Delivering Death: A Novel (Riley Spartz) (28 page)

I looked around to see if anyone was listening to us, but all attention was on the minister and Rachel and Ricky.

“Nick, we can’t just horn in on this ceremony and exchange vows on thirty seconds’ notice. Weddings need more than love to be legal. They need rings. And witnesses. And marriage licenses.”

“Rings can come later. And there’s plenty of witnesses around. Plus, I have our marriage license right here.”

He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and removed a folded piece of paper—the license we filled out months ago at the courthouse after we first became engaged.

“It’s good for six months, so it’s still valid anywhere in Minnesota,” he said. “When this song ends, one hundred couples will promise to have and to hold each other. I want us to make it one hundred and one. I hate to take the romance out of this moment, and the anticipation out of our nuptials, but you only have about ten seconds to accept my proposal and say ‘I do.’ ”

I was so touched that he had carried our marriage license
with him all this time that I couldn’t speak, but I realized few people get a second chance at a once in a lifetime spontaneous moment.

“Please, Riley.” He held my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “I’ll say anything you want. I’ll do anything you say. Just as long as you tell me yes.”

“Just shut up, Nick. You had me at ‘hello.’ ”

He smiled like this was the happiest day of his life and replied, “Renée Zellweger,
Jerry Maguire,
1996.”

“And, Nick, unlike
Annie Hall,
they do live happily ever after.”

The music stopped and we joined the crowd of eager lovers, pledging to love and cherish each other for better or for worse. And when the judge instructed the grooms to kiss their brides, he locked his lips against mine while rose petals fell from above.

I closed my eyes to protect the moment, and when I opened them, Velma was standing beside us, also wearing a white dress. The last thing my wedding day needed was a cat fight. Still, I was about to tell her to back off and find her own man, when she confused me by congratulating us.

“Same to you and Ellen,” Garnett said.

“Thanks,” she answered. “We’re just glad to be able to get married like everyone else.”

That’s when I noticed Velma was holding hands with another woman—the security guard from the protest. I glanced back and forth between them and realized the only romance between Velma and Garnett had been in my jealous mind.

I embraced my husband and whispered in his ear. “Honey, I’m so sorry for doubting you.”

As our bodies pressed close, he kissed my neck and my cell phone started buzzing on my thigh underneath my gown. We both felt the unwelcome interruption. Nick knelt and laughed as he hiked up my dress, removed my garter, and handed me the phone. The call had come from the Channel 3 newsroom, along with a voicemail message.

“Somehow I don’t think they’re calling to congratulate me,” I said. “Now that Scott’s in custody, Bryce probably wants me to do a live shot from the mall.”

“That’s not a call you need to return.” Nick hit the off button on my phone and put it in his suit pocket. “You’re on your honeymoon. I’ll drive. You pick what direction.”

“I need to stop at home and pack some clothes first.”

“You won’t be needing any clothes.”

But there was a bonus to getting married in the nation’s largest shopping mall. I ducked into a lingerie shop to buy something special for my wedding night, anyway.

W
e cropped our wedding photo from one of the Mall of America’s surveillance cameras. Hands clasped, facing each other, it was a grainy but real moment frozen in time.

The crowd thinned out after the ceremony, and Nick was carrying me over an imaginary threshold when I heard my name being yelled from the second-level balcony over the rotunda.

It was my parents.

“Riley, wait for us!” Mom rushed to the glass elevator while Dad limped behind her, and within a couple minutes they were plastering us with hugs and kisses.

“The whole thing was just beautiful.” My mom wiped tears from her face on the sleeve of the beaver fur coat. “I knew you wouldn’t get married without me.”

The only one disappointed at being left out was Father Mountain. Apparently, I’d once promised him he could perform my next wedding ceremony. Instead, he later blessed our union.

•  •  •

The film
We Do
opened on all fourteen screens at the Mall of America movie theater. Garnett and I attended the premiere with the other wedding couples, including Velma and Ellen. The film was panned by critics. Rachel and Ricky filed for divorce one month later.

•  •  •

Anchor Scott Ramus was charged with making terrorist threats, incitement to riot, and creating a public disturbance at the Mall of America. Defense attorney Benny Walsh won an acquittal by arguing his client was temporarily insane. The station invoked an “unsuitability” clause in his contract to fire him anyway.

He wasn’t the only member of the Channel 3 News family to be sent packing.

Ends up, the reason that so many promotions for the new set were airing on Channel 3 was that Bryce was running them over commercials for the network’s own prime-time entertainment shows. The network owned the station, so it fired Bryce, ending his dream of becoming my boss’s boss’s boss.

•  •  •

The Minnesota Legislature privatized the license-plate tracking data during their session, but did not restrict placement of body grip traps.

