Blood Relations (11 page)

Something was going on with her, ever since that model had been raped. Possibly that was bothering Caitlin, but Frank didn’t think so. He was afraid it was something else.

About three years ago, during one of their longer separations, he had suspected she was running around. He hired a private investigator and got the story. She’d been cheating on him with Sam Hagen. A double betrayal.

Frank had brought Sam into his office a year or two before that, paid him a good salary, and spent considerable effort showing him what a civil trial practice was all about. All as a favor for Sam’s wife. Dina Hagen had come to him privately, had told him they were having money problems. Then she mentioned that incident in Vietnam, as if Frank owed Sam for something that had ha pened when they’d been kids. He could see Sam brag . p ging to Dina about saving Frank Tolin’s hide. An embarrassment then, more so now.

Sam Hagen lacked the drive for personal injury work, so he’d gone back to the state attorney’s office.

Then a few months later he started fooling around with Caidin. Frank had been so torn up he’d had fantasies about getting out his shotgun and blowing them both to hell. He stayed drunk for a week instead, dosing himself on uppers to get to the office. Then Caitlin came back, as she always did.

Now Frank had reason to think she had seen Sam Hagen again. He dropped his feet to the floor and stood up.

His boots echoed on the concrete.

Caitlin was dusting off her telephoto lens, putting it back in its case. He went over and lifted her ponytail, and tickled her neck with his mustache. Smiling, she turned around and kissed him. This one was better.

After a while he drew back far enough to see her face clearly. “I heard the state attorney’s office is investigating that rape you saw at the Apocalypse.”

“Oh?”

“Marty Cassie told me.” Frank wound a loose strand of her hair around his finger.

“Yes, I heard the same thing,” Caitlin said.

“You didn’t tell me.” He tugged on the strand of hair.

“Ouch.” Wincing, she pulled it out of his grasp. “I just found out, Frank. Just this morning.”

“Have you talked to Sam Hagen about it?”

“Sam Hagen? No. Why?”

“He’s the prosecutor in charge. You didn’t know?”

Frank locked his hands behind her waist and pulled her up against him.

I do know that, yes.”

“Marty says Hagen is talking to witnesses. You’re a witness. You haven’t talked to him?”

“No. I said I hadn’t.” Those big green eyes of hers could convey such innocence. “There were other witnesses, better than U’ She slipped out of his arms to latch the case on her telephoto. “The best witness told me this morning that he has already given a statement. Maybe I won’t have to.”

He was curious. “What witness?”

She went around a divider that separated kitchen area from studio to put the camera away. He heard her voice.

“Sullivan. Charlie Sullivan. I told you he was there that night.”

“Oh, yeah. Superstud.”

There was silence; then Caitlin said, “If this gets to trial-”

Frank waited, then asked, “If this gets to trial? What, sweetheart?”

She reappeared. “I don’t care about Sullivan, believe me, but if he testifies-” Caitlin turned her green eyes on Frank. “You know about trials, how nasty they can get.

This one, particularly. Reporters and private investigators rooting around for anything the slightest bit juicy.”

“Like what, Catie?” Her affair with Sam Hagen would be a juicy bit for a defense attorney to discover.

She said, “Like the prime witness being involved with the prosecutor’s son.”

Frank stared at her. “Give me that again?”

“Charlie Sullivan seduced Matthew.” Caitlin took his hands. “Please, Frank. Swear you’ll never mention this to anyone.”

“Matthew?”

“Yes, Matthew. You must have met him.

“Sure, once or twice, when Sam brought him around to the office. I don’t remember him very well.” Caitlin gripped his hands tighter, and he said, “No, I won’t tell anyone.”

She let him go. “Sullivan wouldn’t deny it, if anyone asked him. It’s nothing to him, but Klaus Ruffini’s defense attorney would love to use that information.

“How did you find out?”

“Matthew and I worked together. I did the photos for his book. We got to know each other, and I more or less picked up on what was going on with him. He was only nineteen, and he was so trusting. Oh, God, Frank. You don’t know. Sullivan is such a vampire. Poor Matthew.”

“Sam Hagen’s boy?” Frank smiled, thinking of the irony. Hagen must have gone ballistic.

Caitlin’s face flushed. “It’s not humorous in the least.

