“Did he beat you, Mercedes?”
“Yes. But I don’t think he was beating me. I think he was struggling with Afghani insurgents on that roadside. He had never hit me before this tour of duty. We were always happy together. Every time he came home it was like another honeymoon. The night I shot him—well, I didn’t shoot him on purpose—the news came on the television. I usually tried to distract him with some chore or something like going to the store for me when the news was coming on. That night, I wasn’t successful. There was a report about several Marines being killed by a roadside bomb. He just snapped and went nuts. I had been folding and putting laundry away in our bedroom, and he had been lying on the bed watching the television. Suddenly, he had me down on the floor and then he had a gun in his hand. I think it had been tucked between the mattresses on our bed. We struggled for the gun, and it went off. He fell on me, and I could tell he was already dead. His eyes got cloudy right away. The bullet had gone through his heart. I just laid there holding him as he bled out. When the police got there and broke in I was covered in his blood. I know it must have looked really bad to them because they handcuffed me right away and said I was under arrest.”
“Did they question you about what had happened?”
“Yes. I told them about the news report and that Rusty had gone nuts and pulled the gun, and we struggled and it went off. They didn’t seem to believe me. One of them said he was an ex-Marine himself.”
“Did they read you your Miranda rights?”
“Yes, when I was in the back seat of the cruiser.”
“Not until then?”
“No. The apartment was in chaos. Police everywhere, paramedics, the medical examiner, crime scene people. It was crazy. I’m sure they didn’t read my rights until we were out in the car.”
“Well, that was a procedural error as I am sure Ms. Sommers will tell you, but as you said, the scene was chaotic.”
Nikki broke in. “Mr. Gatto, I have some research materials here on PTSD that I have put together for you. The material covers not only the psychological effects of PTSD but the physiological effects as well. Apparently trauma physically rewires the brain. The affect is like a flash flood, and while a person might think they should be able to control their own mind, the flooding thoughts and emotions are too strong. I’d appreciate it if you would carefully review this material before you make a decision. I firmly believe that Mercedes acted in self-defense, and that Russell Young’s death was a tragic accident. Please don’t compound that tragedy by allowing her to be charged with his murder.”
“I’ll review your materials, Ms. Sommers.” He stood to leave and shook both their hands again. “I’ll get back to you.”
When he was gone, she turned to Mercedes. “I can’t make any promises, but I think that went well. Mr. Gatto is a fair man, and I’m hopeful he will see it our way.”
“I’ll pray for that, Ms. Sommers—and for my Rusty. I miss him every day.”
* * * *
At Fifteenth Street Fisheries in the Lauderdale Marina on Southeast Fifteenth Street in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Thursday evening, April 23, 2015
Nikki, Kaylin, Chloe, and Gabby had all had their first frozen strawberry margaritas and were waiting for their usual order of a huge platter of loaded nachos that the kitchen always made up for them specially. The Giant Tarpon were cruising beneath the dock looking for handouts. Some of the huge golden fish were the size of sharks and always gave Nikki a little clench in her stomach. She knew she was not going to fall through the planks or the Plexiglas viewing windows inset in the dock and end up as their tidbit, but they were intimidating creatures.
“Well, girlie, what’s the scoop?” Nikki wanted the particulars. Kaylin and Jack had gotten engaged on November 13, 2014. She remembered the date because it was the day Alan Baker had been convicted of murdering four young Fort Lauderdale women, one of whom had worked for Jack Brown. Lucy Evans had been killed in the parking garage of the JDB Building, and she had come in on Monday morning to see the crime tape on the first level of the garage. She hadn’t found out what had happened until she got up to her office on the tenth floor.
“We’ve been engaged for over five months, and Jack is getting impatient. He said he’d like to have a Christmas wedding, so I’m starting to look at wedding locations. I’m going to look at several places, but there is one hotel right on the Ocean near Sunrise Boulevard that I particularly like. It’s smaller and kind of intimate. It’s called The White Egret Hotel. There’s a big, wide porch overlooking the beach, and they have a ballroom as well as a large formal dining room. It’s not real fancy, but it is very nice. I hope Jack will like it. We also have to schedule our first shopping foray on Las Olas to look at gowns. Yikes! Gowns! I’m so excited.”
“I have a feeling Jack will like any location you like. When are you going to see it?” Chloe was smiling. Nikki knew Chloe had a soft spot for Jack.
“This Saturday morning. I think Jack and I will have breakfast in their dining room first and just scope the place out. I haven’t made an appointment with their catering manager yet.”
Gabby said, “So, have you thought about colors? I understand that’s always a hard decision.”
“I’m thinking black and white. That would suit Jack to a T, and the dresses for you girls would not end up being some ridiculous pastel confections that look like cupcakes.”
“That sounds wonderful and very elegant.” Nikki had to smile. She knew that Kaylin wanted to impress Jack’s uppity New York relatives, especially his cousin, the Domme Barbara Brown. This promised to be one really fun wedding. “By the way, Gabby, I did meet with Miguel at Paul Rein this afternoon and gave him some research material on PTSD.”