•  •  •

Even though I was eligible for the $25,000 reward for information leading to the capture and arrest of Jack Clemens, I waived the money, choosing to donate it to the crime victims fund instead.

That was nothing compared to the millions federal authorities were able to seize from Jack’s offshore bank accounts, now that they had the numbers.

The fish painting hangs in Stella’s restaurant. And every once in a while Garnett and I dine at the table next to it. On our anniversary, he told me that the moment he knew he couldn’t live without me was the moment I threw my wine in his face.

•  •  •

When police searched Lisa’s apartment they found a tooth in her desk drawer that matched Leon Akume’s. That piece of evidence cleared Jack Clemens of having anything to do with the man’s murder. Without that, all they had had was my word about her confession. Even the puffy coat had been burned in the fire.

•  •  •

As for Lloyd Martin’s death behind bars while posing as Jack Clemens, the former barber’s fingernails had scraped enough of his attacker’s DNA to identify him from the felon database. But that inmate refused to talk, so no one else—in prison or out—was implicated in the protection scheme. Not even Scarface.

•  •  •

Jack’s ankle healed enough that he was scheduled to be transported to serve time in a maximum security prison. A guard directed him to strip down and bend over, then handed him an orange jumpsuit that was much too big, a dingy T-shirt, threadbare boxers, and a pair of socks that wouldn’t stay up.

After an hour in a holding cell, Jack heard voices and the sound of chains rattling. Soon he was shackled, handcuffs attached to a chain around his waist and leg irons digging into the soft skin of his ankles.

He was no longer Jack Clemens, rather a living metaphor of Jacob Marley.
I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link, yard by yard. It is a ponderous chain.

With baby steps, Inmate 16780-59 followed others down the hall and onto the prison bus. His final destination was Leavenworth, Kansas—five hundred miles away. But there was no telling how many days the journey would take. Long before they stopped for the night, the bus was already reeking.

Thanks always to my editor, Emily Bestler, for keeping me on course; to assistant editor Megan Reid, for bringing fresh eyes to my series. Their editorial suggestions made
Delivering Death
better.

But a book needs many hands to bring it to readers, so my gratitude extends to all who helped with the publication: Kate Cetrulo, Mellony Torres, Hillary Tisman, Isolde Sauer, Toby Yuen, Fausto Bozza, and Kyle Kabel.

To my agent Susan Ginsburg, of Writer’s House, for staying calm when I am not; to her witty assistant, Stacy Testa.

I’ve been able to live much of my TV news research, but have needed help with other elements of life and death. Thanks to all the law-and-order folks in Minnesota who shared insight into white-collar crime and identity theft: Doug Kelley and Josiah Lamb (Kelley, Wolters & Scott, PA), Pat Henry (Minnesota Financial Crime Task Force), and John Ristad (Ramsey County Attorney’s Office); for allowing me a behind-the-scenes tour of the Mall of America: Major Doug Reynolds, top security dude, and Dan Jasper, public relations honcho; for teaching me about trapping, Jason Abraham of the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources; once again, to Vernon Geberth, author of
Practical Homicide Investigation
; and to Dr. D. P. (Doug) Lyle, author of
Forensic for Dummies
and
Forensics: A Guide for Writers;
and
to Taelor Johnson at Mueller Lake Mortuary for aiding my research by letting me lie inside a closed casket and, most important, for letting me out again, so I could finish writing this book.

To my crack reading team—Kevyn Burger, Trish Van Pilsum, and Caroline Lowe—by which I mean skilled, not addicted, for laughing and crying with me over the years.

And now for the obligatory list of relatives who like seeing their names in print: Ruth Kramer; Mike Kramer; Bonnie and Roy Brang; Teresa, Galen with Rachel Neuzil; Richard and Oti Kramer; Mary Kramer; Steve and Mary Kay Kramer, along with Matthew and Elizabeth; Kathy and Jim Loecher with Adriana and Zach; Christina Kramer; Jerry and Elaine Kramer; Mae Klug and all who love her; George and Shirley Kimball; George Kimball, Shen Fei with Shi Shenyu; Nick Kimball and Gannet Tseggai with Helena; Jenny and Kile Nadeau with Daniel; Jessica and Richie Miehe with Lucy and Pearl; Becca and Seth Engberg with their baby girl; David and Alyssa Nadeau; Mary and Dave Benson with Davin; Steve Kimball and Susan Jenkins with Craig and Shaela; James Kimball; Paul Kimball; and numerous far-flung cousins and other kin.

Besides fans, every author needs a family, and I am lucky to have Andrew and Alex Kimball, sons who love to read, in my corner, along with little Barlow Kimball and his parents, Katie and Jake, and out west, Joey and David Kimdon with Aria and Arbor.

But my best fan is my soul mate, Joe.