Cut to the Bone by Joan Boswell Read Free Book Online

be straightforward. Have you ever been a client of any woman on the fifth floor?”
    Cartwright shifted from one large black unpolished shoe to the other.
    â€œYou did understand the question?” She’d bluff. “You do know they keep records and it’s not in their interest to keep secrets.”
    â€œOnce or twice,” he said, chin jutting forward. “So what?”
    â€œOnce or twice. Who did you see?”
    â€œFatima.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œSabrina.”
    â€œWhen was that?”
    Cartwright grunted, “I don’t know. I’ve been away. Before that.”
    How to phrase her next question. “When you visited Ms. Trepanier, did you ever talk about anything personal?”
    â€œI might have. She didn’t. I wasn’t paying her for chit-chat about herself,” he said. His brows drew together. “I have a plane to catch.”
    â€œWhere were you last night?”
    â€œMy place. I watched TV and went to bed.” He stared at Rhona. “I hope you’re not going to say what I think you’re going to say.”
    â€œCan anyone verify that?”
    â€œWhat the fuck do you think? Of course not.”
    Rhona knew he wouldn’t react well to her next statement. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going anywhere.”
    She ducked out of the office before the boiler blew and motioned a thin, unprepossessing young man to join her.
    Rhona watched him approach. Nothing distinctive about him. Middle height, average weight, short, light brown hair — an unremarkable man in his thirties.
    â€œTim, Tim O’Toole, I work a four-to-twelve shift, so I thought I’d better be one of the ones who talked to you first.”
    He stretched out his hand. His grip was minimal. It reminded Rhona of holding wet, cold pasta, slimy and sticky simultaneously.
    â€œDid you know Ms. Trepanier?”
    â€œSabrina. Oh yes, a beautiful woman.” His lips curved into a smile that revealed uneven teeth. “Oh, yes.”
    â€œDid you ever talk to her?”
    â€œOh, no. Woman like that don’t talk to men like me.” His smile faded into an apologetic grimace. “The women who talk to me are the ones in grocery stores, women who have to speak to me.”
    What young man would say something like that? He wasn’t movie star handsome, but there was nothing wrong with his looks.
    â€œWhere were you last night?”
    A quick glance to either side. “Oh, I go out,” he said in a voice so low Rhona strained to hear. “I don’t get home from work until almost one and I can’t sleep, so I walk the streets at night.” He produced a rueful smile. “Ever since I worked as a watchman, I got used to being awake at night.” He produced a tiny smile. “You couldn’t call it a night life, but it’s definitely a nocturnal life.”
    â€œWhere do you work?”
    â€œAt Sobey’s supermarket. I stock the shelves.” He shrugged. “Not a great job, but if you don’t want to work in the daytime, there isn’t a huge choice.”
    A second nocturnal witness was a plus. She hoped he was as observant as Agnes Johnson.
    â€œDid you see anything unusual last night?”
    He appeared to be running a mental video. “Oh, not here. All sorts of people coming and going, though. The fifth floor women are busy, busy women.”
    â€œHave you ever used their services?” Rhona asked.
    His small, pale blue eyes widened, showing yellow, blood-streaked whites. “Oh, not me. Never.” He bent forward, releasing an enveloping cloud of pungent aftershave. “Oh, I’d like to, but I don’t imagine I could afford to.”
    Rhona felt an urge to laugh. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. Maybe she should suggest he save up and give himself a treat.
    â€œPerhaps when we run the tapes to see who came and went last night, you could help identify