“I know. He was going to read it tonight. I’m sure he’ll get back to you as soon as he can. He won’t charge her if he doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do. Miguel is really not all about his conviction numbers. I’ve come to realize we all—especially me—were not giving him the benefit of the doubt on that one.”
They polished off the tray of nachos down to the last lonely jalapeño and headed home. Nikki had brought the trial binders for the vehicular manslaughter case home to review, and she hoped to talk to Dan later. She didn’t want to seem too clingy or like she was trying to rope him in. She knew she had to walk a fine line. He still had issues to resolve, and he had to resolve them for himself. She might be able to help, but he had to do the heavy lifting.
* * * *
On Saturday morning, Jack and Kaylin pulled into the parking lot of The White Egret Hotel on Fort Lauderdale Beach in his red Ferrari. The ten-story white building was older but well kept. The lobby and dining room were comfortably elegant but still somewhat beachy, and there was a wide veranda lined with white rocking chairs overlooking the ocean. As was his habit, Jack was busy checking out the amenities, estimating the number of rooms and the possible gross income. He couldn’t help it. He was a dirt lawyer although he didn’t practice law and preferred to be able to put his hands on his investments. He approached the front desk and asked to see a few of the guest rooms, hinting that he and his fiancé were shopping for a wedding venue. That got the staff’s attention, and suddenly they were seated at a window table and told the catering manager would be happy to show them around. That wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but it would do.
“I thought we weren’t going to tell them we were wedding shopping.”
“It seemed like the thing to do, babe. I like this place. It has possibilities. Do you like it? Would you be happy to have the wedding here if we were able to work out the details?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful and I love it being right on the ocean. I think this would do very well for our elegant black-and-white wedding.”
What Jack didn’t tell Kaylin was that he had been in the market for a beachfront hotel for some time, but the properties he had seen had either been too big or too small. This seemed perfect for what he had in mind. He’d call his broker on Mon
day and see if the hotel was on the market. If it was, he’d call Jamie Devereau and get him down here. The two of them had been talking about opening a BDSM hotel to compliment the three-hundred-foot yacht called the Golden Dolphin, which Jamie currently operated out of the Port of Miami. The Golden Dolphin could just as easily call Port Everglades her home port. The ultra-luxurious ship provided a venue for discreet BDSM cruises all over the world. Jack and Jamie thought that some clients might prefer to stay in one place and enjoy the same kind of plush surroundings with confidentiality-guaranteed BDSM amenities similar to The Black Iris Club but without the membership requirement. This might be the place. It could use a little sprucing, but that was to be expected. Since Kaylin liked it, they might be having their wedding at their own hotel. He hadn’t told her that he was planning to book a cruise aboard the Golden Dolphin for their honeymoon—just that they would be taking a cruise. The BDSM element would be a surprise.
The catering manager was accommodating, and Jack was busily storing details for his call to Jamie. He was starting to get excited about this idea. A hotel acquisition had been the next thing on his business to-do list, and he knew Jamie would be on board. He, Jamie, and Miguel Gatto had been at Harvard together and had remained friends. Jack and Jamie had done business together several times over the years. Miguel might be interested in a piece of the action as well. He’d see what happened.
Chapter Nine
Offices of Nicollette Sommers & Associates, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Monday morning, April 27, 2015
Nikki was at her desk looking at the phone and willing it to ring. She didn’t want to call the State’s Attorney’s office and pressure Miguel Gatto. But he had promised to get back to her, and he’d had the PTSD materials since Thursday. Time always went slowly for the one waiting for news.
She and Dan had had a nice weekend. They had gone biking along the beach and out to dinner and watched some of the basketball playoffs. They spent Sunday afternoon in bed. That had been really nice. It was also good to know he was just down the hall and that they were now talking to each other. She hoped that would last. She did have some concerns about his Anne Marie hang-up. How that would work out remained to be seen.
Finally at eleven thirty Amy buzzed her to say Miguel Gatto was on the phone. She was almost afraid to pick up the call. What would he have to say? Had she done enough to convince him? “Good morning, Miguel. How are you?”
“I’m good, Nikki. I’m just calling to let you know that I have advised BSO that I am not comfortable charging Mercedes Young with second-degree murder or manslaughter. I don’t believe we have proof beyond a reasonable doubt that it was anything other than self-defense and a horrible tragedy. You should be able to get her released this afternoon. I told them to expedite the paperwork.”
“Oh, Miguel. Thank you so much. I’ll call to see when we can go and pick her up. I knew you would be fair once you had the facts and saw the lack of evidence.”
“I appreciate your confidence. Best of luck to Mercedes. Give her my good wishes. She might be facing some PTSD of her own after this experience. I hope she will get some help herself.”
“I’ll suggest that. Thanks again, Miguel.” She hung up and immediately called Mercedes’ cousin, BSO, and then the jail. She spoke with Mercedes and told her the good news, and then she spoke with the jail administration. She was advised that Mercedes was being processed and that they could pick her up at four thirty. She collapsed back in her chair. The tension of the morning was released and tears rolled down her cheeks. Thank goodness. This was why she did what she did. Moments like this made it all worthwhile.
