Twisted Justice (12 page)

Greg jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor. My client is a prominent member of the medical community in this state with never so much as a traffic ticket. She certainly poses no flight risk. Her entire family is rooted in this community, her parents, her children. I see no reason for any bail whatsoever in this case.”

Judge Potter again studied the defendant.

“The State reiterates the request for no bail,” rang the voice of Sandra Mulloy.

“Rather severe for someone with no prior arrests.” Judge Potter said simply.

“Not for murder one, Your Honor,” Sandra said again. “Under no circumstances should bail be set for less than one million dollars.”

The judge then looked up as Jake Cooperman, the D.A. himself, strode into the courtroom and took a seat at Sandra Mulloy's table. All eyes followed his path, his presence a signal that the prosecution intended to take this case seriously. Over the past twelve years, Jake had built his reputation on a politically astute winning streak. He selected his high-profile cases carefully and worked in the limelight of the media, looking more like a Brooks Brothers model than a practicing D.A.

“That's preposterous, Your Honor,” Greg said. “My client's record in this community is unblemished.”

Judge Potter cut him off. “Bail will be set at five hundred thousand dollars.”

Among a shuffle of chairs and buzzing of voices, Laura was handcuffed once more and ushered out of the now-crowded courtroom.

An hour later, Greg was led into the small, dingy holding area of the Hillsborough County Jail.

“Dr. Nelson,” he began as soon as the matron had locked the cell door behind her. Laura had brushed her hair and now wore the tan prison-issue shirt and pants that fit tightly over her frame. She was still pale with deepening circles below her eyes.

“We have a lot to talk about, but first we need to clarify my representation. I hate to go over it now, but if you want me to represent you, I'll need a retainer of thirty thousand dollars. Depending on what happens, the fee may be much higher, but we would negotiate anything further as we go.”

“Do you believe I didn't kill that woman?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Greg said, surprised that he did believe her.

“Thank you.” Laura leaned forward in the metal chair. “My children, no one's told me anything. What about my kids?”

“We'll find out as soon as possible, but first we need to agree
on fees and the matter of bail,” he said. “Is it possible for you to come up with my retainer plus fifty thousand for the bail bondsman?”

“I'll pay whatever is necessary. Can you get me out of here today?”

“Of course,” he said gently. “Now let's get started. First thing, bail.”

“Steve and I have a joint savings account. About fifty thousand dollars in there and a checking account that we keep almost tapped out. You'd think we'd have more with both of us working and all,” she said with a sad smile, “but we do have some equity in the house.”

He nodded. “That's a start. It'll just cover the bondsman and get you out, but you'll need more. Your parents?”

“I could never ask them. They've worked hard their whole lives and now they're both retired.” Laura shook her head. “I do have somewhere around twenty thousand dollars in accounts receivable from the hospital for surgical cases, but that comes in slowly from third-party payers.”

Greg nodded again. “That should help.”

“Fine. I'll pay you as soon as I can, Mr. Klingman.”

“Call me Greg. Because we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“And call me Laura, Greg.”

Before he left, Laura gave Greg authorization to access her bank accounts. He promised to get her out that day and reassured her that he'd do everything he could to help find her children. Unexpectedly, he meant it.

“Listen,” Greg said after the matron led Laura back into the dingy holding cell at noon, “I've got good news and bad news.”

Laura did not speak until the matron locked the door behind her. “Tell me the bad news first.” Then she gasped, “My kids?”

“No, no,” Greg said quickly, “your husband. Last week he all but emptied out your joint savings account. There's nine hundred forty-two dollars left. I've spoken with the hospital to see if they can give you some kind of an advance. As it stands now, they've agreed to ten thousand.”

“What? How could Steve do such a thing? I can't believe it.”

“Believe it. I saw the bank statement. Now let me tell you the good news. You were right — your family was on the way to Michigan. Cops here put a call into your father-in-law to notify the Tampa station in case your husband turned up there. Turns out he was on his way. Anyway, he's flying in for questioning from Chattanooga.”

