Justice (29 page)

“Chris, it doesn’t matter—”

“Oh, cut the
shit
, Terry! You just got
fucked
! Cool it with the Goody Two-shoes virgin bit and get real, okay?”

I blinked several times. Then I whispered, “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

His eyes engaged mine for a moment, then they broke contact. He shook his head and blew out air. His voice turned soft. “We’d better get dressed. Gestapo’ll be here soon.”

I covered my face and broke into sobs. He took me in his arms and rocked me gently.

I said, “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”

“It was perfect.” Chris hugged me tightly. “God, I’m sorry.
Please
don’t cry.”

I bit back tears, kept my head against his chest, my hands resting against his newly developed pectorals. His new body…a shorter fuse, so unlike the Chris I knew. I said, “You’re on steroids, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I needed bulk in a hurry.”

“I understand completely,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I don’t blame you.”

He didn’t answer me.

“Do you need more stuff?” I asked. “Do you need anything at all?”

“No, I’m all right.” He broke away from me and began feeling around for his clothes. “I’ve got money
…some clout. I can get the illegal stuff. Just can’t get decent shampoo.”

“I’ll send some right away.” I found my shirt and slipped it over my neck. “So you’re surviving okay?”

“Surviving’s a good word. Mafia still carries weight.” He put on his pants and shirt. “Not that I haven’t been tested, but simple shit. Nothing I couldn’t handle. They’ve got lots of jail bands here. So I’m okay.”

“What instruments are you playing?”

“Headbangin’ ax for the Aryans, mandolin for the shitkickers, and bass for the soul brothers. Rest of the time, they leave me alone. They got me doing foundry work…lots of ore under the desert. It’s as hot as hell but I don’t mind. I like sweating and the work builds up muscle. Foreman’s an okay guy…meaning you can buy him. When the shop is closed, he lets me fool around with the scrap. I’ve done some interesting sculpture. Let me help you on with your pants.”

I nodded.

He raised my legs and slipped them into my pants. “Terry, you’re all bloody and red down there. You should see a doctor. Just to make sure you’re all right.”

“That would be a first. Death by deflowering.” I paused. “Unless you meant something else.”

He looked blank.

“We didn’t use protection, Chris. I’m about midway through my cycle.”

He shrugged carelessly. “Nothing we can do about that. We’re both Catholic. If it happens, it happens. You know I’d take care of you. You sure you’re all right? I tried to be gentle, but I got carried away. I’d feel better if you saw a doctor.”

“If I need to, I will. Don’t worry about it.”

He raised his brow. “You’re a lot cooler than I gave you credit for. I thought you’d go ballistic when you found out I was using.”

“Chrissie, I understand that there are different laws here.”

“Man, ain’t that the truth. You know what, Terry? There are different laws everywhere…even in our so-called civilized society. We all think we live under one big Constitution, but we don’t. We’re influenced by our own cultures. In my family, extortion is a time-honored trade—”

“Chris—”

“I’m not saying
I
believe it’s good. But really, when you think about it, my uncle’s only doing what comes naturally. Where he grew up, paying the don was just a fact of life.
His
community thinks it’s normal. Among his people, he’s well liked and well respected.”

“But he’s living under American law—”

“Which is arbitrary at best. In Texas and Florida, they fry people. The death penalty’s outlawed in Massachusetts. There’s no consistency. Laws are broken every hour of the day by lawmakers, why should we expect the criminals to behave?”

“So we should just chuck it all and live in chaos?”

“I’m just saying laws work in a context, that’s all. In my uncle’s community, a law against extortion is not only meaningless, it’s just plain silly.”

I looked at him. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“You’re the legal son of a big mafioso, you think about these things. Look, I’m sure I’m trying to justify in my own mind what my uncle does. But I do understand where he’s coming from.”

Not wanting to get him mad, I nodded in agreement. It seemed to satisfy him.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. It won’t happen again.” Chris kissed me softly on the cheek. “I’m sorry if I misjudged you.”

“I do love you, Chris.”

“I’d sure like to believe that.”

I whispered, “Please tell me what happened with Cheryl?”

“Terry, I was drunk—”

“Chris, I’ve seen you drunk. You’ve got more mem
ory than a pentium chip. That line satisfied the lawyers. But it doesn’t satisfy me. What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

“Christopher,
talk
to me.”

He ran his hand over his face. “Terry, you know when I leave this place, I’ve got to go home.” He sighed. “We’ve had a change of plans. I’m being married off to Lorraine’s older sister, Maria. She’s fat, she’s ugly, and people call her retarded—”

“When did this happen?”

“It was my punishment for copping a plea instead of letting my lawyer handle the case.”

