Sullivan’s Evidence

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “Wait,” he said. “We could go to therapy, work through this. I could arrange for someone to see us tomorrow.”

  “You’re just afraid of being alone,” April snarled. “One of your shrink buddies told me you’re a narcissist. You think the whole world revolves around you, that you can control everyone you meet, that you’re the most brilliant man in the universe. No one else would have had the balls to sink all that money into a company that didn’t have an established track record. Isn’t that what you told me? That you know things nobody else does. Like a god.”

  His face was ashen. “April, stop, I…”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone else,” she continued. “You brag all the time about how all the women are crazy about you, that your patients always fall in love with you. You’ve probably slept with half of them.”

  “I treated you like a queen, and this is how you repay me.” Thomas exploded. “You think you’re special because your father’s a senator. I could buy and sell him. You’re nothing, understand? You’re ignorant. You say stupid things and embarrass me in front of my friends. I tolerated it because I loved you. You’ll never find another man like me. You deserve to live in a shack with a loser like that greaseball you were with tonight.”

  April gritted her teeth. She headed to the door and was about to open it, when he rushed over and placed his hand on the knob. She slapped his face. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he hurled her to the ground. She sprang to her feet and ran to the kitchen, pulling a nine-inch carving knife out of a rack on the counter.

  “What are you planning to do with that?” he asked, his body surging on adrenaline. “Are you going to cut me? I’ve already been stabbed in the back by Nicole Pelter.” He moved toward her until the tip of the knife was only an inch from his chest. “You don’t have the guts to do it. You’re just a spoiled rich girl who thinks she’s redeeming herself by holding down a job. Who do you think you’re fooling, April? Who’s paying the rent on this apartment? Whenever something goes wrong, you run back to Daddy.”

  “I’ll do it, Thomas,” she said, raising the knife. “I’m warning you. Leave this minute.”

  He grabbed her wrist, turning it down until the blade sliced across his right forearm. Her fingers involuntarily opened, and the knife fell to the floor. A streak of blood bubbled up through the torn fabric of his starched shirt. “Go ahead, call the police,” he said. “I’ll tell them you tried to kill me. I got cut when I threw my hands over my head to defend myself.” He stopped and gulped air, his chest heaving. “After you spend some time in jail, maybe you’ll understand what it feels like to be falsely accused. Or even better, maybe I should snap your neck. Self-defense, love. Don’t you realize I can kill you right now and get away with it?”

  Dean felt a chill, and heard people chattering around him, jolting him back to the present. The popular restaurant was crowded now. He gestured for the waiter to bring the check. It must be happy hour, he decided as he made his way out of the restaurant and waited for the valet to bring his car around.

  While he was waiting, he gazed out at the ocean, remembering how he’d stood on the rooftop of April’s building so long ago. He had come close to committing suicide that night. As he was about to plunge to his death, his purpose in life was revealed and stopped him from jumping. If he killed himself, April and Nicole Pelter would have destroyed him. Living gave him a chance to establish a new life, one where he could have and do anything he wanted. That night, he had stepped over the line and found he liked it better on the other side.

  Mysteriously, even the injury to his arm hadn’t hurt once he’d made his decision. As a psychiatrist, he’d often wondered what it would feel like to be psychotic. Some of his patients had told him they preferred madness to reality. He wasn’t certain if he’d experienced a genuine psychotic break or had merely reacted in a blind rage. Things had become brighter, though, more intense and enthralling, even something as minor as the cold night air brushing against his face was deeply pleasurable.

  Overall, though, it had been the feeling of omnipotence that had been so seductive, knowing he could have taken a life and escaped punishment.

  He’d always known his intelligence and quick thinking made him far superior to the average person. But he’d never faced a situation remotely similar to what had occurred with April. The vulnerability he’d experienced over Nicole Pelter’s false accusations had been washed away the moment he’d forced the knife down on his arm, gaining control of the volatile and demeaning situation with his former fiancée.

  In retrospect, killing her would have been more exciting than marrying her.

  After he had left April’s apartment that night, he’d made a vow. Every money-hungry, lying, back-stabbing, cheating woman he met would pay him back, and he would accomplish his task by the same traits that had caused his ruin—his looks, charm, wealth, as well as his knowledge of the female psyche. Just as unscrupulous women had preyed on him, so he would turn the tables and become their predator. He would stalk them, uncover their desires, and take advantage of their weaknesses.

  After his sister’s death, his mother had developed a serious drinking problem. His father had asked her to move out when he was eleven. She’d never returned, not even to visit him. Years later, he’d seen her walking down the street, and he took off in the opposite direction.

  From the day his mother left, he’d been determined to be the brightest and most popular boy in his school, regardless of how much his father hated him. At thirteen, he’d had sex with his first girlfriend, a sixteen-year-old. His craving for female affection had followed him throughout adulthood. He’d taught himself how to please a woman sexually, which made him even more desirable. Women loved doctors, so he’d pleaded with his father to allow him to enroll in medical school. When he had barely passed his boards, he’d decided to specialize in psychiatry. Many of his classmates whose academic performance fell below standard had done the same. He’d built his practice around women, women who paid to spend time with him and who hung on his every word.

  His attorney, Leonard Steinberg, had assisted him in setting up his assets so they were readily available whenever and wherever he needed them. After that, the former psychiatrist Dr. Thomas Wright had disappeared.

  Establishing a new identity, he’d found himself playing the ultimate game. Taking whatever woman he wanted, he disposed of her when she no longer pleased him. He would never be abandoned or rejected again.