It’s awful, what happened to him.”

“No, Catie, you surprised me, that’s all. Look, this is Miami Beach, not rural Alabama. If Sam Hagen’s kid had a thing going with another guy, so what?”

“Frank, you don’t understand. Matthew was depressed and confused. Sullivan told him he was a loser, he’d never make it as a model. He died in a motorcycle crash only two weeks later, drunk out of his mind. What does that look like?”

“You mean he did it deliberately? Killed himself?”

“People could think so.”

“I guess they could.” Frank rubbed her back through her T-shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton. I wonder if Sam knows about this.”

“I doubt it. Matthew told me they had problems talking to each other. He was intensely afraid of anyone in his family finding out.”

Frank spoke softly, his lips against her temple. “Are you worried how Sam would take it?”

She laughed. “Not much bothers Sam Hagen.” Then her face emptied. “Well, I shouldn’t care, but I do. His only son died. You have a son, Frank. What if he killed himself? It would be horrible. Worse than an accident. And not just for Sam. What about Matthew’s mother? Think of it. I mean, there was this person you loved, and then suddenly somebody tells you he was queer, and he killed himself because his boyfriend called him a loser. Or maybe he was a drug addict who couldn’t stand himself anymore and ran his motorcycle off the road. Whatever twisted image is thrown in your face, the person you loved is not only dead-he’s erased. You have nothing.

You don’t know who he was or even why he died. I’ll tell you about Matthew.” Caitlin’s eyes suddenly glistened.

“He was a good person, Frank. He would have been okay.”

She went to make herself busy at her workbench.

Frank stared at her, wondering what the tears were all about. Then he knew: Caitlin was scared. She was afraid he would find out about her affair with Sam Hagen.

Caitlin said firmly, “I don’t want to testify. I’ve seen what lawyers can do, how they can twist the truth and tear people apart.” She laughed. “God knows I don’t get into much trouble lately, in my old age, but nobody cares about reformed sinners. They only want to hear about the sins.”

With his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, Frank watched Caidin rewind the film in her camera, pop oper the back, and take it out. Finally he went over and turned her around. “Sweetheart, listen to me.

You’re working yourself up over nothing. The state attorney’s office is going to check it out, then do a nofile. The investigation is to satisfy potential critics, that’s all.”

She looked at him, wanting to believe him. “How do you know this?”

“Marty told me. He says Hal Delucca has a line to the state attorney.” Frank kissed one of her eyes, then the other, tasting salt on his lips. “You know Dade County politics. Anything bad for the tourist industry, it’s going to disappear. They can’t go after Marquis Lamont or Klaus Ruffini. Don’t you worry about it, all right?”

She laid her forehead on his shoulder, and her arms went around him, She needed him. He hugged her tightly.

Here they were, the two of them, needing each other. He could be a fool sometimes, forgetting that.

“Oh, Catie. If you knew how much you mean to me.”

He held her face and kissed her, brushing his mustache across her lips, then kissing her again. He moved his hands over her breasts then down to unsnap the waistband of her shorts.

She stirred. “Frank, there isn’t time.”

“There’s time. I want you so much I could even do it on the floor.” He dropped to his knees and hugged her. “Nobody else could love you this much. We belong to each other. Do you believe that, Catie?”

Laughing a little, she pushed her hair off her forehead.

“I’d better. Who else would have me?”

“Let’s go lie down on your daybed.”

“Frank!”

“I mean it.” He buried his face in her stomach. “I need you, Catie.”

She leaned over, put her cheek on top of his head. “All right. Let me go to the bathroom first, okay?”

“Hurry up.” He watched her walk across the room, smile at him from the bathroom door, then go inside.

Water ran in the sink. Frank stood up slowly. The concrete floor was damned hard. He pulled his shirt out of his pants, started on his belt buckle. Then he heard a knock at the door. He glared at it. The knock came again, louder.

He went over and opened the door far enough to see through the crack. A tall, skinny girl with curly red hair was standing there with her hands twisting at her waist.

Long, thin legs sticking out of a little dress.

“What do you want?”

The girl blinked. “Is Caitlin here?”

“Who are you?”

“Ah.”

He knew his tone was surly. “Ali what, sweetheart?”

“Duncan. Is she here?”