“Chris, why’d you
do
that? I didn’t ask—”

“I know you didn’t ask,” he said. “But I wanted to do it for you. Because the sketches were my fault. So here I am and here you are. We’re
together
, Terry. This arrangement is the best thing that ever happened to us. As much as I hate it here, I don’t want to get out. Because what do I have
waiting
for me?”

“Me.”

“Oh, baby doll.” He shook his head. “You’ve met my uncle. You want to mess with him?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m telling you what’s important to me. Are you going to come back and visit me again?”

“Of course.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what. Did you kill her?”

“Terry, I’m not going to answer you. Because I’m screwed either way. I tell you, ‘Yes, I did it,’ you’re destroyed—”

“Chris—”

“If I tell you, ‘No, I didn’t do it,’ you’ll start hunting around for some psycho sex killer—”

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

He ignored me. “If you care about
my
feelings, you’ll
just drop it. What’s done is done. Let’s just enjoy the time God has blessed us with.”

I was quiet.

“Come here.” He patted his lap.

I climbed back on top of him. He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips. “I love you. I want you to know that. Promise me you’ll let things ride.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you won’t go around being my avenging angel. Swear to me you’ll let things be.”

Before I could answer him, the door opened. Chris gripped me hard, his face a mask of despair. “Just five more minutes, please.”

“Wouldn’t chance it, buddy. Lock-down’s in fifteen minutes. They don’t count your head, you bought yourself thirty days in the hole.”

“Chris, you have to go!”

He held me tighter. “Oh, God—”

“Please!” I begged him, pushed him away. “
Please
!”

He swallowed dryly, then stood up. Gave me a heart-wrenching smile. We exchanged vows of love, then he left.

The door slammed shut and I was alone. I wept bitterly. My face was beard-burned and I could barely walk. But a long hot bath and
I’d
be close to normal.
I’d
be back home. But the boy I loved would remain in hell.

And he did it all for
me
! Donatti was right. I owed him…I owed both of them. At least I could look the old man in the eye and say that I’d handled it. But it wasn’t enough.

The guards came back for me. Procedure was identical except in reverse. I checked out of the logbook, and by two in the afternoon, I was in my old hot, stuffy clothes and once again traveling isolated desert roads. My eyes drooped, my body ached for sleep, but I refused to succumb. There were things to think about.

True, I had promised Chris
I
wouldn’t avenge him. But that didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t. Because, really, how much control did I have over other people’s actions?

She stood up
when he came in, said she was sorry to be bothering him. Being a polite kind of guy, Decker told her it was no problem. He pointed to one of the orange plastic chairs attached to the floor, but she didn’t sit.

“Could we speak where it’s a little less…public?”

Decker studied the teen. She wore a floral strap dress over a white cotton tee. Her legs were encased in nylons, her feet housed in white, polished flats. Her cheeks were tinged with blush, her lips coated with something glossy and mauve. She had dressed for the occasion. Her eyes were bright and purposeful. They accepted his scrutiny without a flinch.

She reminded him of Cindy—scared but tough. He thought about his daughter living off campus in New York. At first Decker had thought Cindy wanted to stay to prove herself strong. No rapist was going to chase her away. Now he was thinking it was something much more mundane.

How’s it going, Princess
?

Fine, Daddy. I can’t talk. Someone’s waiting for me
.

A long pause.
A girl someone or a boy someone
?

Oh, Daddy
!

And with that, she had hung up on him.

Cindy had a boy up her sleeve. Dear Lord, please
make him a nice guy and not a scumbag like Chris Whitman.

The thought brought him back to the present. To Terry he said, “Would you like to talk at my desk?”

“If that would be okay.”

“Come.” He led her through the door marked
SQUAD ROOM
, passing through the detectives’ anteroom where two dees were fielding calls. He brought her into the working area proper. For once, Decker’s desktop was clear. He pulled up a chair for her, then motioned her to sit. After she did, so did he.

“I forgot what you like to be called—Terry or Teresa. Or we could go very formal and I could call you Ms. McLaughlin.”

She let out a small laugh. “Terry’s fine.”

“So what can I do you for, Terry?”

Her eyes were anywhere but on him. “I saw Chris the other day.”

“You did?”

She nodded.

Decker said, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s…coping.”

“Good.”

She said, “He seemed depressed.”

“I’d be depressed, too, if I were in prison.”

Neither spoke.

Terry said, “Can I ask you an honest question?”

“Sure, although I can’t guarantee an honest answer.”

She looked at her lap, then at his eyes. “Do you think he did it, Sergeant?”

“Are you asking me if I think Chris killed Cheryl Diggs?”

She nodded.

