Twisted Justice (21 page)

“No stooping, Steve. It was all legal,” Laura said evenly. “Court order.”

“Right. Well, I gotta give it to you and your lawyers. God, I can only imagine how much this is costing. With neither of us working, we can't afford all this legal stuff.”

“It shouldn't go on much longer,” Laura announced. “The D.A. here is getting ready to suspend the charges against me. All I know is, I'm going to be free very, very soon.”

“What? You're getting off? How?”

“You sound like you don't believe it,” Laura said. “But the police have another suspect. It's that guy Kim Connor was dating.”

“Suspect?” Steve's voice went hoarse. Less hostile and angry — more shaky, concerned. “What do you know?”

“They won't give me any details, but they do want to talk to you. Remember how you said the guy beat her up? They think she must have told you stuff about him that might help them locate the guy.”

“I don't know a damned thing about that creep.”

“Unfortunately, I now know about how cops operate. Like how they press people for details that lay folks just aren't even thinking about.”

“Exactly. You just tell them that I know nothing.”

“And Chuck Dimer,” Laura went on, “the private investigator that Greg hired, wants to talk to you too.”

“And how can we afford a private investigator?” Although Steve's comment sounded petulant, Laura detected underlying panic. “No way I'm talking about Kim to anyone. I don't know a goddamn thing about her personal life. She's already caused me enough trouble. My marriage. My job. No more.”

“I can tell you that the police are going to insist. And so is Chuck. Because when they catch this guy and indict him, then I'm off the hook. Period. Charges go from being suspended to being dropped. The sooner the better. When are you coming back to Tampa?”

Steve's side of the line was silent.

“Did you know that the mob is involved?” Laura pressed.

“For God's sake, Laura, of course not.”

“Well, Frank Santiago is a major figure, and the Tampa cops are hot to bring him in. So, Steve, your theory about me and my crime of passion just isn't going to fly. You've got to tell the boys.
According to the twins, you still think that I pulled the trigger on that gun. Now will you explain this to the boys?”

There was a long pause. “Are you sure about all this?”

“Completely,” Laura said. “Now will you explain it to the boys?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Can I talk to them?” Laura asked.

“No, we're at a state park in the wilderness. Kids're in the recroom.”

“They're all okay?”

“Having a ball. Fishing. Hiking. Sleeping in tents. All that father-son stuff. Listen, there is one thing,” he continued reluctantly. “I had to take Patrick to a doctor on the way up here. In Cheboygan. Turns out it was nothing.”

“What?” Now Laura heard panic in her own voice. “What's the matter with Patrick?”

“Nothing. Just nerves.”

“Nerves? No way, Patrick's the most happy-go-lucky child I know. What kind of symptoms did he have? Tell me, Steve.”

“Hey, don't get so uptight. The doctor said it was nothing. Just a rapid heartbeat and he wears down easily. But they did blood tests and everything checked out.”

Laura's medical mind scanned the possible causes of fatigue and tachycardia in an eight-year-old. All conjured the specter of dread. Was it his heart? But she'd had his heart murmur thoroughly checked out by a pediatric cardiologist — it was only a patent foramen ovale. In most children a small, slit-like opening between the upper two chambers of the heart closes off after birth, but in some it stays open. If that was the only defect, as in Patrick's case, it was of no clinical significance.

So Patrick's basic blood work had been okay. That must have included a CBC — complete blood count. Any type of anemia or even leukemia would be unlikely. Was it anxiety? Could all this be affecting Patrick to the point of physical symptoms? Her most carefree child, who basked in Steve's attention, and laughed off the occasional accusation that he was spoiled rotten. Could he be that
disturbed? Better that than a real physical illness, thought Laura, yet her concern mounted.

“Give me the doctor's phone number, and I'll call him just to check everything out.”

“That's unnecessary. I'll check with Dr. Chambers, my old family doctor in Traverse City, if he has any more symptoms. I'm just having him take it easy.”

“Steve, I insist.”

“Look, I said he was okay, and I don't have the phone number. Name's Pope. Cheyboygan.”