“What about my kids?”

“They're fine. They'll all be back in a few hours. I'll meet the plane when the flight gets in.”

“Oh, thank God. You can take them home, can't you? My housekeeper will be there.”

“No problem. The kids can head home while the detectives talk to your husband —”

“Do they think he had something to do with it?” Laura gasped. “I admit I did at first too, but —”

“I can't answer that — being on the road with five kids.” He
paused. “But I don't know what his actual itinerary was. Or why he emptied your bank account and fled the state.”

“Dear God, Steve's not a murderer.” Laura let out a deep breath. Kim's body had still been warm — she couldn't have been dead that long — so it couldn't have been Steve. Somehow that realization comforted her.

“I hope you're right. In the meantime, we're still stuck with getting your bail money. I'll talk to your husband about it as soon as they land, but if we can't pull it together in time that means another night here for you. I'll do my best to get you a cell to yourself again, but I can't promise.” He reached over and patted her hand.

Laura slumped back in the hard-back, steel chair. “Just make him give me the money to get out of here.”

Greg Klingman recognized the familiar face of Steve Nelson and headed toward the cluster of Nelsons as they deplaned. Steve was flanked by two blonde boys, one a teenage version of his father and the other obviously younger, with floppy bangs. Twin sisters, also blondes, wore matching turquoise outfits. They each held the hand of a smaller boy with chestnut hair. Two plainclothes sheriffs shepherded the family to the central terminal as Greg attempted to introduce himself.

“Mr. Nelson,” he called, “I'm Greg Klingman, your wife's attorney. I need to talk to you. It's important.”

Greg was surprised that the good-looking guy who was always perfectly groomed on TV looked so sloppy, in rumpled khaki shorts and a worn tee shirt. But then, he'd been on the road with five kids. Even so, it was irksome when Steve Nelson merely glanced at him, making no attempt to respond.

“Not now, mister,” one of the sheriffs responded. “We're headed directly to headquarters.”

“Certainly I can talk to him for just a few minutes,” Greg said. “I do represent his wife.”

“Yep, you can, but only when the detectives are finished with him.”

Greg looked at Steve again, who just shrugged.

“What about the kids?” Greg went on. “I have Dr. Nelson's permission to take them home. Your housekeeper is waiting for them there.”

“I want to go home,” one of the little girls said.

“No,” Steve said sharply, “everybody stays with me.”

“But Dad —” the floppy-haired boy whined.

“I said no,” Steve repeated.

“It's okay, Mr. Nelson, if you'd like your kids taken home.” The officer's face softened as he looked down at the group huddled around their dad. “They look pretty beat.”

“No. They stay with me,” Steve said stubbornly.

Greg tried again. “It would be no problem —”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Then I'll wait for you at headquarters. It's imperative that I speak with you just as soon as possible.”

“Fine,” Steve finally said.

It was almost nine when Greg returned to the jail. Laura's hair was combed, but greasy. Her face scrubbed. Her eyes less bloodshot under her glasses.

“My kids?” she asked.

“Safe and sound.” Greg explained that they were home with Mrs. Whitman, neglecting to tell her that they'd been detained for more than four hours with nothing to eat or drink. The kids waited in a drab interrogation room equipped with only a conference table and a few chairs while a pair of Tampa detectives interrogated her husband in another room. Pending substantiation, they'd accepted Steve's alibi — he was on his way to Michigan with five kids in a rental car during the time of the murder. Steve had learned that his father was sick and decided to drive to Michigan.

“That's why he took them away?” Laura asked in disbelief.

“Apparently the police pressed him on this, and he did admit that he was upset with the way you'd tossed him out. And something
about how busy you were with your career. He figured since he wasn't working anyway, you could use a break.”

“And what did Steve tell you?” Laura asked dully.