Decker said, “Yes, I think he did it.”

“Not even a little doubt in your mind?”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Are you here to proclaim his innocence?”

“I know, I know,” Terry said. “You think I’m dumb and naive.”

“You’re not dumb.”

“I’m not naive, either. I asked Chris straight out. I asked him if he did it.”

“And?”

“He was…vague. Deliberately vague.”

“It’s hard getting the words out,” Decker said.

“Except we both know that Chris is a great liar.”

Decker raised his brow and waited.

Terry shrugged. “I think he’s testing me…will I still love him even if he did do it? I told him I would. It’s the truth. But I don’t think he believes me.”

Decker didn’t speak.

Terry said, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I respect you. I just wanted to know if there was ever a little, teeny…minuscule doubt in your mind about Chris being the one.”

“Terry, there’s always a little, teeny, minuscule doubt.”

She looked up. “Really?”

Decker was about to explain, then thought better of it. But she was sharp and caught it.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

Decker said, “Nothing.”

She became animated. “You do have a little, teeny doubt, don’t you?”

“You forgot minuscule.”

“Do you have any doubts?”

Decker didn’t answer. He noticed her facial muscles tighten. She said, “What is it? Some sort of code of silence? You can’t admit your doubts to us ordinary people?”

“Terry, Chris Whitman is a murderer.”

She looked at him sharply. Then her eyes grew heavy with sadness. “So I guess I got what I came for. Like
they say…the truth hurts.” She shrugged. “Maybe Chris is right. Maybe I am better off not knowing.”

“I would think so.”

She started to get up, then changed her mind. “You can’t tell me anything to make me feel better?”

The statement, said with such blunt innocence, tugged at Decker’s heartstrings. “Did Chris send you here, Terry?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “As a matter of fact, he’d be really angry if he knew I came. He wants me to let the whole thing ride. See, once he gets out of prison, he has to go back home and marry some girl he doesn’t love…or even like. Some sort of arranged thing with his uncle.”

Decker said, “Is the girl’s last name Benedetto?”

“Yes, but it’s not Lorraine,” Terry said. “It’s her older sister who’s apparently fat and ugly and stupid. His punishment for not consulting his lawyers before he confessed to the police.”

Decker said, “Chris must trust you to talk so openly about his family.”

“Of course he trusts me. He loves me. I love him.”

Casually, Decker asked, “What else did he tell you about his uncle?”

Terry shrugged. “Just that Benedetto is a rival of his uncle. I guess the Mafia works like old royalty. They use marriages to keep peace. So you can see why Chris isn’t anxious to be freed.”

“I don’t know, Terry.” Decker said, “Prison seems like a funny kind of haven.”

“Except in prison, he has me…visiting him.”

“How many times have you gone to see him?”

“Just once so far. But it was really intense.”

Decker focused on the girl’s face. “Intense?”

She looked down and nodded.

“Whitman’s uncle…Donatti arranged some kind of special visit for you?”

Again she nodded.

“A conjugal visit?”

She looked away, her cheeks crimson.

“Ah,” Decker said. “So this is how you’re spending your summer vacation.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Not at all.” Decker waited a beat. “Well, maybe a little. I’m sorry.”

She smiled with moist eyes.

Decker spoke gently. “Terry, the case was closed two months ago.”

“Can I look at Chris’s file?”

“First of all, it’s not Chris’s file, it’s the Diggs murder file. Secondly, no, you can’t look at it.”

“You’d let Chris’s lawyers look at it, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re not Chris’s lawyer.”

“Suppose I can get a release from Chris that allows me to look at his files.”

“But of course he wouldn’t do that,” Decker said. “Because he’d be real mad if he knew you were here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She sat back in her chair. “He wouldn’t permit it.”

Decker thought a moment. Perhaps the girl did come in on her own.

Terry said, “Then I guess I’m going to have to look into the case on my own.”

“Be my guest.”

“Because I think there’s a person out there who got away with murder.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Can’t say that it does.”

“You think Chris killed Cheryl.”

“Yes.”

She looked pained, but she didn’t stop. “Any hints on how I should start an investigation?”

Decker sat up. “Terry, enough.”

“Do I just start asking people questions or what?”

Decker reminded himself to be patient. “Terry, we’ve
had this conversation before. You put your nose where it doesn’t belong, you get people mad. If you’re really hell-bent on retribution for your boyfriend, hire a private detective. I’ll even cooperate with him, how about that?”

“I can’t afford a private detective.”

“So approach Donatti. The man has some powerful connections.”

“Chris would be furious if he found out I went behind his back. Sergeant,
please
help me out!”

“Terry, I’m not Whitman’s advocate. I’m his adversary.”

