Twisted Justice (24 page)

“You mean have Elizabeth just come out and ask her if she knows anything?”

“Sure. Have her explain to Molly that her mother is trying to help another mom who's in big trouble over what happened to the lady in the house next door. The truth. Right?”

Carrie nodded.

“If Molly wants to tell her anything she knows that might help this other mom and her kids, fine. If not, fine. But if she does know something, Elizabeth could suggest that she tell you. That way, there'll be no chance that you can be blamed for inappropriately approaching her.”

“Will it endanger the school?”

“You're the lawyer, but if it's Molly's choice to confide in the mother of a classmate who just happens to be a lawyer, what's the harm done?”

“Okay,” said Carrie with a sigh. “Let's give it a try. Can you get Elizabeth out of class so I can talk to her?”

Molly and Elizabeth sat in a small alcove off the cafeteria with their lunches arranged on orange plastic trays in front of them. Molly was a thin child, tall, like her parents, with her brown hair in braids, with huge brown eyes, her face sprinkled with freckles. Elizabeth was plumper, with porcelain skin, her mother's violet eyes, and curly brown hair. The girls interspersed eating with facile sign language as they settled in across the table from each other. Carrie sat inconspicuously at an empty table just outside the alcove, but she had a clear visual angle on the girls' signed conversation — she also
noticed two security cameras trained on the girls from the alcove walls.

Janice Meyer had offered no explanation to Molly, but she had brought over extra chocolate chip cookies to go with their bagged lunches. Elizabeth had been happy with the surprise visit from her mother and told her that she'd always liked Molly Palmer, but since they were in different classrooms and rode different school buses, she didn't know her that well. Yesterday, after leaving Laura's, she'd had so many questions about the nice lady she'd met and her twin girls, who'd both been really nice to her. Now she was excited about being able to help the lady, so, sure, she'd ask some questions.

Elizabeth started by admiring Molly's earrings, telling her by sign that she was trying to get her mom to let her get her ears pierced.

Molly said that she'd had pierced ears since she was a baby and that she had a whole collection of pretty earrings.

“You're lucky,” Elizabeth signed. Then she relayed her mother's request.

“I saw those kids go over next door before,” Molly signed. “Some boys and two girls about our age. I thought they were twins. I wanted to play with them, but they were outside playing catch with their brothers.” Then she added, “Plus, they wouldn't know sign language.”

“Did you see the kids the day the TV lady was killed?” Elizabeth prompted.

“No. I saw the blonde lady come that night. Then later all the police cars showed up, all the red lights flashing. You know the guy that lived there was a TV news man?”

“Yes, he was on TV with the killed lady,” signed Elizabeth.

“I used to watch him go in and out from my bedroom window. That's where my desk is, where I read or do my homework. And the lady that was killed, I saw her go in that night. I never saw her come before, but I know her from the pictures in the newspapers and on TV . . .” she hesitated, “I didn't know the man who moved in next door was married to the blonde lady.”

Molly seemed eager to share this information with Elizabeth, but then Carrie noticed a shadow darken Molly's face.

“My mom and dad told me not to tell anybody.” She leaned forward toward Elizabeth. “I saw someone else go into that house too. He had dark skin, but not a black man,” she clarified. “He went in a little before the blonde lady, but I never saw him come back out.”

“He didn't come out?”

“Not through the front door. I didn't mean to spy on them, but nobody famous ever lived next door before.”

“Me either. Then how did he get out?”

“Maybe the back door?” Molly signed. “I can't see it from my window.”

“Did you tell this to the police?” Elizabeth asked.

“No way, but I wanted to. I told my mom and dad and they said that it wasn't important and not to talk to anyone about it. I don't get it. They say I should always tell the truth, so why did they say not to tell the truth to the police?”

“I don't get it either. But would you tell my mom since she's trying to help the lady — the one with the kids?”

“I don't know. My parents would be mad at me.”

“My mom's very nice. She'll explain to your parents.”

Molly considered this. “Okay,” she finally signed. “I'll tell your mother if she'll explain it to Mom and Dad.”

