Cruel Justice (34 page)

“Do tell,” Ben murmured.

“It’s just like life was for your father and me, back before he’d had a lick of success. Very primitive. And very fun.”

Ben stared blankly at her, trying to reorder reality in his brain. “Well, I need to prepare for trial. …”

“Of course.”

“I probably won’t eat much.”

“Of course.”

“Actually, I may play the piano a little while, just to—”

“To help you focus. Of course.”

Ben drew in his breath. “Mother, why do you keep saying
of course
? Am I so predictable?”

She smiled again, and patted his cheek. “You’re not predictable, Benjamin. But you’re just like your daddy.”

Ben’s face twisted up in a knot. “You must be kidding! Me? Like my
father
?”

“He would work all night sometimes when he was preparing for a test or, later, a big operation or a new procedure. He wouldn’t eat much, because his mind was focused on his work. He’d listen to Herb Alpert albums to block out distractions and help him concentrate. Personally, I hated that insipid trumpet music, but it seemed to make him happy.”

“But—I’m not anything like my father!” Ben protested. “I—I hate trumpet music.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” She resumed her tossing and stirring.

Ben left the kitchen. Christina wasn’t in the living room; just as well, probably. He sat down at the piano and picked out the first few notes of “Venus Kissed the Moon,” one of his favorite Christine Lavin songs. It was a beautiful tune, but he was tired, and there were too many random thoughts vying for his attention. He grabbed his briefcase and headed toward his bedroom.

He entered the darkened room and flipped on the overhead light. He started to fling himself onto the bed—then screamed.

Christina rushed into the room. “What? What happened?”

“On the bed.” Ben pointed, grimacing. “A dead animal!”

“What, someone put a horse’s head in your bed? This case is nastier than I realized.” Together, they gazed down at the covers. And saw the tiny carcass of a dead mouse.

“Oh, yuck,” Christina said succinctly.

“Double yuck,” Ben echoed.

“Giselle?”

“Well, I hardly think it was my mother!”

Christina backed out of the doorway. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I suppose I’ll clean it up.” He sighed. “What a shock. Now I’ll probably never get to sleep.”

Christina patted him on the shoulder. “There, there, Ben. Just get rid of the carcass. Then I’ll come sing you the Flintstones song and rock you to sleep.”

Ben did not smile.

C
ARLEE CRANE SAT UPRIGHT
in bed eating Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream. She was making a mess of it, getting it on her hands and the sheets. She didn’t care. She wanted ice cream. She needed ice cream. That’s what she kept telling herself, anyway.

As she ate, her husband Dave entered their bedroom. She watched him undress for his shower. The camping trip had done him good; he’d picked up some sun, and he looked as if he’d dropped a few pounds. Not that he needed to.

She watched silently as he dried himself off, then put on the blue pajamas he almost never wore and crawled into bed beside her.

They had not spoken all evening.

There had been no fight, nor any need for one. Ever since the camping trip, something had been … different. Their relationship was strained in a way it never had been before.

It wasn’t that Dave resented what had happened to her, or what she was going through. He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know how to respond. He was lost. She was certain he still wanted to be a good husband. He just didn’t know how.

And so he remained silent. Once or twice she had tried to raise the issue, had tried to get him to talk, but each time he ignored her, or glared at her with that “not in front of the kids” expression of his. Now that the boys were in bed, it seemed too late, too far gone.

Too much damage done.

Well, hell. She wasn’t giving up that easily. She put away her ice cream. He was facing away from her, curled up in a ball, safely tucked away in his blue pajamas.

“Dave?”

He made a muffled
mmmm
noise.

“That trial began today.”

Silence. No
mmmm,
no nothing.

“The trial of that black man. Leeman Hayes. The one who’s accused of killing that foreign woman ten years ago.”

“I know,” he said, without turning around.

“A man who works for the defense attorney came to the house and asked me if I knew anything about the murder. He said they needed witnesses for the trial in the worst way. And now the trial has started and according to the news they still don’t have any witnesses.”

