison sentence by agreeing to become a full-time student. That kind of thing is bullshit."
"I've seen him on campus," Ben said. "Girls seem to dig him."
"Not this girl," Gillian said.
"We'll try to get interviews with school acquaintances," Wakefield said. "See if we can come up with anything."
Outside the police station, Gillian and Ben split up. He headed for a class on West Bank. She needed to report back to the BCA in St. Paul.
She was walking toward her car on the third floor of the Federal Courthouse parking garage when someone jumped out from behind a cement pillar and landed flat-footed in front of her.
She let out a frightened yelp, at the same time recognizing Sebastian Tate.
"Hi." He flashed her a smile, proud of himself.
Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. "What the hell are you doing?" she shouted at him in disbelief.
"It's almost noon. I thought you might want to grab a bite to eat."
"Are you kidding?" If he hadn't just scared the hell out of her, she may have been a little more discreet in her response. As it was, she did nothing to hide her disgust.
He gestured with hands in the pockets of his unzipped, black leather bomber jacket, walking backwards while she strode toward her car. "Why not?" he asked innocently, as if expecting her to say she was too busy.
"Why not? Because you're a fucking asshole, that's why not!"
He stopped walking, and his jaw went slack. She shoved past him, unlocked her car with the remote, and slid behind the wheel. With a trembling hand, she jabbed the key in the ignition. Oh, that was good, she thought sarcastically. She locked the door and pulled the seat belt across her shoulder. Real professional. Cussing out a suspect. She was sure Mary did that all the time.
Chapter 7
"Would you like to try out my new potter's wheel while you're here?" Blythe asked. She and Mary were sitting at the bistro table in the kitchen sharing a light lunch. "You were getting pretty good at one time."
"I think that may have been Gillian." Mary was trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder, which had been getting increasingly worse since her encounter with Hitchcock. It hadn't helped that she'd been working on the profile for almost forty-eight hours straight. "I was never very good at throwing pots."
"Oh, you were too! Let's make an evening of it. Gillian can come. We'll get a bottle of wine. Be creative. What do you think?"
"Let's not rush into things."
Mary had come to terms with the fact that she and Gillian would be working together. She didn't like it, but she was a professional, and professionals had to adapt to unpleasant situations. That didn't mean she was ready to hop in the sandbox with her sister.
"Later, maybe," her mother said, momentarily deflated. Blythe gathered up a large canvas bag, water bottle, and car keys. "I've gotta run. Try to get some rest." She gave Mary a kiss on the cheek, then left to teach her afternoon and evening pottery classes at the Pot House.
Mary went upstairs and took a hot shower. She'd hoped the heat might help the pain, but by the time she'd dried off, her shoulder was aching even more. She made an ice pack out of a plastic bag and kitchen towel, then settled in bed with the pack on her shoulder and laptop on her lap.
Her phone rang.
Gillian was calling to tell her about a suspect they'd brought in for questioning. "Sebastian Tate," she said. "He's a student at the university and dated the third victim a few times."
"What did you find out?"
Gillian filled her in on Tate's rap sheet and how he'd reacted to her.
"I'm not sure you should be involved in the questioning of suspects," Mary said, surprised that they'd sent Gillian out on the initial canvas.
"It's my job." Gillian didn't
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