Read Online The Guilty Plea by Robert Rotenberg - Free Book Online

at this meeting.” Cutter’s usually nervous body was calm, focused on Greene. Kennicott had seen Cutter like this in court, where his intensity could intimidate even the most confident witness.
    Greene didn’t look fazed.
    “Barbara, pass out copies of our prepared statements,” Cutter said. “April already has hers.” He didn’t take his eyes off Greene.
    Gild had a small stack of bound papers in front of her. She gave copies to Greene and Kennicott and Cutter and kept one for herself. Goodling fingered the copy in front of her.
    “These sworn affidavits demonstrate Ms. Goodling’s complete cooperation with this investigation.” Cutter leafed through the papers. “They’re from the night desk manager at the Gladstone Hotel, from the head of security operations there, and from Mr. Peter Bluin.” He pointed at the muscle-bound man standing behind Goodling. “Mr. Bluin is Ms. Goodling’s personal security guard. Between the hours of ten p.m. on Sunday evening, August sixteenth, and eight a.m. on Monday morning, August seventeen, Ms. Goodling was at the hotel and never left. She has a complete alibi.”
    Greene read through the legal papers slowly. “Ms. Goodling,” he said, putting the pages down, “where were you earlier in the day yesterday? Before you got back to the hotel.”
    Kennicott thought she was about to speak when Cutter sliced his arm down in front of her, as if he were lowering a barrier.
    “My client insisted on being here today. Against our advice, I might add. She was supposed to leave early this morning, but stayed. She’s going back to the States tonight. We both know she’s not legally required to answer any questions. I repeat, she’ll make no statements.”
    “I’ve every right to question her.” Greene was calm. “Whether she wants to answer me or not, that’s her decision.”
    “This meeting’s over,” Cutter said.
    Ignoring Cutter, Greene turned to Goodling. “We solve crimes because citizens help. Here’s my card. Call me.” He clicked his pen and wrote down a number. “That’s my personal cell. It’s always on.”
    Greene held out the card and she took it. He took out another cardand turned it over. “Now write your cell number for me. I’ll never show it to anyone, but I’ll put it in my contacts. When you call me your name will pop up and I’ll know it’s you.”
    When you call me, Kennicott thought. His murdered brother, Michael, had been a master salesman. “I always use the word ‘when,’” he once told Kennicott. “That way a customer is already past the ‘if’ stage.”
    No one spoke. Greene clicked his pen twice. Goodling took it and wrote out her number.
    “Thanks.” Greene reached for his tape recorder.
    Cutter covered his hand with a meaty paw. “I assume you’re satisfied with the affidavit material,” he said.
    Greene jerked his arm back and clicked off the recorder. “Assume nothing. I expected more from you, Phil.”
    The conference-room door opened, and the blond receptionist walked in with a tray. Five frothy-looking cappuccinos jiggled on top. She put them gently on the table.
    “We don’t need them.” Greene turned to Goodling. “I thought that after you’d been with Terrance for a year, perhaps you cared about him.”
    “Of course I did,” she said.
    Cutter jumped to his feet. “No statements.” This was the real Phil Cutter now, Kennicott thought. Tough and hard. So much for putting on a smooth show for his big-name client.
    “I’d never heard of Terrance Wyler until this morning,” Greene said to Goodling. “I didn’t know much about you either until Officer Kennicott put together some articles for me to read.”
    “Tabloid trash,” she said.
    “No more questions,” Cutter said, his voice half a growl.
    Goodling was staring straight at Greene. “Our anniversary was in two weeks.” She pulled on her perfect ponytail.
    “April, don’t answer him.” It was Barb Gild. She was on her feet now too. Her thin