“Hey, Mom,” Nicole yelled. “Can Nattie and I go over to Alison's?”

“Hang on, Steve,” Laura said, not sure that she wanted her daughters out of her sight even if it was just across the street.

“Why don't you have her come over here?” she suggested.

“She doesn't even know we're home yet,” Nicole hollered back from somewhere upstairs. The sounds of her girls back home filled Laura's heart — but back to Patrick.

“Please, Mom!”

“Okay, just for a few minutes, then come right back. Grandma and Grandpa are coming.”

“Can Alison come over?” Natalie had bounded down the stairs and now stood next to her. “Who are you talking to, Mom?”

“Dad,” Laura said. “Of course Alison can come over.”

“Can I talk to him?” Natalie asked.

“Yes, you may, but don't hang up. I'm not through talking yet.”

“Hi Dad, how're you doing?” asked Natalie.

Laura stood nearby, only half-hearing Natalie's side of the conversation. Could Steve be right about Patrick? Just nerves? A normal reaction of an eight-year-old to the type of stress he'd had heaped on him these last few weeks?

“Yeah, it's good to be home,” Natalie went on. “Nope, we got home late. Almost midnight. But Alison's coming over. Are the boys okay? Okay, Dad. I love you. I'll go get her.” She put down the phone and yelled up the stairs. “Nicky! Dad wants to talk to you!”

“I don't want to talk to him,” Nicole called back.

“Come on, you're gonna hurt his feelings.”

Nicole whizzed down the stairs. “So what? So why'd he go off and leave us, huh? He didn't have to go off camping and leave us alone with Grandpa Nelson.”

Natalie walked back to the phone. “Dad? Uh … Nicky's busy doin' stuff. “But Mom wants to talk to you again. Here.”

Laura reached for the phone.

“So Nicole won't even talk to me?” Steve began. “What's she been saying anyway?”

“Saying?” Laura repeated. “Saying about what?”

“About — Never mind. Is she okay? Has she said —”

“She's fine. Just upset that you chose to leave her and go off with the boys. A natural response if you ask me.”

“The girls would hate being off in the woods and you know it. Besides, you've got them now. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“You know as well as I do that all the kids belong here with me.” She came close to blurting that she'd see to a permanent custody order very soon. “But are you sure Patrick's okay?”

“I think so,” Steve answered. “I'll take him to Dr. Chambers if he doesn't perk up.”

“Bring him home, Steve. If Patrick has something wrong with him, he belongs here with me. Maybe it's his heart.”

“Hey, the specialists we saw said that he'd be fine, that the heart murmur wasn't serious. Remember?”

“But —”

“Look, I'm sure Pat'll be fine.”

“Promise to call me if he's not, okay?” Laura needed to talk to Greg. How soon could she get to Michigan, and do whatever she had to do to get all her kids back?

He hesitated. “Okay. And when we get back to Dad's, let talk, Laura, really talk. I've been thinking. Now that they're going to drop those charges. Maybe if we moved. Somewhere far away. Away from all these bad memories. All of us.”

“Move away from Tampa?” Laura was taken aback. Things
were bad, but never once had she thought of running away.

“Look. I screwed up. I know that. What I did — Kim. How I left you alone in Tampa. How I doubted you when you said you didn't, you know, shoot Kim.”

Laura realized that this was the first time he'd admitted this. “That really hurt me. And when you took off with the kids —”

“It was a bad mistake. I — thought maybe you couldn't cope with the kids with being indicted on those charges.”

“Well, it almost destroyed me,” Laura said as tears gathered and she realized that for the first time since the night she'd found Steve with Kim, they were really talking to each other. Tentative, primitive, but talking.

Steve's voice softened. “I'm sorry, Laura. For everything. I'll do anything to get my family back, but I can't come back to Tampa for a while.”

“Why not?” Laura asked.

“It's nothing,” he said. “I screwed up, that's all.”

“So let's work out a visitation schedule so the kids see us both, but I'm not moving away from Tampa. In the meantime, can't you just bring the boys home?”

