One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 64
- Предыдущая
- 64/90
- Следующая
The only conclusion they could draw was that whatever the reason behind it was, it had to be something very personal to the killer.
PaulsenSystems’ headquarters was a grand L-shaped, mirrored-glass and dark granite-fronted building on the corner of Burbank and Topanga Canyon Boulevards. The main entrance was hidden away from the street, through the large private car park at the back. An elegant staircase, flanked by two colorful mini gardens, led up to the heavily air-conditioned and brightly lit entrance lobby. The air inside it was lightly perfumed with the subtle fragrance of sweet alyssum and a hint of wisteria.
‘Nice,’ Garcia said, as they stepped through the automatic sliding doors. ‘Makes a difference from the stale sweat scent you get when you enter the PAB.’
A circular reception counter occupied the center of the spacious lobby like an island. Behind it, the petite, Asian receptionist with long and sleek black hair smiled at both detectives. Her dark eyes shone like two polished marbles.
‘Welcome to PaulsenSystems,’ she said. Her voice was velvety and warm. ‘How can I help you today, gentlemen?’
‘Hello,’ Hunter replied. As much as he would like to, his smile didn’t carry the same level of enthusiasm as hers. ‘We were wondering if we could have a few moments of Mr. Paulsen’s time.’
The receptionist glanced down at her computer, where she would no doubt have a list of Thomas Paulsen’s appointments for the day, but Hunter quickly got her attention back to him.
‘We do not have an appointment,’ he clarified, displaying his credentials. ‘Nevertheless, this matter carries a certain urgency, and we would really appreciate if Mr. Paulsen could give us a few minutes this morning.’
The receptionist smiled again and nodded once, reaching for the phone behind the counter. She spoke quickly and discreetly. Hunter could tell that she wasn’t speaking directly with Thomas Paulsen but with a secretary or PA.
Seconds later, sitting behind his handcrafted oak desk, Thomas Paulsen answered the ringing phone and listened for a few seconds. A dry grin came to his lips, and he sat back, gently rocking in his high-backed leather chair for a moment.
‘Do I have anything scheduled for now?’ he asked.
‘You are actually free for the next hour, Mr. Paulsen,’ his PA confirmed. ‘Your next appointment is at 12:45.’
‘OK,’ Paulsen said, considering his thoughts. ‘You can tell the detectives that I’ll be able to spare a few minutes, but make them wait. I’ll see them when I’m good and ready. Oh, and Joanne . . .’
‘Yes, Mr. Paulsen?’
‘Let’s make them wait downstairs in the lobby, not in my anteroom. They might smell the place up.’
‘Of course, Mr. Paulsen.’
He put the phone down, stood up and walked over to the large panoramic window that faced the Santa Monica Mountains. He felt like laughing out loud, but instead he allowed himself only a proud smile.
About time they came talk to me.
Eighty-Six
And wait they did . . .
Even the petite receptionist had started to look embarrassed after the first ten minutes or so. She went over to where Hunter and Garcia were sitting several times and offered them water, coffee, cookies, juice . . . When they said no to all, she suggested that she could send someone out for some donuts if they preferred. That made both detectives laugh.
Twenty-nine long and frustrating minutes after they had arrived at PaulsenSystems, the receptionist was finally told to allow both detectives to go up. She apologized yet again, and told them to take the elevator to the top floor. Someone would meet them there.
The elevator doors rolled back on a new, very elegantly furnished lobby. Three sofas clad in black leather sat on antique Persian rugs, surrounded by several modern American sculpture pieces. The walls were adorned with an impressive collection of original paintings.
Waiting for them just outside the elevator doors, and standing beneath a halogen spotlight, was Joanne, Thomas Paulsen’s PA. Her long red hair sparkled under the light. As Hunter and Garcia stepped out of the elevator, Joanne smiled.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ she said in the most professional of tones. ‘I’m Joanne Saunders, Mr. Paulsen’s personal assistant.’ She offered them her manicured hand. Both detectives shook it, introducing themselves. ‘If you’d like to follow me, please, Mr. Paulsen is waiting for you in his office.’
They crossed the anteroom and followed the PA down a softly lit hallway that terminated in a highly polished wood set of double doors. She knocked twice, paused for a second and pushed the doors open, which led them into a sprawling and luxuriously decorated corner office.
‘Mr. Paulsen,’ Joanne announced. ‘This is Detective Robert Hunter and Detective Carlos Garcia from the Los Angeles Police Department.’
Standing with his back toward them, facing the window, Thomas Paulsen nodded at the view but didn’t bother turning around. ‘Thank you, Joanne.’
The PA swiftly stepped out of the room, soundlessly closing the doors behind her.
Hunter and Garcia stood by the entrance, quickly assessing the office: more black leather and sumptuous rugs. Two recessed bookcases containing books on computer programming languages, Internet security and finance shared the north wall with even more expensive-looking works of art. Hunter knew that the south wall was what was known as the Ego Wall – a potpourri of framed photos showing Thomas Paulsen grinning and shaking hands with well-known and not-so-well-known celebrities, certificates attesting that he was highly skilled and qualified, and a few shiny plaques producing clear proof that he had been justly recognized over the years.
‘This is indeed a beautiful city, isn’t it, gentlemen?’ Paulsen said, still facing the window. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a physique that even under his elegant pin-striped suit was easy to tell was lean and strong. His voice was dry and authoritative, clearly belonging to someone who was used to giving orders and getting things done his way.
Neither Hunter nor Garcia replied.
Paulsen finally spun around and faced them. He had a thin and remarkably youthful face for a man who was in his early fifties. His short peppered hair was combed slickly back from his forehead, giving him a boyish charm. His light blue eyes seemed full of knowledge, like a university professor’s, glowing with an intensity that was unsettling. There was no denying he was an attractive man, despite the crooked nose that had certainly been broken once or twice. He had a squared jaw, strong cheekbones and full lips. A small scar graced the tip of his chin. Everything about him suggested tremendous self-confidence, but his presence was almost menacing. He didn’t so much as smile, but smirked at them.
‘Would you please have a seat?’ he asked, indicating the two armchairs in front of his desk.
Hunter took the one on the left, Garcia the one on the right. There were no handshakes. Paulsen remained as he was, standing by the window.
‘We’re very sorry for barging in unannounced like this, Mr. Paulsen. We do understand that you are a busy man . . .’ Garcia said in his best, polite voice, but Paulsen interrupted him with a brisk hand gesture.
‘You didn’t barge in, Detective Garcia. If you had, especially without some sort of warrant, I’d have my lawyer here, you removed from the premises and a complaint made to your captain and the Chief of Police so fast you’d probably experience time travel.’ None of it was delivered with anger, or even sarcasm. ‘You’re here because I’ve allowed you to be here. But as you’ve said, I am a very busy man, and I have an important meeting in a few minutes, so I suggest you use this time wisely.’
- Предыдущая
- 64/90
- Следующая