“You shouldn’t watch the TV news,” Dave said evenly. His voice seemed distant and muffled. “It just upsets you.”

“Dave, I’m almost certain that poor man didn’t kill that woman.” She paused. “Forget the almost. I know he didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. But I know the killer was taller, and older. And he wasn’t black.”

“And you acquired this sensational knowledge from a vision you had while we were camping in the mystical Arbuckle Mountains?”

“It wasn’t a vision, Dave.” She leaned over his shoulder. “It was a memory.”

“A memory that you totally forgot about until now.”

“I realize that must seem strange to you. It seems strange to me, too. I can’t explain it. But that’s what happened. I saw what I saw.”

“How could you have seen the murder?”

“You know I used to work at that country club. I must’ve been working late one night … yes, I’m sure that’s it. I was working late. I was working overtime, cleaning the kitchen after it closed down at eleven. My creepo boss kept saying he’d promote me to waitress if I put in enough overtime. I was so poor back then, I would’ve done almost anything for a little extra cash. I walked home from work, because I didn’t have a car. I was crossing the grounds on my way home that night, and I heard this scream and I ran to the window and … and … that’s when I saw it.”

“What did you do afterward?”

“I—I just don’t know.” She shook her head violently, as if trying to dislodge the memory trapped up there somewhere. “That’s still a total blank. I remember thinking I had to tell someone, I had to report this …”

“But you didn’t. Right?”

“I’m … not sure.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

Carlee’s head tilted slightly. “I … don’t think so.”

“Great.” Dave pounded his fist into the pillow. “What’s the first thing you do recall?”

She shook her head. “I recall being at home afterward. I guess I went on as if nothing had ever happened. I—I didn’t remember it.”

“Carlee … that’s ridiculous.”

“It is not.”

“It is. Think about what you’re saying. ‘I saw a murder but it slipped my mind.’ That’s absurd.”

“Dave …” Her eyes turned away. “I think I should contact that attorney. I think I should offer to testify.”

“
No
.”

Carlee leaned away, literally taken aback. Dave was a peacemaker, a compromiser. She didn’t recall a flat-out
no
from him in their entire married lives. Until now.

“Dave, I think I have an obligation.”

“To do what?” He rolled over and grabbed her wrist. “To make a fool of yourself? To turn this family into a laughingstock?”

“Dave—”

“And what about the children? Have you thought about them?”

“I don’t see how this affects—”

“Children talk, Carlee. If you testify, especially if you testify that you saw a murder but then forgot, you’re going to be all over the papers. All over the TV. And everyone’s going to be laughing at you. The kids at school will pick it up. You know how cruel children can be. ‘My mother says your mother is nuts.’ ‘My daddy says they should lock your mama up and throw away the key.’ ‘Where’s your dad, Gavin? Maybe your mom killed him and forgot about it.’ ”

“Dave, our boys are strong and smart. They can handle a little—”

“And what about me, Carlee?”

“I—don’t—”

“What about
me
? Will you think about that for just one minute? What’s this going to look like at the office? Is Hannigan going to continue to let me work with his star clients after you’ve been ridiculed on the evening news?”

Carlee didn’t know what to say. This was a reaction she hadn’t anticipated, would never have dreamed possible. …

“Dave,” she said finally, “I can’t just button my lip and let them give that man the death penalty if I can help him.”

“I agree. But believe me, your testimony isn’t going to help him. In fact, it might hurt. They’ll think his lawyer put you up to it. They’ll think he’s so desperate he’ll try anything.”

Carlee held her tongue. That was a possibility she hadn’t considered.

“Believe me, you’ll do more good for that man if you just stay quiet. And I know it will be better for your family.” He reached out and turned out the lamp.

Their bedroom went dark. Carlee sat up for a long time, long after they were both quiet, long after she heard the soft, steady snoring of her husband.

All she wanted to do was what was right. But what was right? It was so hard to know anymore. What was right? What was real? What was true?

What should she do?

