Twisted Justice (19 page)

“Okay, Laura, here's where we are.” Carrie Diamond sat down at Laura's kitchen table with a cup of tea Thursday evening. “Chuck is arranging to bring the girls home tomorrow night or Saturday morning, depending on flight availability. So far Steve has not responded to the court order so it's unlikely, although not impossible, that he'll intervene in time. So that's good news. Hopefully we'll have them home tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I just can't wait. Thank you, and thank Greg and Chuck and Rob,” Laura blurted. A hint of hope crossed her ashen, drawn face. Not eating very much for days now, she'd dropped several pounds.

“And there's more news,” Carrie continued. “Possibly not related — and definitely morbid — but it turns out that following the night Kim was killed, a couple of dead bodies turned up in Tampa.”

Laura abruptly set down her cup of tea. “What's that got to do with Kim?”

“I'm not sure, but Chuck and his P.I.s came up with a possible connection.”

Laura frowned. “I'm not following.”

“Well, the dead guys were Mexicans. The police found traces of high-potency cocaine in the truck they were found in. The same grade of cocaine that they're now finding on the street in Ybor City.”

“I'm still not getting the connection. Does this have something to do with Kim's drug addict friend that Chuck talked to?”

“Maybe. Ybor City is Santiago's territory, and maybe he had
something to do with the drugs — and the dead guys. Apparently trouble's been brewing between the drug elements in South Florida for a while. Anyway, it gives the police another reason to want to find him.”

“Oh, that's just too bizarre,” Laura shivered. “Steve so close to the mob? I can't believe he knew anything about it. He's always been so conservative.”

“Chuck's going to question him whenever he gets out of those Michigan woods. But in the meantime, he thinks that Detective Lopez is buying Santiago's tie to the drugs.”

Laura nodded. “I see. Detective Lopez was the more reasonable of the two detectives that night. Do you think that he actually wants to help me?”

“Who knows,” Carrie said, “but the more resources the police commit to trying to find Santiago, the better for us.”

“At least they're looking for someone else. Thank God. Listen, do they know yet?”

“What?” Carrie looked confused. “Does who know?”

“Natalie and Nicole? That they're coming home. Has anyone told them?”

“No,” responded Carrie carefully. “Nobody thought it wise to tell them before everything's settled.”

“Can I talk to them at least?”

“That might be a bit risky.” Carrie hesitated. “But since their grandfather already knows he has to release them to the court order —”

“I'll call right now. Jim will be okay with this, I'm sure.”

After Carrie agreed, Laura dialed Michigan.

Jim Nelson answered in a cautious tone. “Hello?”

“Jim, it's Laura. I'm so sorry about all this. And about saddling you with our problems, but I miss the girls so much. Could I talk to them, please?”

“Of course, Laura. You know I'm sorry about all this too, about you and Steve. But enough, the girls miss their mother. Hold on.”

“Mom!” Nicole was first to grab the phone.

“Nicole, oh, honey, how are you? I miss you so much.”

“Mom, Natalie and I want to come home. Dad doesn't want us around and I don't want to live here. When can I come home?”

Laura laughed. “Oh, it's so good to hear your voice. You're coming home soon, honey, very soon. Okay?”

“When? We miss you.” Nicole hadn't stopped for a breath. “You better talk to Nattie, she's crying again. She'll be okay as soon as we get home.”

“Honey, thanks for taking such good care of your sister. I'd better talk to her now, okay? I'll see you soon. I love you.”

“You're not in jail or anything are you?” Nicole asked.

“No, honey, I'm not in jail. I'll be right here when you get here, okay?”

“I love you, Mom. Here's Nattie.”

“I love you, sweetie.”

Natalie was barely coherent as she took the phone from her sister. “Mommy,” she managed between sobs, “Mom, I miss you. I want to come home.

Why can't Nicky and I come home?”

“Natalie, I love you so much. Listen, honey, you and Nicole will be home real soon, okay?”

“But Dad said you were going to jail.”

“That's not true at all, Natalie. I'll be right here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” That she could do.

Greg, Carrie, and Rob spent all day Friday in Greg's office working out preliminary trial strategy. They wanted to stall the Nelson case as long as possible to give the real killer time to make a mistake, to somehow reveal himself. Meanwhile things were starting to shape up in Laura's favor. Kim's troubled relationship with Frank Santiago, followed by his total disappearance from the Tampa Bay area, had caused the police to intensify their efforts to question him. Lopez and Goodnuf also told Rob that they wanted to question Steve again, this time more specifically about Kim's relationship with Santiago. Chuck had been right; the more they learned about Santiago, the more obvious his connection with the Miami and Tampa Latin mob became. Now Santiago's disappearance on the heels of two dead Mexicans turning up in a cocaine-laced truck, the D.A.'s office had to be sweating it. District Attorney Jake Cooperman would be astute enough to jump ship if he smelled political risk.

“It's almost six,” Greg finally announced. “Let's call it a day.”

“Good,” said Carrie.

Greg saw the relief on her face. He reminded himself not to work her too hard. Carrie had a tough time balancing work and family. Her daughter, Elizabeth, was deaf and mute, and Carrie was dedicated to providing her with every advantage. As Greg had predicted, however, Carrie and Laura had developed a bond between them, and Carrie was pushing herself too hard.

“I want to talk to Sandra Mulloy on Monday,” said Rob,
sounding optimistic. “Try to put some pressure on her to suspend charges against Laura while they track down Santiago. May not work, but it's worth a try.”

“That'd give her more flexibility to move about,” said Carrie. “To say nothing about boosting her morale.”

“I agree,” said Greg. “Maybe by then Chuck will have more on Santiago. My guess is he's hiding out in Miami.”