By Tuesday, Steve was worried. Very worried. Somehow he'd imagined that fishing with his sons in the remote streams of Michigan's Upper Peninsula would reward him with a plan. But the reality: he was at a loss. Almost six weeks since that night Laura had walked in on him and Kim. More than two weeks since Kim died. Now Laura was no longer a suspect, and the cops had zeroed in on Santiago.

And the cops and everyone else wanted to talk to him about Santiago's whereabouts? How the heck would he know where Kim's mobster boyfriend hung out? And what about Santiago himself, now that he — and the whole world — knew that Steve had boinked Kim. What would a mobster do? Would he want revenge? Steve's paranoia that Santiago would come after him was rapidly escalating. Was he safe in Michigan? Should he leave the country? Could he get the kids out with him? None of them had passports. Should he take off with the boys? Leave the girls with Laura? Could he convince Laura to come with him? Maybe to Canada? Or should he just go back to Florida, work things out with Laura, and take his chances?

These questions pounded in his head, making it throb with pain. He'd searched their supplies for Tylenol, but he must have forgotten to pack it. The weather had turned miserable, rainy and cold and depressing. Cooped up in a leaky tent, Mike became sullen and Kevin's high spirits decelerated to outright grumpiness. But it was Patrick who scared him. The little boy could hardly walk from the tent to the outhouse.

“Hey, Pat, wanna go out and have a catch?” Kevin stuck his head inside the tent and yelled. “Rain's stopping.”

“Okay, yeah,” Patrick said as Kevin barged inside and reached out to pull Patrick up from a sitting position.

Alarmed, Steve watched as Patrick had to catch his breath before following Kevin out of the tent's flap door.

“Come on, Mike,” Steve said, grabbing two gloves, tossing one to Mike. “Let's go out with them.”

“Okay, Dad, but —”

“Dad, come quick!” Kevin screamed from outside.

Steve and Mike rushed outside to see Patrick sprawled on a wet bed of pine needles. Kevin was trying to pull him into a sitting position.

“Just a minute,” Patrick rasped. “I'm okay.”

“Kev, what happened?” Steve asked.

“Don't know. Pat musta fell down.”

“Did you slip on the wet needles?” Steve crouched down and held the little boy in his arms.

“Yup. I'm okay.” Patrick's breathing was rapid and shallow.

For the first time Steve noticed the bluish hue of Patrick's skin. Was it the light filtering through the thick clouds? Steve turned to his oldest son. “Mike, start packing up the campsite. We're heading back to Traverse City.”

“Right away, Dad.”

“Pat, we're bringing you to see Dr. Chambers,” Steve said as he carried the child toward the small, dank tent. “He was my doctor when I was a kid. You're going to like him.”

“No more doctors, Dad,” Patrick said weakly, his little arms around his father's neck. “Just call Mom.”

“Nice work, Carrie,” Greg said as Laura's defense team gathered in the conference room on Wednesday morning. “That child's ID of Frank Santiago is solid.”

“Thought we'd never get the parents' okay for the affidavit,” Chuck said, “but Carrie talked them from suing the pants off all of
us into full cooperation — as long as their daughter is protected.”

“Can you really protect her?” Laura asked quietly. “I'd be worried sick if it were my child. And she sounds like such a sweet girl . . .”

“She is a sweet girl,” Carrie agreed. “I've already talked to the police about it.”

“I'll take the affidavit to the D.A. right away,” said Rob. “They'll need to verify it, but with an eyewitness putting Frank Santiago at Nelson's place — even if it is a kid — they'll be sweating bullets.”

“Wonder how long that'll take. Of course, they'll have to question Molly Palmer,” Carrie sounded nervous. “I'm just sorry she'll have to go through that again.”

“If there's anything I can do,” Laura offered, “Molly's done so much for us already …”

Greg nodded. “Thanks, Laura, you just sit tight.” To the others he said, “Once the D.A. smells vulnerability, he'll squirm out and concentrate on spin control. You can be sure that Jake Cooperman, our esteemed D.A., will come out smelling like a political rose.”