“But we’re all on the same side, aren’t we? The side of truth and justice.”

“You forgot the American Way.”

“I’m being
serious
!”

Again her eyes had turned moist—bright and shiny like rain-slicked stones. Decker said, “Terry, I know you’re hurting. And I feel bad for you. But
I
can’t help you.”

She wiped tears away from her cheek and nodded. “I know. It’s my problem.”

Decker said, “If Chris really told you to let the case ride,
listen
to him. It’s good advice.”

She nodded, but wasn’t hearing him. She said, “Every case starts from square one. So I’ll start from square one. Besides, I know all the people involved…I’ll just ask around.”

Decker’s expression remained flat, but inside he was steeped in frustration. “It would not be a good idea for you to poke around. If you respect my opinion, now’s a great time to start showing it.”

Terry sighed. “Sergeant, did you have any other leads before you arrested Chris?”

“No,” Decker lied.

“So it was always Chris?”

“Yes.”

“Did you interview all of his friends?”

“Yes.”

“How about all the hotel personnel?”

“Yes,” Decker fibbed.

“Each and every person who was at the hotel?”

“Are you casting aspersions on my thoroughness?” Decker said, smiling.

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m…” She stopped, saw the look in Decker’s eyes, and smiled. “I’ll just start from square one.”

Decker rubbed his mustache. “You’re wearing me down.”

“That’s the idea.”

Decker stared at her. “Why do you care so much, Terry? He wasn’t even your boyfriend in high school. What happened?”

She looked down. “You’re thinking that Chris found a real sucker in me.”

That’s exactly what Decker was thinking. But there was more to it. He said, “Chris is bright. Why did he need a tutor in the first place?”

“It was a ploy…a way to get to me since we didn’t hang out in the same groups.”

“Ah…” Decker said. “That sounds like the Chris Whitman I know.”

“But I don’t think the extra push I gave him hurt. Because he missed a lot of school.”

Without thinking, Decker took out a notepad. “How so?”

“He traveled a lot, did a lot of gigs…playing with orchestras, ensembles…sometimes even solo work.”

“There’s a national shortage of cello players?”

“A shortage of players of his caliber.”

Decker said, “So he missed a lot of school.”

Terry nodded. “One minute he’d be totally caught up. Then he’d miss a week or two and fall behind.”

“How often did he play gigs?”

“I think he had…maybe two gigs during the time I was tutoring him. Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to get some background.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’re going to help me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Decker backtracked. “While you tutored Chris, did you two talk about other things?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did he ever talk about his family?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did he ever mention doing work for his uncle?”

“Just the opposite. He made a point of telling me he had nothing to do with his uncle’s activities.”

“And you believed him?”

“At that time, I had no reason to doubt him.”

“How about Cheryl?” Decker scribbled. “Did you talk about her?”

“I brought her up once or twice. He said she was no big deal. They went together because it was easy.”

“Easy?”

“She was promiscuous. That kind of easy.”

“And you accepted that?”

She sighed. “Sounds crazy but yes, I did. He was engaged to someone else. He felt it was better not to even start.”

“Looks like you’ve both changed your minds.”

She smiled but it was a weak one.

Decker knew he was mining old fields. Still, a pinprick nagged his brain. Something Terry had told him the first time he interviewed her. About prom night.

We talked about running away together
.

Why
would Whitman kill Cheryl when he was planning to run away with the girl he truly loved. And he did love her. Guy was scum, but he went to the hole for her.

And then there were those African-American pubic hairs….

But was Decker curious enough to pursue it? Whitman was a cold mother. Why should Decker care if the kid rotted in jail? Then Decker realized something. He didn’t
care about Whitman. But he did care a great deal about the process.

He said, “I’m going to cut you a deal, Terry—”

“You’re kidding!”

“If for no other reason than to get you off my back. Promise me you won’t do any homespun investigating, and I’ll reread the Diggs files. If something pops out at me, I’ll look into it—quietly and discreetly.”

“And if nothing pops out?”

“You drop the whole thing.”

“Will you let me know if you find out something?”

“No. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

“You won’t even keep me updated?”

“Probably not. That’s what quietly and discreetly means.”

“So I have to sit back and wait? I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Yes or no, Terry. I’m getting tired.”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Decker stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

“What about—”

“Gosh, it’s so noisy in this room. Can’t hear a blessed thing.” He took her elbow and prodded her upward. Then he led her out the door into the front reception area. “Good-bye.”

“Can I call you?”

“No.”

But Decker knew she would anyway. The teen was a very beautiful girl. And a smart one, too. But she was a pest. Like a fly, she seemed attracted to garbage.