Cruel Justice (9 page)

“Carlee, are you going to help me or not?”

Carlee heard his voice, but it seemed far away, distant. Unreal. What was real was what she was …
seeing.
That poor woman, backed into the corner. The woman was crying, screaming, and … and …

Something struck the woman again, this time in the neck. A bloodcurdling howl was choked off and replaced by a death rattle. Blood spurted again and splashed throughout the room and the color and the smell and the sticky wetness was all over everything and …

Carlee screamed.

“Carlee, what is wrong with you? You’re scaring the kids!”

Carlee clenched her eyes shut. The woman in the corner faded away. Carlee reopened her eyes slowly and saw her husband hovering over her. Somehow she had ended up on the ground, flat on her back.

Dave was still gripping his hand, but the flow of blood had subsided. “Are you all right?”

“I—I think so.” She licked her lips. Her throat was dry. “I don’t know what happened.”

Dave’s forehead creased. “I’ll get the first-aid kit myself.”

“Oh, but—”

Too late. He was gone.

When Dave returned, about a minute later, his hand was wrapped in white gauze. “It isn’t serious,” he informed his family. “It bled like crazy, but it was just a superficial cut.” He sat down beside his wife. “What about you? Are you all right?”

It’s not superficial, Carlee thought. Her eyes were closed. It’s everywhere. The blood is everywhere.

“Carlee, did you hear me?”

“She needs help,” Carlee said aloud. “That poor woman needs help.”

“Carlee?” Dave took her by the shoulders, favoring his injured hand. “What are you talking about?”

Carlee shook her head, then brought her eyes around to face him. “I—I—” She didn’t know where to begin.

“What happened to you?”

“I—I guess it was the sight of all that blood. …”

“You were acting like—I don’t know—like you were in a trance or something.”

Carlee was suddenly aware that their two boys were standing around her with very concerned expressions on their faces. “I’m fine, everyone. Really I am. I was just … I don’t know. But I’m fine.” She took Dave’s hand and examined his wound. “Looks like you’ll live.”

“Yeah.” Neither Dave nor the boys moved away from her. “We’re more concerned about you. You said something about blood, and—a woman?”

Had she? She didn’t remember saying that. She didn’t remember speaking at all. And yet, she knew Dave wouldn’t lie. And she had seen something.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember, but nothing came to her. It was gone.

“I was just … daydreaming,” she said, doing her level best to sound convincing. “Probably induced by hunger.” She slapped her boys on the back. “I think it’s time for dinner. Any takers?”

“I dunno,” Gavin said meekly. “Is it Beenie Weenies again?”

Carlee laughed and guided them back to the designated mess tent. She tried to remain chipper while she fixed dinner, and tried to avoid doing anything that would alarm the children. She could tell Dave was watching her, though. He knew something had happened to her. Something serious. And it bothered him.

Which was only natural, she supposed, because it bothered her, too. What had happened was incredibly strange. In fact, it was unlike anything she could—

Remember.

T
HE BLAZING SUN WAS SETTING
and the Bank of Oklahoma Tower, Tulsa’s tallest office building, cast a long shadow across downtown. Ben tried to walk in its shade, but that didn’t diminish the heat in the least. As soon as he stepped off the sidewalk, the humidity enveloped him. Like stepping into an oven, Ben thought.

He heard the screaming while he was still on the opposite sidewalk. He broke into a sprint, raced across the street, and threw open the front door.

Joey was on top of Jones’s desk, wailing at what had to be the top capacity of his tiny lungs. His face was red and blotchy; his nose was running. Jones hovered over the infant, his hands pressed against his head in abject frustration.

“I don’t know what to do!” Jones screamed, easily matching Joey for high-pitched audibility. “I’ve tried everything I can think of. I hold him; I don’t hold him. I talk to him; I don’t talk to him. I rock him; I throw him up in the air. Nothing makes any difference. I’m pulling my hair out, but he just keeps on crying!”

Jones gripped Ben by the lapels. “I even tried
singing
to him, for God’s sake, and I don’t sing! I think that’s in my employment contract. But here I was, singing every dumb little ditty that came to mind—and it
still
didn’t help! I don’t know what to do!”

“So …” Ben ventured. “How’s the baby-sitting going?”