It came to him. The rape victim. No makeup, skin you could see the veins through, collarbones like coat hangers. He couldn’t imagine doing it with a girl like this. She looked fourteen. The men must have been on drugs.

The girl’s wide blue eyes shifted to a spot behind him.

Caitlin was there, curious, smoothing her hair down.

“Ali!” Nearly shoving Frank aside, she drew the girl into the studio. “I called and called. Where have you been?”

The girl glanced at Frank, then back at Caitlin. “I have to talk to you,” she said.

“Sure. This is my friend, Frank Tolin.”

“Hi.7 The girl couldn’t seem to get her voice out.

Caitlin mouthed please at Frank. He gave her a stem look, then smiled. “I’ll just go over there by the windows.

You girls chat away. Don’t mind me.” His boot heels thudded on the concrete. He stood by the row of windows.

Waited. There was whispered conversation behind one of the dividers. Then a sob. Beyond the windows, the low roofs and white buildings of South Beach shone in the sun, and light fell in a long rectangle cut by slanting shadows. He looked at his watch.

Finally, Caitlin led Ali to the door and closed it softly behind her. She didn’t lock it. She came across the studio to where Frank leaned against a window sill, arms crossed.

She said, “I asked her to wait outside for a minute.

They called her yesterday from the state attorney’s office.

They want to see her.”

:‘NowT., ‘Monday. She’s so scared. She wants to talk to me about it.”

“And who are they? Sam Hagen?”

Caitlin hesitated before nodding. “I’ll probably go with her.”

Frank was outraged. He said calmly, “I told you. The case won’t be filed. You don’t have to become involved in this. Tell her to go home.”

“No. She can’t leave in her condition, Frank. Ali is extremely upset.”

“What about me? I don’t count? I’m upset.”

She looked toward the ceiling, exhaling. “Frank. For God’s sake.”

Frank smiled. “Okay. You go ahead and talk to your friend. I’m out of here.”

She said coldly, “I’ll be home by six.” Not giving a shit if he stuck around or not.

He said, “No. Don’t rush. Spend all the time you need with this little whore. You’re another one.”

“Damn you, don’t say that!”

He tucked in his shirt, and his hands were shaking. He had trouble getting his buckle fastened. “What were you doing at the Apocalypse that night?”

She glared at him. “I told you. Freelancing for a magazine. You want me to show you the damned pictures?”

With a forefinger he flipped the end of her nose. She dodged away. “Did you do some lines? Get a little high?

Won’t do it with Frank anymore.”

“Stop it, Frank.”

e grabbed her wrist, jerking her toward him. “George Fonseca gives the stuff away at those parties. You didn’t ask for a taste?”

“No !”

“Hell, I don’t know what you do.” He poked her shoulder with stiff fingers. She bumped into the divider, which rocked on its base. He closed in, poking her again. “I don’t know who you go out with. If you’re getting laid behind my back.”

“Shut up!”

He grabbed her upper arms. “I can’t trust you, and that tears me up inside.” He shook her. “I’d share everything I have with you, because I’m crazy enough to love you, but what do I get in return? What?”

He shoved her away, got a few paces, then turned around and walked back to where she stood. She flinched, but he didn’t touch her. His voice was quiet now, under control. “You know, you really ought to take a good look at yourself, sweetheart. I’m telling you. This is sad.

You’re thirty-five years old. No college degree. Too old to model anymore. Now you want to be a photographer, like everybody else on South Beach with a camera. You can’t keep up with the rent on this studio, and you don’t pay a dime for your apartment. Wake up! You’re living in a fantasy world, and you want me to subsidize it.”

She was crying. Her nose was red, and her face was crumpled. Ugly now, looking old and ugly. He wanted to hit her, feel the release of it. Then suddenly he was relenting, giving in, his feet on quicksand. “Oh, God.

Honey, I’m sorry.”

She turned away, weeping.

“Come here.” He took her in his arms. “Come on, now. I’m sorry if I lost my temper, babe.” She struggled a little, then finally went limp on his shoulder.

“I wanted to make love to you, Catie. That’s all. You make me want you, then you shut me out. It makes me think you don’t love me anymore. You do love me, don’t you?” He tilted her head back and looked at her. “Catie?

Please. Don’t you love me?”

“Oh, Frank. I can’t stand this.”