One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 65

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Garcia paused, surprised by the retort.

Paulsen sensed his hesitation and took the opportunity.

‘Actually, there’s no need for pleasantries, or even beating around the bush, so we can speed things up. I know why you’re here, so let’s just get on with it, shall we?’

Hunter could clearly see that Paulsen’s tactics were to take control of their meeting. He had kept them waiting – not because he was busy, but because waiting time irritates and frustrates even the most calm of individuals. He had assumed the textbook interviewer’s position of power – standing, while everyone else sat. There had been no physical contact, and Paulsen was keeping a reasonable distance between him and both detectives, making the meeting impersonal, as if he was interviewing someone for an entry-level job. Paulsen was also careful to keep his voice as calm as Garcia’s, but just a notch louder and firmer, stamping authority. Thomas Paulsen was a very experienced man, and the kind who wouldn’t be easily intimidated. Hunter was keen to allow Paulsen to play his game . . . for the time being.

‘You already know why we’re here?’ Hunter asked, his voice calm, its decibel level deliberately not matching his host’s.

‘Detective Hunter, please. Look around you.’ Paulsen lifted both of his hands, palms facing up. ‘I didn’t achieve all this by sheer luck, as I’m sure your file on me would’ve told you already. Sure, I could play dumb with you gentlemen and pretend that I don’t know what this is all about.’ Paulsen looked bored as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt under his suit jacket. ‘Then act offended and insulted when the real reason finally transpires, but hey . . .’ The smirk came back to his lips. ‘I don’t have that much time to throw away. And I’m sure you could use yours to run around in circles some more.’

Garcia’s eyebrows arched, and his eyes stole a peek at Hunter, who had sat back and comfortably crossed his legs.

‘Why do you think we’re running around in circles?’ Hunter asked.

Paulsen threw his head back and laughed a full-bodied laugh. ‘Detective, please . . . This isn’t a psychoanalysis session. Your “double-meaning” questions will get you nowhere, and—’ he checked his watch ‘—tick-tock, tick-tock, time’s a wasting . . . for you at least.’

Paulsen spoke and carried himself like a man with zero worries in life. He placed both hands inside his trouser pockets and walked around to the front of his desk. Before Hunter or Garcia could formulate the next question, he spoke again.

‘But OK, let me indulge you, just this once. The reason why you’re here is because of your investigation into this . . . shall I say . . . “Internet show murderer”? And because Christina Stevenson was one of the victims.’ He allowed his eyes to move from Hunter’s face, to Garcia’s, and then back to Hunter’s before nodding confidently. ‘Yes, I watched the broadcast too. Superb, wasn’t it?’ He tagged the question with a chuckle.

No reply.

Paulsen moved on.

‘And you’re running around in circles because you’re here, in my office. And the only reason why you’re here is because you’ve got nothing . . . not a thing. I’m the only “person of interest” you’ve got on your list, isn’t that what you cops call someone like me?’ He smiled sarcastically. ‘And the only reason I am a “person-of-interest” is because an article written by Miss Stevenson months ago has set off the most negligible of bleeps on your radar. If you had anyone else of more substance on your list, any other “person of interest”, you would be talking to him, her or them, not me. This is a panic visit. You know it, and I know it.’

‘And what makes you think that we haven’t talked to others already?’ Garcia asked.

Another laugh from Paulsen. ‘The desperate look on your faces is a pretty good giveaway.’ He paused. Checked his watch again. ‘The evasive words in your press conference last night.’ An unconcerned shrug. ‘You look and sound defeated . . . out of options. Everyone can see it. And you’re here now to try to assess me.’ He adjusted his tie. ‘So let me help you with that. Am I glad that Christina Stevenson is dead? Delighted. Do I feel bad because she was tortured before being murdered? Not even a little bit. Do I have the knowledge, the IQ, the means and the nerve to do something like that, and then vanish into cyberspace before you even knew what hit you? You bet your bottom dollar I do. Did I know yesterday’s victim? Maybe, maybe not. What difference would it make? Could I be behind these murders? Possibly. Did I ever threaten Christina Stevenson after her article came out? Perhaps. Did I want to make her life hell, like she did mine? Absolutely. Did I succeed? Who cares? She’s dead. Thank you very much.’ He winked at them. ‘Would that be all?’

‘Not quite,’ Garcia said.

Paulsen’s egotism was setting Garcia’s teeth on edge, and he had to take a moment to contain his anger.

‘Could you tell us where you were yesterday in between five and six in the afternoon?’

‘Ah!’ Paulsen lifted a finger in the air. ‘The all-important placement question at the time of the murder. And this is where it gets good, Detective.’ He returned his hands to his pockets. ‘I wasn’t feeling too well, so I left the office early. At that specific time I was at home, alone, in front of my computer, logged into pickadeath.com, and watching the show, like so many others.’ A new grin. ‘And before you ask, no, I don’t have an alibi. Would you like to arrest me?’

‘What time did you leave the office?’ Garcia asked.

‘Early enough.’ Another quick glance at his watch. ‘Let me ask you this, if I may, Detective Hunter. If I am behind these Internet murders, and as I’ve said that’s a possibility, what makes you think that you’d be able to catch me?’

Before Hunter could reply, the phone on Paulsen’s desk rang.

‘Oh,’ he said in an apologetic tone. ‘That will probably be my PA reminding me of my meeting. Excuse me for a second.’ He answered the call, listening for a few moments. ‘Thank you, Joanne. I’ll be right out. We are pretty much done here.’

Paulsen put the phone back down and walked over to his office door.

Hunter and Garcia stood up.

Paulsen reached for the door handle, halted and looked back at both detectives. ‘I must admit, these Internet killing shows are terribly entertaining, don’t you think?’ He opened the door. ‘I wonder if we’re going to get another one soon.’

Eighty-Seven

‘What the hell just happened in there?’ Garcia asked as soon as he and Hunter stepped outside PaulsenSystems. His anger now clearly getting the best of him.

‘I’m not quite sure,’ Hunter replied, looking back at the building. ‘But he’d been expecting us. For some time, I’d say. That little show he put on was very well rehearsed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We barely asked a question, Carlos,’ Hunter answered. ‘Paulsen controlled the whole thing from the moment we entered the building, never mind his office. He kept us waiting for as long as he wanted to, and I’m sure it was just to check how desperate we really were, not because he was busy. In his office, he was very quick to stamp his authority, from body language to tone of voice. He asked and answered his own questions, and timed everything perfectly. I’m certain that he’d given his PA the exact time he wanted that “meeting reminder” call to be put through to his office. That’s why he kept checking his watch. He wanted to get through his script in time. He gave us only what he wanted to give us. And despite the somewhat shocking and suggestive nature of what he said, his words were measured.’

‘Measured?’

Hunter nodded. ‘He knew exactly what he could and could not say. And nothing he did say is actionable on our part. Every incriminating question he asked himself was answered with either maybe, perhaps or possibly. He suggested a lot, but gave us nothing.’

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