Jones’s face bore a crazed expression. “This nephew of yours is pushing me over the edge, Boss.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Ben had to shout to be heard over the bawling. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I wish I knew. I’ve been asking for over an hour, but he never says anything.” Jones’s left eye twitched; by all appearances, he was just shy of a nervous breakdown.

“He’s only seven months old, Jones. He doesn’t talk.”

“Couldn’t he at least nod?”

To their mutual relief, Christina entered the office, her arms loaded down with files. “Good Lord, what a brouhaha! What have you two done to that poor baby?”

“I suspect it’s more a matter of what we haven’t done,” Ben murmured.

She threw the files down on her desk. “Well, don’t just stand there. Pick him up.”

Ben looked at her blank-faced. “Who? Me?”

“Yes! He’s your nephew. Pick him up.”

Ben stared down at the squirming infant. “To tell the truth … I don’t really know how.”

“Haven’t you ever held him before?”

“Well, once, but Julia put him in my arms …”

“Criminy. Didn’t you ever baby-sit for spare change when you were a kid? Never mind, don’t answer. You probably just had your banker wire some funds.” She wedged herself in front of Jones’s desk. “Look, he’s seven months old. He’s not that fragile.” She lifted the baby up and plopped him into Ben’s arms. “See? Just put your hand behind his little neck. That’s right.”

Ben wrapped his arms around the baby. The volume of the screeching seemed to diminish.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Christina asked.

“No,” Ben said, “but I notice the baby is still crying.”

“Good point. What did you feed him?”

Jones and Ben looked blankly at one another. “Feed him?”

“Yes, feed him.” She pressed two fingers against her temples. “Regular Mr. Moms you guys are.”

“What do you think he eats?”

“I’m not sure.” Christina foraged in Joey’s red diaper bag. “He may still be breast-feeding.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Ben said. “There’s no way I’m going to—”

“Keep your masculinity in check.” She pulled a quart can of Isomil out of the bag. “Formula.”

“Thank God,” Ben said. “Can opener’s on top of the mini-fridge.”

Christina pulled an empty bottle out of the diaper bag and poured in the Isomil. “He’d probably prefer to have his formula warmed, but this will have to do for the moment.” She passed the bottle to Ben. “Here, give him this.”

“Here? Now?”

“Yes!
Tout de suite!
”

Ben shifted the baby around in his arms, took the bottle, and tried to hand it to Joey. “Here you go, chum. Eat up.”

Christina shook her head sadly. “I don’t think so.” She took the bottle and aimed the nipple in the general direction of Joey’s mouth. Joey eagerly began to suck. The crying stopped immediately.

“Success,” Ben said softly.

“Hurray,” Christina echoed. “And see how he’s looking at you? You’re his hero now.”

“Well, gosh,” Ben said. “That’s swell. Now all we need to do is get Julia back here as soon as possible.”

“About that …” Christina held a slip of paper between her fingers. “I found this in the diaper bag.”

Christina held up the note and Ben read it aloud while he fed the baby: “ ‘Dear Ben: I’m sorry to do this to you, but I don’t know who else to turn to. You know how screwed up I’ve been. This graduate-school program in Connecticut is a chance to get my life back in order. Maybe my last chance. But they’ll never take me if I have a baby. I’ll be pulling emergency-room duty for days at a time—day care won’t cut it. A single mother simply cannot do this. Terry hasn’t spoken to me since the divorce. He never visits Joey. Claims he doesn’t think the baby is his, which is just a stupid excuse to justify not paying child support. I don’t even know where he is now. I couldn’t get hold of Mother. You were my last chance.

“ ‘Take care of my little baby.

“ ‘Ninny-poo.’ ”

Christina folded the note and put it back in the diaper bag. “Ninny-poo?”

Ben’s eyes seemed to turn inward. “That’s … just a silly nickname. What I used to call Julia when we played together as little kids. You know, just three or four years old.” He shook his head. “Haven’t thought about that in years.”

“I thought you and your sister never got along.”

“We—” Ben paused. “Well, we didn’t. I mean—” He frowned. “Never mind. We have urgent business to address. I can’t possibly keep Julia’s baby for her, especially if I decide to handle this trial next week. Jones, call my mother.”

Jones’s eyebrow arched. “Is it Christmas already?”

