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He inhaled, exhaled, then studied the ceiling again for a second or two, as if there might be answers floating up there in the carcinogenic haze. How many people can prove when they were home minding their own business?” Brant decided he needed more smoke. “I was nowhere near her house at that time nor any other, Mr.
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She described my car and gave the police the license number.” Brant leaned forward earnestly, like a salesman trying to close a deal. She told them I’d even parked across the street from her house and watched her through binoculars. A month ago she called the police and accused me of stalking her. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke, then it continued and I knew the woman was serious.” So I was damned surprised when this thing started. “I’m still doing that, I suppose, still trying, still not forgetting. After my wife’s death, I got into that habit to try forgetting my grief.” An expression almost palpably sad passed over his features, as if gravity had given them an extra tug. I’m not what you’d call a womanizer-in fact, I hardly have any social life at all. “My wife Portia was killed six months ago by a drunk driver. He recalled driving past the spread of neat, medium-priced homes that were perched like a goal and a promise on the edge of the poorer section of Del Moray. You might have seen Brant Estates, our newest subdivision, off the highway west of town.”Ĭarver nodded. My company, Brant Development, is a small construction firm specializing in residential real estate. “I’m what could be described as a reasonably successful businessman, Mr. His eyes were calm now, but one corner of his mouth twitched slightly before he began to speak. For several seconds he watched the smoke spread out up there, then lowered his gaze and looked directly at Carver. He threw his head back and exhaled toward the ceiling. It took him three tries to get the lighter to work, then he sucked in enough smoke to burn away half an inch of the cigarette. He smoked cigars himself sometimes after meals.īrant stuck what appeared to be the last cigarette from the pack between his lips, then fished around in a pocket and withdrew a silver lighter. Besides, the smoke didn’t really bother him. He wanted Brant to relax and talk freely. “Mind if I smoke?”Ĭarver noticed Brant’s hand was trembling. “You only have to make me curious.”īrant dragged a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You don’t have to make me believe,” Carver said. Like the whole society’s gone mad.” He absently rubbed a finger along the chain where it disappeared beneath his collar. I mean, it’s the times, the way things are right now on the news and in all the magazines. I suppose you can’t blame them for that, though. “No, I can tell by their expressions they don’t believe me. A complaint’s filed, and they go through a certain procedure.”īrant shook his handsome head. “You sure? Maybe they’re just doing their job. “The police won’t believe me,” Brant said. He believed Brant, which went a long way with Carver. Morgan was a retired vice cop, and a more savvy judge of human nature than a roomful of psychologists. “Vic called me about you.” Vic Morgan’s recommendation was the only reason Carver wanted to touch Brant’s problem. He looked worried the sincere blue eyes held secret pain. A thick silver neck chain winked in the light among dark chest hair where his collar parted. He was wearing pleated blue slacks and a gray sport coat over a white shirt without a tie. As they must be, or Joel Brant wouldn’t be in Carver’s office.īrant sat down and raked his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, which was going gray at the temples. He had Bundy’s all-American, amiable features, complete with neatly arched eyebrows and small, chiseled nose turned up slightly at the tip the same innocent blue eyes and a mouth always ready to smile, even when things were going bad.
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He looked a lot like the serial killer Ted Bundy, only older.
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