“Not until they find Santiago,” said Rob. “Jake won't want to go public before they nail a new suspect. But with the kid's affidavit they'll issue a warrant, I'm sure.”

“Rob, double-check about security for Molly. The cops have the real responsibility here,” Chuck said, reaching for a bagel and smearing it with cream cheese, “but I'm thinking of backup. Maybe put a bodyguard on her right now. What do you think, Greg?”

“Maybe, but let's see what the cops can offer first.”

“Santiago's buried pretty deep out there these days,” Chuck went on. “They'll have to turn up the heat to flush him out. My guess is he's left the country.”

“That's the speculation at police headquarters,” said Rob. “And let me tell you, jurisdiction's a hot topic. Tampa wants the collar — quite a coup for them. Now that we have Molly's ID, the
Feds want in to grab the glory. Lopez and Goodnuf still lead the investigation, but who knows where this will go?”

“Infighting as usual,” said Greg, “but it's our job to get Laura off. You take care of things downtown, Rob. Meantime, I'll finalize the new motion. I'd love to see the look on Jake's face when Sandra recommends dismissing the case. Knock him right on his —” He glanced at his client. “Right off his soapbox, I mean.”

“So we're going for a dismissal with prejudice and because of extenuating circumstances, an immediate hearing with Judge Potter,” Carrie explained to Laura, who sat quietly, an uneaten corn muffin before her. “You know, I just realized you've lost a ton of weight.”

Laura managed a small smile.

“We'll settle for dismissal without prejudice,” added Rob. “That'd be enough to let Laura come and go at will.”

“Laura, we're getting there,” Greg reassured.

The phone rang and Greg picked it up with a curious look — he'd specifically put all calls on hold. “Laura, for you,” he said. “A Dr. Chambers? From Traverse City.”

Laura reached for the receiver, her face suddenly pale.

“Dr. Chambers —”

“Yes. Dr. Nelson?”

Laura nodded, but remained mute.

“Well, Steve suggested I call you directly and explain the situation, since you're a physician.”

“Is this about Patrick? Have you seen him?” Laura breathed deeply. So Steve had followed her advice and taken him to see his own family physician. Good.

“Yes, I have. I hate to be the one adding more to your troubles but, Dr. Nelson, I admitted him to the hospital here this morning.”

Laura let the receiver slip then recovered it, jamming it against her ear as she let out a gasp. “You did? What's wrong?”

“We don't have a diagnosis yet. We're doing tests. EKG, blood
work, cardiac ultrasound, lung scan, respiratory function, for starters. He presented with tachycardia, tachypnea, and slight cyanosis. No obvious signs of infection.”

“Oh, no.” Laura's mind raced through a differential diagnosis of these ominous symptoms in an eight-year-old.

“Dr. Nelson, is there any history of congestive heart failure with the child? Steve said he'd always had a heart murmur. No activity restrictions, so I assume nothing serious?”

“Patrick has a patent foramen ovale, grade-three systolic murmur at the left sternal border. It's been worked up thoroughly. Right, no functional disability.” Her mind reeled as she attempted to mentally navigate the thick
Textbook of Pediatrics
that served as her bible in dealing with children. Patrick had a minor congenital defect. Nothing that would cause the kind of symptoms that Dr. Chambers had described.

“So,” he went on, “any family history from your side that I should know?”

“Family history,” she repeated.

“Of course I'm familiar with Steve's side, and there's nothing cardiac there.”

“Uh, no, nothing relevant on my side either,” she said. Had he said anything about heart disease? About anything else medically important? Had she missed something when Steve had told her about Patrick's symptoms over the weekend? Could she have prevented this?

“I'd like to get a pediatric consult right away,” he went on. “And Dr. Nelson, I'd say that you'd better get to Traverse City to see for yourself. Unless the local pediatrician feels differently, I'd like to transfer him to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor as soon as we can make the arrangements.”

“I'll try,” Laura jumped up and faced Greg, “to get there as soon as I can.”

“Good. We'll attempt to make a diagnosis in the meantime, but I sense something very serious is going on with the child.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” Laura hung up the phone and turned to the three concerned faces.