“Ha-ha.” As everyone in the office knew, Ben’s mother was a wealthy matron who lived in Nichols Hills, one of the most upscale neighborhoods in Oklahoma City. None of them had ever met her, but Ben usually described her as “frosty” or “disapproving.” She had repeatedly offered to help Ben out of his financially strapped circumstances, particularly after his father died and left Ben zippo, but Ben steadfastly refused to take her money.

“See if you can track Mother down. Maybe she can help. After all, the kid’s her only grandchild.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. Then start trying to find Julia.”

“Aye-aye, Boss.”

“Where’s Loving?” Loving was their nails-for-knuckles private investigator. “I haven’t seen him around today.”

“He’s working on a case of his own.”

“Know what he’s doing?”

“Not exactly. But today’s entry on his desk calendar says, ‘Make Guntharp’s life a misery.’ ”

“I pity poor Guntharp.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Well, ask Loving to come into the office first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll have a team meeting. By then I should know whether we’re taking this murder case.”

“Should I be here, too?” Christina asked.

“Actually … I’d appreciate it if you would come by my apartment tomorrow morning before work.”

Christina beamed. “Because you think I’m so
magnifique
it will brighten your whole day?”

“Actually … I’m concerned that Joey may need to be fed again.”

Christina’s smile collapsed. “And I’m sure he’ll wait patiently until morning before he brings that to your attention. Boy, have you got a lot to learn. By the way, gentlemen—when was the last time you changed the baby’s diaper?”

Ben and Jones exchanged another look.

Christina groaned. “Maybe you two had better start taking notes.”

T
HE MAN IN THE
red wig wasn’t entirely sure how the fight began. He had been following Abie since he left school, waiting for an opportunity to make his first move. While he watched and waited two boys approached Abie from the other side of the street. Both looked as if they were a year or two older than Abie. One was eating a hot dog; the more menacing one was swinging a baseball bat.

“Look at the rich kid, Seth,” the older boy said. “He thinks he’s a baseball player.” He knocked the Drillers cap off Abie’s head. “I think he’s a weenie.”

“I think you’re right, Jeremy.” He began to chant in a singsong voice, “Weenie boy, weenie boy. Abie is a weenie boy.”

“Am not!” Abie shouted. He bent over to scoop up his hat. The older boy knocked him down.

“What’s the matter, Abie? Lost your balance? Maybe you could get the butler to help you up.”

Both boys laughed heartily. The older one snatched the cap away before Abie could retrieve it.

“You know, Seth, I kinda like this cap. I think I’m gonna keep it.”

“Are not!” Abie said. The side of his face was scraped from his fall onto the concrete. “It’s mine! Give it back!”

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy said, swinging his bat in the air. “Who’s gonna make me,
weenie
?”

The man in the wig knew he’d never get a better entrance cue than that. He ran in between them and pushed the bullies away from Abie.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

The boys’ eyes ballooned. Jeremy raised his baseball bat, but the man took it away with no trouble.

“Well, now,” the man said, swinging the bat through the air, “maybe I should just treat you two like you’ve been treating this boy. How would you like that?”

The two bullies turned to run away. Reaching out quickly, the man grabbed the shorter of the two, Seth, by the back of his collar. He whirled the boy around.

“Your name is Abie, right?” the man asked.

Abie nodded.

“That’s what I heard them say.” He pushed Seth closer to him. “What do you think I should do with him, Abie?”

“Gosh. I dunno.”

“It’s up to you. His fate is in your hands. Personally, I think he should be punished.”

“Well, gee …” Abie mumbled.

“Punishment is very important, Abie. Especially for bad boys like this one. So I’m putting you in charge. You choose his punishment.” He peered down at the now-terrified boy he held tight. “Makes you wish you’d been a bit nicer to my friend Abie, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t hurt me, mister. My dad is home and—”

“Be quiet. Abie, what’s it going to be?”

“Well,” Abie said, tentatively reaching forward, “how about …
this
?” He grabbed Seth’s hot dog and mashed it into his face. Bits of frankfurter and mustard clung to his cheeks. “Now who’s a weenie, huh?”

The man released Seth’s collar and he bolted away. “Nice job, Abie.”

Abie shrugged. “I didn’t do nothin’. You did it all.”

The man held out his hand. “My name’s … Sam.”

Abie hesitantly shook the man’s hand.