Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

by William Manchee

CHAPTER 30

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  The evening news jolted me. Alex was a reporter? We'd talked a little about the case but he didn't seem all that interested in it. He was clever. He knew if he questioned me too much, I'd get suspicious. Besides, he didn't need to ask me anything—all he had to do was keep his eyes and ears open. He and his editor must have got a good laugh at how easy it was. Yet, in retrospect, Alex had actually screwed up. He had made it to the firm's inner circle, poised to get the biggest story of his career, but he'd let his dick blow his cover.

  I cringed at the thought of facing the media, not to mention Bart. Damage control. I hated those words. I used to hear them all the time at the DA's office. When a case went south, everyone in the office focused on damage control. What would Bart's reaction be? I looked at the clock. He was due home any minute. Should I just shoot myself now and avoid his wrath? There was a gun in the bedroom drawer, but I knew that wasn't an option. This was all too much fun.

  There was a noise at the door. I stepped into the living room and saw it was Bart fumbling with his keys. I held my breath as he walked in. He wasn't smiling.

  "So, I guess you heard the news." I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, the press has been calling every ten minutes wanting my reaction."

  "So, what is your reaction?" I asked. "Is it over between us?"

  Bart swallowed hard. "Well, Paula. I don't know what to think. Is that what you want? Is that why you slept with that bastard?"

  "No. I love you. It just happened. I didn't plan it. I let him seduce me. I know I shouldn't have, but I was weak. I'm not used to having to worry about who I sleep with."

  "Well, since we're being honest, I kind of expected it."

  Bart's statement knocked the wind out of me. "You expected it?"

  "Well shit, you slept with half the DA's staff. I knew marrying you would be a gamble, but I thought it was Stan I'd have to worry about, not some goon off the street."

  Bart's words were drawing blood, but it was no time to fight back. I had it coming and I just prayed Bart's anger would subside if I let him hammer away at me. "You don't have to worry about Stan. He tried to stop me from seeing Alex. He thinks you're good for me and didn't want anything to screw up our marriage."

  "Yeah, and look where that got him. Now everyone thinks you and he have been sleeping together."

  "I know. I know. I've really screwed everything up," I said as I rubbed my temples. My head was throbbing. I took a deep breath trying to relieve the pain. It was slowing moving to my neck and shoulders. I closed my eyes.

  "Have you learned anything from all this? Are you going to be able to change your ways?"

  I opened my eyes. "Yes. It was stupid," I admitted. "I'll never let it happen again. I promise. Just don't leave me. I really do love you."

  Bart sat down on the sofa and sighed. "So now what? How do you plan to extricate yourself from this mess?"

  I went over to Bart and sat next to him. After thinking for a moment, I said, "Well, I guess I need to talk to the press and tell them what happened. I've got to get Stan off the hook and take responsibility for my stupidity. We can't let this little bump in the road impact the law practice. If I lash out at the Globe Inquirer, you know, threaten a lawsuit and stuff, I think it will take the heat off the firm. I'll never file the lawsuit of course, and hopefully in a couple of weeks the whole mess will be forgotten."

  "Okay, that might work," Bart said softly. "In the meantime, what should I tell the press?"

  "Just tell them I'm going to make a statement in a day or two and that everything will be explained then. I'll call a friendly reporter and grant an interview." I put my hand gently on Bart's knee. "Don't worry, we'll survive and I'll never put you through anything like this again. I promise."

  Bart turned to me and said, "You're just lucky I'm obsessed with you, otherwise I wouldn't put up with this bullshit."

  I sighed. "Yes, I am very lucky. I know that."

  The next day I called Jane Witherspoon, a reporter from the Dallas Morning News, and told her I wanted to explain to her what had happened with Alex. She said she'd be right over. After I had detailed my relationship with Alex, I launched into a tirade about the Globe Inquirer and their underhanded tactics. I said I was thinking about filing a criminal complaint against Alex, and that a civil suit against the Globe Inquirer was in the works. After Jane had left, I called Rebekah.

  "Listen, don't believe a word you heard on the TV last night. It wasn't like that at all."

  Rebekah listened without comment to my explanation. I told her everything.

  "Deep down I didn't think any of it was true, but Stan lied to me about it," she said finally. "If he had just told me what was going on, I'd of understood."

  "He was just trying to protect both of us. Don't be too hard on him."

  "Well, thanks for the call. I'll think about what you said."