* * * *
The Paul Rein Detention Facility, Pompano Beach, Florida, Monday afternoon, April 27, 2015.
Nikki met Mercedes Young’s cousin, Consuelo Ramirez, at the entrance to the jail, and they went in together. They talked to the desk sergeant and were advised that Mercedes would be brought down shortly. A few minutes later Mercedes walked through the security gates a free woman. She fell into Consuelo’s arms and then hugged Nikki. “Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what would have happened to me if Connie hadn’t called you. I can’t imagine anyone else could have gotten me out of here. Please send me your bill, and I will pay it as soon as I can. Also, please thank Mr. Gatto for me. He was so kind and understanding.”
They wasted no time in walking out the doors to the sunny parking lot. “I’m glad this worked out for you, Mercedes. Mr. Gatto and I both hope that you will consider getting some psychological help yourself. What you went through was also a trauma, and you might need some counseling.”
“I will definitely look into it. I think our insurance covers that kind of thing. Right now I could kiss the ground. I just want to go home and take a shower and get some sleep where it’s quiet. The noise in there is indescribable.” Then she froze. “Oh, I guess I can’t go home, can I? There’s probably still blood all over the place.”
“You can come home with me. Juan and the kids will be thrilled to see you. Everyone has been frantic.”
“There are services that clean up crime scenes and dispose of biological materials. Call my office and my paralegal, Amy, will be able to give you some names and numbers.” Nikki left as the two women were getting into Consuelo’s car.
* * * *
Nikki headed back to the office. Almost everyone had left. Angelina was still at the front desk but about to leave. Nikki looked up and saw Dan standing in her doorway. “Amy told me the good news. Congratulations, counselor. Good job.”
“Thanks. I just came from the jail. She’s out and went home with her cousin. I hope she’ll be all right eventually. I know she has a long haul to get over losing her husband and then being tossed in jail. That wasn’t right. The police at the scene never even considered that she might be the victim.”
“Like you said, the battered spouse defense has been ill used, but the fact is that there is a lot of abuse out there. This case wasn’t what I would call spousal abuse exactly since Young had a mental problem and thought he was pounding on the Taliban, but the end result was the same.”
“It’s amazing that a person can do all the talking in the world and it won’t stop abuse while saying one word will stop a BDSM scene. And they call that kinky.”
Dan looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right. Maybe marriages should come with a safe word. By the way, I got an offer on the house today. Full price, all cash. Some hedge fund guru from New Orleans is opening an office down here. He wants to close in forty-five days, sooner if possible.” He grinned and held up a bottle of champagne and two flutes. “Let’s toast to a very successful day for both of us.”
“Excellent idea. Pop that cork, buddy.”
“I’m going to be busy getting ready to close. He bought the house furnished, but I have to get our personal things out of there and into storage. I don’t want to dispose of any of the kids’ things until they have a chance to go through it all. And then there’s all of Anne Marie’s stuff, clothes, everything she didn’t pack when she took off in the middle of the night without a word or good-bye—while I was sleeping by the way. That’s going to be tough. I hope the kids are okay with me selling the house. It was their home for most of their lives. I can’t imagine any of us wanting to live there again. The memories would be just too much.” Nikki could see the pain still lingering in his eyes. She wondered if he would ever be over Anne Marie and what she had done to him and their family.
“Let me know if I can help in any way. I’m a good packer. One of my neighbors has a couple of teenage boys who might be drafted to help. They’re always looking for ways to make a couple of bucks, or maybe you would want to hire a professional packing company after you go through everything first yourself.” She didn’t want Dan to think she just wanted an opportunity to snoop.
* * * *
Angelina was out in the hall with a pitcher she had been using to water some plants in the reception room. It was a c
onvenient cover to stand and listen outside of Nikki’s door. Dan had sold the house for full price—five and a half million dollars. Antoinette Marie was going to go through the roof. After the two million dollar mortgage was paid off and closing costs were deducted, that would leave over three million dollars in profit. Also, from what she had been able to overhear around the office, Dan had closed on some of the portfolio of warehouse properties he had purchased dirt-cheap, banking on the airport expansion.
Big sister had really fucked it up big time. She had thrown away her husband and her kids as well as the good life she’d had with them, and now she was rotting in prison for twenty-five years. Angelina wouldn’t have minded having a piece of the good-looking and now wealthy again Dan McGrath, but she could tell that he and Nicollette Sommers had something going. He hadn’t waited too long to get it on with the beautiful redheaded defense attorney. What was that business about BDSM and safe words? That didn’t seem to fit in the conversation. Angelina would have to wait until she got out to her car to use her cell phone. She had to try and call Antoinette Marie at the prison with the latest news.
Angelina dialed the Lowell Correctional Institution Annex, and wonder of wonders, was able to reach Antoinette Marie since she was in the common room. “It’s me. I have some news.” She proceeded to fill her in and wasn’t surprised when Antoinette Marie burst into a barrage of Cajun invective.
When she wound down, she said, “I have to think about this for a while. Call me back in a couple of days, and I will let you know what I want you to do.”
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