Rob nodded, packing up his files. “So, heading out on the town tonight?”

“Going home to an empty house. Celeste's staying in Atlanta this weekend.”

“I got a bunch of guys coming over for poker. Want to join?”

“No thanks, buddy. How about you, Carrie? Plans?”

“The usual. Kids. My daughter's school's having a fund-raiser, a carnival with a picnic, tomorrow.”

“How's she doing?” Rob asked.

“Elizabeth is fine, thanks. Doing well,” she said quickly. Any solicitous attitude toward Elizabeth annoyed Carrie.

The intercom buzzed. Chuck was on the phone at Cherry Airport with the twins.

“Things are going according to schedule with Chuck,” Greg announced as he hung up. “All's well that ends well, eh? Let's regroup Monday around noon. And Carrie,” he added, “can you swing by Laura's Monday morning to make sure everything is okay with the girls. My guess is she'll be feeling 100 percent better just to have them home.”

Chuck Dimer had booked himself and the Nelson twins on the Friday seven p.m. flight from Cherry Airport through Chicago's O'Hare to Tampa International. They'd arrive late, but getting the girls home to Laura as soon as possible was his goal. The release paperwork at the Grand Traverse County Courthouse had gone smoothly, and he waited in Jim Nelson's driveway so he'd be right there at five when they all returned home after the foray to the mall.

Laura sat on the edge of the sofa in the family room of her empty house, too wound up to focus on the latest issue of the
New England Journal of Medicine
. She wore a yellow cotton shirt open at the neck, fitted tan slacks that were now baggy, and soft brown loafers. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders, giving her a look of innocence, even vulnerability.

It was almost eight thirty. At nine, she planned to drive to the airport. Calmly, she kept reminding herself. It was only a twenty minute ride, and she would be there at least an hour early to meet the ten thirty arrival. Soon, so soon, the girls would be home. She could wait that long.

On Wednesday, the Fourth of July, a drenching rain had convinced Steve to delay leaving his dad's until late afternoon. Jim Nelson had helped Steve load everything into his rented Ford station wagon, strapping the rest up on top, before Steve headed out with his three sons toward the Mackinac Bridge connecting Michigan's Upper and Lower Peninsulas. When they reached Wilderness State Park just south of the bridge that night, they set up their tent, made a fire, and cooked hot dogs and beans. There were no fireworks allowed in the park, but Steve let the boys light sparklers as long as they were careful to dispose of the glowing ends.

They stayed at Wilderness for two nights. The weather was chilly, but the family in the next tent had boys the same age as the three young Nelsons and they all played baseball, fished, collected frogs, even went swimming in the frigid Lake Michigan waters. There was a pay phone at the office, but Steve took pride in “roughing it,” savoring the isolation from worries encroaching upon him from all directions.

It was wise, very wise, to be far away, and now, out of sight.

On Friday, Steve packed up camp and headed to Mackinaw City. He tried to relax and bought the boys fudge before heading to the Starline Ferry bound for Mackinac Island. The kids were thrilled by the island without cars, and Steve rented bikes so they could explore. As they made their way to Fort Mackinac to watch the rangers fire the historic muskets, Steve noticed that Patrick was having trouble keeping up.

“Pat, you okay?”

Steve asked after the third time his son lagged behind.

Patrick wheezed, “Yeah, Dad.”

Steve sat down on the curb next to his son. Why was he breathing so fast? Like he was having trouble catching his breath. Laying his hand lightly on the child's thin chest, Steve gasped at Patrick's fast, wild heartbeat.

“Come on you guys, ” yelled Kevin. “The fort's up there on that hill!”

“Yeah, let's go,” shouted Mike as he bicycled in circles around his brother and dad. “To the fort!”

“Pat's resting,” said Steve. “Slow down, will you?”

“Pat's a sissy,” taunted Kevin. “Sissy, sissy, come on, let's go.”

“Am not,” countered Patrick, attempting to get up off the curb, but quickly sitting down again.

Steve was worried now. Patrick had been born with a heart murmur — a hole in his heart. They had said it was nothing to worry about, that Patrick had no physical restrictions, but — “Okay, boys,” he announced, “let's pack it in. We've seen the island, we're going back now.”

“Aw, Dad,” complained Mike, “you said we were gonna see the show with the guns. You said, after lunch.”

“Yeah, and the horse and buggy ride,” Kevin added.

Steve got up, hoisted Patrick to his feet, and started walking their two bikes slowly back toward the rental shop.

“Pat's sick. Let's go,” Steve called.

“He's just a spoiled brat,” Kevin said to Mike, loud enough for Steve and Patrick to hear.

Instead of heading directly to the new campsite back on the mainland, Steve drove to the small town of Cheboygan on the shores of Lake Huron, about thirty miles away. Without telling the kids where he was going, he suddenly pulled into a parking lot.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked, looking up at a red brick building with a wide circular driveway.

“It's a hospital,” muttered Mike, waking up from a snooze in the backseat.

“Look, you two just stay in the car for a few minutes,” Steve said. “Pat, you come with me.”

“Dad,” whined Patrick, “I wanna stay with Mike and Kev.”

“Come on, Patrick,” Steve insisted.

A half hour later, at three thirty, Steve came out to get Mike and Kevin. Before he could say a word, Kevin blurted, “Dad, are you having a heart attack?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Is Pat really sick?” Mike asked.

Steve led them toward the emergency room door where an ambulance partially blocked access to the double automatic doors. “I'm sure he's fine, but the doctor's checking him out right now, and I want you here in the waiting room. No fooling around, you hear me?”

“We haven't even had lunch,” Kevin complained.

In the waiting room, Mike started pacing. “Kev, come over here,” he whispered from across the room. “You can hear them talking about Pat in there. Listen.”