  Once I'd completed my damage control for the day, I started thinking about Cheryl Windsor again. With her trial less than sixty days away, it was time to focus on trial strategy. The biggest weakness in the prosecution case was their lack of a body. This had to be the major thrust of our defense. I had to convince the jury that Martin Windsor was still out there somewhere. The liquidation of his assets, the kidnapping of the children—all pointed to him still being alive. Cheryl's loss of memory wouldn't be a factor since she couldn't be forced to testify. I just prayed that Detective Perkins and the FBI wouldn't find out about Cheryl's VP bank account. Hopefully they weren't as proficient at tracking money as Mo had been.

  "Rob Wilkerson is on the line," Maria said. That was a surprise. Wilkerson rarely called. Usually he'd write a letter or have one of his assistants call. I picked up the phone tentatively.

  "Hello. This is Paula Waters."

  "Ms. Waters. This is a courtesy call. A body has been found in the woods a few miles east of Dallas. There is a strong likelihood that it is the body of Martin Windsor. The coroner is on the scene and if you want to visit the site I suggest you get on over there immediately. When the coroner has completed his work, the body will be removed and taken to the morgue for an autopsy."

  My mood quickly changed from cautious optimism to utter depression. This was the worst possible development. If the body turned out to be that of Martin Windsor, Cheryl's defense would be ten times as difficult. I mumbled, "Oh, shit."

  "What was that?" Windsor asked.

  "Uh. . . . Oh, I said I'll be right over. Don't let them move the body until I've seen it."

  "Okay, but we're not waiting all day."

  I hung up the phone. My heart pounded from an overdose of adrenalin. My hands shook and my shoulders ached. "Damn it!" I moaned.

  Jodie walked in. "I heard Wilkerson called. What did he want?"

  "They found a body," I said. "Can you believe this?"

  "Oh, my God," Jodie said. "I'm so sorry."

  I shook my head. "Call our forensics expert and get him over to the crime scene. Our only hope is that it's not Martin Windsor. If it is, it's going to be damn near impossible to get an acquittal."

  I drove to the crime scene in a daze. Cheryl was doomed. The thought of losing a case mortified me, but the way things were shaking out that would surely be the final outcome. But despite all the mounting evidence against Cheryl, I couldn't believe she had murdered her husband. Could my gut instinct be that wrong?

  As I drove up to the crime scene, I noticed that the center of attention was the burnt remains of an automobile. My spirits jumped as I realized the body was probably burnt as well. A burned corpse couldn't always be identified. Was there hope after all?

  I got out of the car and noticed our forensics expert, George Gabbert, standing by the medical examiner watching him work. I walked over to him. "George. You got here fast."

  He nodded. "Well, fortunately, I wasn't too far from here when I got the call."

  "So, what does it look like?"

  "The body is burnt to a crisp. I doubt
they'll get DNA from it. Of course, they might be able to identify it by dental records."

  "I don't think so," I said. "According to Paul Thayer, Martin Windsor never went to a dentist in the U.S. and nobody knows where in Hungary he lived."

  "Well, the size and weight of the body are about right, and this is Windsor's car, I've been told."

  "It is? Are you sure of that?"

  "Yes. I heard a police officer call in the vehicle identification number and it apparently matched Windsor's car."

  "They could still read it after the fire?"

  "Yeah, the number is etched into a steel plate and welded onto the dash. It's almost indestructible."

  "Damn. I thought maybe we were going to catch a break here, but I guess not."

  "I'm sorry, Paula."

  "Well, keep your eyes open. Call me later and let me know what you find out."

  "I will. Where are you going?"

  "Back to the office. There's not much I can do here. I've got to call Cheryl and give her the bad news. She may want to go to the morgue. Stan needs to be apprised of this new development as well. We're going to have to rethink our entire defense."

  When I tracked Cheryl down, she seemed genuinely shocked by the news. When I mentioned going to the morgue, she declined. She said she didn't want to see Martin's burnt body as the image might haunt her for the rest of her life. She wanted to remember him as a living, breathing person. It made sense to me and she wouldn't be able to tell if the charred corpse was Martin anyway.

  Stan was nowhere to be found, so I finally gave up and called it a day. On the way home my mind quickly flipped back to Bart. I wondered what kind of mood he would be in. It was going to take awhile for things to get back to normal, if they ever would. But I needed him now more than ever. I prayed he would eventually forgive me.