“It's not that simple,” Steve mumbled.

“Why not?”

“I can't explain. I've got a lot to think about, but I'll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Bye, Steve.”

For a long time Laura sat at the table in the kitchen alcove. She'd been so sure she wanted a separation from Steve. A divorce, eventually. But did she? Did she really know her own heart? Or had she been so humiliated by that night with Kim that she'd selfishly put her anger ahead of what was best for her kids and maybe even best for her once time had passed? Or had her instinct that next day been right, that she and Steve had already drifted too far apart? That they would both be better off if they were free to live their lives separately and work out shared custody of their children? Roxanne had suggested a counselor. Maybe they should see a counselor.

Laura was still thinking about her conversation with Steve when the phone rang again. Greg.

“Hi, Laura! Heard that Chuck and the girls got back just fine last night. Wanted to check in and make sure everyone's all right?”

“Oh, hi, Greg. Thanks, the girls are great.”

“That's a relief. Listen, Chuck's going to run a neighborhood blitz on Oregon tomorrow night. He's got a few guys lined up to question anyone and everyone who may have seen something the night of the murder. We're looking for a break with Santiago's name on it.”

“That's good. Whatever I can do, you just let me know.”

“Of course. Someone did kill Kim Connor. Even though the cops are looking for Santiago, the D.A. still hasn't given up on you. They'll backpedal once we get something solid, you can bet on that. They won't want egg on their face.”

“And all I want is my life back — my freedom and my kids.”

“Your freedom and your kids matter more than anything,” he said firmly. “So tonight we're looking for a connection that ties Santiago to that night, before every lead goes stone cold and we end up in court. I want you cleared long before that.”

“What can I do?”

“At the moment, just sit tight. You've got the girls home now, and they've been through so much. Be there for them.”

Following his initial interviews a week and a half earlier, Chuck
Dimer had assembled a small network of private investigators to thoroughly canvas Steve's neighborhood. The plan was to try to talk with every man, woman, and child in every household, and to identify anybody who might have been present in the area surrounding Steve's rented house. Located in an old section of Tampa, the Old Hyde Park houses were close together with small brownish lawns and few ornamental plants. Steve's was so worn down, even its cement stairs were crumbling.

The P.I.s were given a checklist and instructed to probe into anything unusual regarding that night, anybody who'd been seen or heard in the vicinity, descriptions of all cars. They were given pictures of Kim, of Laura, of Steve, of the Nelson kids, and of Frank Santiago and a few of his mob contacts.

“Okay, Greg, we're all set up,” Chuck announced as they met at Bucky's on Swann Avenue for a quick breakfast the following morning. “I've got three guys going house-to-house in a ten-block radius of Nelson's apartment. Time of the murder was around eight so we'll ape that, more or less. I'll take the immediate vicinity myself.”

“You got all the pictures?”

“Yup.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of photos.

Greg stated the obvious as he picked up the shot of Santiago. “Focus on this guy.”

“Gonna look under every rock.”

“Yeah. Wonder if you're gonna find Nelson under one. Can't see why a woman like Laura would marry such a jerk.”

“Women are strange,” Chuck answered. “Wonder why Celeste is marrying you?”

Greg's head jerked up.

“Just a joke, buddy. Anyway, I've never shaken the suspicion that Nelson's involved with the Connor killing myself.”

“So you think he's hiding something or he's just a son of a bitch?”

“Good question. At first I thought the former, but now I'm not
sure. Something came up in one of my interviews — that friend of Connor's I talked to right off, Carmen Williams. Turns out that Connor left Carmen all her earthly belongings, so I went back and talked to her again last week. She's really not a bad kid. Trying to pull her life together. Well, her being involved was in the back of my mind. Connor didn't have much, but to Carmen, who had nothing, maybe if she knew she'd inherit —”

“You think she's a suspect? Why didn't you say so?”

“Thought she might be, but after talking to her again, I'm thinking otherwise. She's so shook up. Connor had stuck by her all these years, her only friend. Besides, that Sunday night she was hanging out at a club in Ybor City. I had it all checked out.”