Eventually she laid her head upon her pillow and prayed for sleep. She prayed that dreams would come and take her away from all this confusion, all this uncertainty, all this indecision brought on by the curse of memory.

But that night her prayers were not answered.

O
N HIS WAY TO
the back of the house, Royce spotted two little statues embedded in the garden. He’d never noticed them before.

He crouched down and took a closer look. They were dwarfs, cute little guys with picks and shovels, like in that movie he saw when he was a kid. Which ones were they? Dopey? Sneezy? Sleazy?

He laughed. If these guys were perched outside this place, he was betting on Sleazy.

Royce’s friend was waiting for him when he arrived.

“Where have you been? I told you I wanted you back before dark. Have you been to the police?”

“Relax, already. I’m your friend, remember? Didn’t I get you out of those cuffs?”

Yes, his friend thought. And I probably should’ve wrapped them around your worthless throat right then and there. “What did you learn?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Without the fake glasses, the natural coal gray of his eyes shone through with even greater penetration.

“You’re safe,” Royce said calmly. “At least for now.”

“And the boy?”

“Well, that’s another matter. He’s under police protection. He’s got a bodyguard assigned to him day and night. You’re not going to be able to get anywhere near him.”

The other man paced slowly around the sofa. “For how long?”

Royce glanced up from the magazine. “I don’t get ya.”

“How long will he be under police protection? They can’t baby-sit the little bastard forever.”

“Huh. That I don’t know.”

“How much did he talk?”

“From what I gathered, he said pretty much everything he knew. Fortunately, that was practically zippo. Like I said, you’re safe.”

“They can’t identify me?”

“If they could, do you think I’d be at your place having this conversation?”

“What will the police do now?”

Royce’s expression became a bit more somber. “Well, my buddy on the force isn’t privy to all the top-level discussions. But my general impression is that they’ve got a lot of manpower searching for this apartment.”

“Damn!” The man pounded his fist down on the glass tabletop. The glass bowed and shuddered but, to Royce’s relief, did not quite break. Control, he told himself. Control. “You will check in with your police contact every day, understand?”

“Sure.”

“I want to know everything. Absolutely everything. At the least sign of danger, I want to be informed immediately.”

“Sure, sure, sure. But I don’t see what you’re getting so upset about. So what if they do find your apartment? They can’t prove it was you.”

“You idiot!” Again the fist went down on the glass. “They have the boy.”

“So?”

“The boy can identify me. That’s what they’re counting on. He may not be able to find me, but once they do, they can use the boy to lock me away for a good long time. Maybe forever.”

“Huh. I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

The man approached Royce, laying his hand gently on Royce’s head. “And you don’t want that to happen, do you, Royce?”

“Of course not.”

“You know, if the police arrest me, they’re going to ask how I became so attached to little Abie. I might have to tell them about you.”

“Hey, now wait a minute. I didn’t tell you what to do.”

“They won’t see it that way. They’ll see you as an accomplice. A pimp.”

Royce frowned. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

The man’s hand suddenly closed into a fist, tightly clenching a handful of Royce’s hair. “Find me a way to get to the boy.”

“
Oww!
You’re hurting me!”

Royce’s friend smiled, effecting a frightening change in his demeanor. Temper, temper, he scolded himself. He released Royce’s hair and walked back around the sofa to the table. “I’ve never let one of my little friends escape before. Not for long, anyway. I don’t like it.”

“But I thought they were your little buddies. They wouldn’t hurt you. …”

“Not intentionally, no. But Abie is so sweet, so eager to please. He might talk to them without realizing that he was betraying me.” His forearms trembled. “I don’t like being … vulnerable.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about—”

“I don’t want to worry at all!” His fist came down like a hammer. This time it happened. The glass tabletop shattered under the impact, splintering the glass, cutting his hand.

Please don’t do it again, Daddy. Please! It hurts, Daddy. It hurts!

The man clenched his eyes shut and slowly withdrew his blood-streaked hand.

“Don’t make me punish you, too, Royce,” the man continued, in an eerie, flat voice. “Get me that boy.”

“I—I’ll do my best.”