“Well, I didn't get a chance to talk to him until after they all got home,” Greg said. “Said he was tired and couldn't even think straight when I explained that you needed fifty thousand to post bail as well as a retainer for me.”

“And?” Laura pressed both hands to her temples.

“He said he was worried about your state of mind. Thinks that you might do something, and I quote, ‘foolish' if you were out. He wants to talk to you first.”

“What? Are you saying he won't give me the money for bail? That's my money too! I've got to get out of here.” Laura started to stand up, but then seemed to remember where she was. She fell back and stared at one of the cement walls for a few moments. “I find a dead woman on his kitchen floor, and I'm the one who ends up in jail? Can you have Steve come talk to me?”

“Yes, but brace yourself, there's one other thing. It seems that Steve thinks you actually killed the Connor woman. His theory to the police is that you were insanely jealous. That you killed her so he would come back to you.”

“What? That's absurd,” Laura began. “He knew I planned to file for a separation, a divorce. He tried to talk me out of it, but —”

“Well, he's putting out that ‘crime of passion' and all. I only wish he'd talked to me first.”

Laura's fist slammed against the table. “I can't believe this. He's just trying to get back at me.”

“Maybe, Laura, but I detected more than that. Maybe an ego thing. Like the image of you being jealous enough to kill his girlfriend feeds his ego?”

Laura frowned. “And the kids? What did Steve tell them? And the police, what did they tell my kids? I mean, about me?”

“Best I know, they were told there'd been an accident. That you were all right, but you were needed for lots of questions. Hell,
it's in all the papers. He'll have to tell them something soon. And, apparently Channel Eight wants to do an interview with him tomorrow. I advised him to just keep quiet, but he seems to have a need to explain what he thinks happened. Maybe he just wants his face back on TV.”

Laura's frown deepened. Again she started to get up before slumping back into the chair. “Can you stop him?”

“I tried, but he seemed insistent — self-righteous. I suspect you'll have better luck talking him out of it.”

“My parents?” Laura asked faintly.

“I called them too. It's obvious they'd do anything for you. They're coming in tomorrow, to your place. Maybe they can talk some sense into your husband.”

“God, I hope so. I'm so ashamed that they have to go through this.” She covered her face with her hands.

Greg cleared his throat. “In the meantime, we have to figure out how to post bail. I'm sorry you'll have to spend another night in here.”

Laura looked up with a grimace. She'd been so numb she could only remember the coldness, the toilet in the corner, the smell of urine leaching out through the pervasive odor of Lysol in her cell.

“I just don't believe Steve would deliberately make me stay in here.”

“I can't see that either, but just in case we've already talked about the hospital. You parents? What about friends, Laura? Think hard.”

Laura shook her head. “Please give my parents another call will you, Greg, and tell them that I'm okay and that I didn't do it.”

“I'll tell them anything you like. Of course, they know you didn't do it. So am I going to ask them if they can raise the bail bond as well?”

“No, don't do that.”

“Then how are we going to get you out of this jail?”

“Steve just has to change his mind. We have enough money for bond.”

“And if he flat out refuses?”

“There is one possibility,” Laura said quickly. “I never thought I'd use it, but —”

“Let's hear it.”

“There's a safety deposit box in the Tampa National Bank on Dale Mabry. A money market fund. Two hundred thousand plus accumulated interest for the past few years. I'm telling you this in strict confidence, Greg. Attorney-client privilege, is it not?”

“Yes it is.” He nodded for her to go on.

“A long time ago a very dear friend of mine died and left me the money. Steve doesn't know it exists and he must never know. I'm absolutely adamant about this. Not Steve or anyone else.”

“I see. Is this money legal?”

“Yes,” Laura said without hesitation. “I've kept it in a tax-free fund so it doesn't show up on our income taxes. All statements go to a post office box I keep exclusively for this account and the statements are in a locked drawer in my office.”