  His father was dead. Too bad, he thought, as he would have enjoyed telling him what kind of monster he’d created by blaming an unintentional act on a frightened five-year-old boy with sensitive ears. Even baby Iris, with her delightful giggle and soft skin, would have forgiven him if she’d lived.

  Handing the valet a ten-dollar tip, Dean settled into the soft leather seat, staring at his image in the rearview mirror before he placed the gearshift in drive and took off. There was one person his father had loved, and he’d left the boy who could do no wrong what was rightfully Thomas’s. Once he destroyed his rival, the doors to his tortured childhood might finally close.

  Kathleen opened up the front door to her home. The stale smell of an unoccupied house greeted her. She crumpled to her knees, with the emotions that assailed her. Rising unsteadily, she was about to return to the taxi when she saw its taillights disappear from the circular driveway.

  She collected herself and walked to the kitchen in the faint light provided from the entryway. The darkened living room made her feel as if someone or something was lurking in the shadows, watching her every move. Flipping on the kitchen light, she picked up the phone, retrieved Detective Irving’s card, and dialed his number. “I need to see you right away,” she said, after identifying herself. “I was released this afternoon.” When she’d mentioned her suspicions to the detective before, he’d done nothing, but now she could tell him, “I found new evidence here at my house.”

  “You know how many people have been out there, Kathleen?” Brian Ir
ving said, an annoyed tinge to his voice. “Our forensic people were there for days, then your husband hired Ackerman’s Crime Scene Cleaner Service. I can assure you there’s nothing left to be found.” He turned and said something to his partner, then added, “The first few days back are difficult. I sympathize with you. Didn’t your sister fly out to be with you?”

  Kathleen looked around the vacant house, knowing he was right and she should have accepted Connie’s offer to fly out and take care of her. Her sister had three children, though, and had already spent two weeks with her while she was in the hospital. Even she refused to listen when Kathleen tried to convince her that Dean had been involved. But what could Connie do? It was the detective she had to get to take her seriously. “I demand to speak to you,” she said, raising her voice. “I know Dean told you I was hooked on Valium, or that I drank too much. I’m a victim, Brian, something you and your police buddies seem to forget. Get your ass over here or I’ll call the chief. Or maybe I should call the mayor instead. I sold his house last year and made him close to a million dollars. I have his home number on my speed dialer.”

  “Give me thirty,” Irving said, sighing audibly.

  CHAPTER 30

  Wednesday, October 18—4:30 P.M.

  Carolyn felt a tap on her shoulder as she was typing the report due the following morning. She swiveled around to see Veronica Campbell, standing with her arms wrapped around her chest. “I have to tell you something,” Veronica said. “I’d rather we don’t talk here.” She seemed on the verge of hysteria.

  “Want to go to an interview room?” Carolyn suggested.

  “No,” Veronica said. “I need to get out of this place. Can we take a walk or something?”

  “Sure,” Carolyn agreed, even though she didn’t have a moment to spare. After her leave of absence, she’d returned to an avalanche of work. The time off had helped her and the children get beyond their terrible ordeal. John still favored his injured leg, but was otherwise recovering well. He’d been forced to give up waiting tables at Giovanni’s, though, and was now interviewing for other jobs.

  She followed Veronica down the stairs and out the front door of the building. “We can talk over by the fountain.”

  “Not there,” Veronica told her, buttoning up her white sweater. “There’re too many people around. Let’s go to my car.”

  “Is something going on between you and Drew?” Carolyn asked as they made their way through the parking lot. When Veronica didn’t act as if she’d heard her, she decided to keep her mouth shut and wait. Whatever was going on was obviously serious.

  Her friend unlocked her blue Ford Explorer, tossing baby bottles and toys in the backseat so Carolyn would have room to sit.

  “Now will you tell me? You’re scaring me.”

  “Do the police have any new leads on who killed Robert Abernathy? I know you’re tight with the police. I figured if anyone would know, you would.”

  “I’ve been out of the loop since John was shot.” The time Carolyn didn’t spend with John and Rebecca now went to Marcus. The only cases she’d been following while she was out were the ones involving Carl Holden, and as yet the police still had no leads on his whereabouts. She hadn’t been keeping tabs on any of her friends, just checking in routinely with Brad. “You probably know as much as I do about the Abernathy homicide. The last thing I remember Hank telling me was that the partial print they lifted from the gate to his front yard was no good because whoever touched it had some kind of oil on his hands. They aren’t even sure if it was the killer’s print. Why are you so interested in Abernathy? You were ready to hang the guy.”

  “Maybe I did.” Veronica let her words hang in the air. Finally she resumed speaking. “Remember Billy Bell, the child mutilation?” She placed her hand at her throat as if she was having trouble breathing, then dropped it beside her on the seat. “You’ve got teenagers. My kids are young, Carolyn. Well, at least the last three. I’ve seen my share of autopsy pictures. God knows, we all have…seeing Billy Bell’s severed limbs…” She stared out the front window. “One of his feet was still attached to his shoe. It was the same brand of shoes I buy for my kids. Lester McAllen used a chain saw to dismember him. It was…so…terrible.”

  “What happened with the case?” Carolyn asked. “The last time we talked, you said it was up on appeal.”

  “Lester McAllen was killed yesterday,” Veronica told her, her eyes widening. “He was shot in an ally behind an elementary school. His conviction had been overturned because of Abernathy. The ruling came down while you were out. Cases are falling apart all over the place. This is the second murderer who’s walked, and that’s just on my caseload. The other guy beat a man to death with a hammer.”

  Carolyn recalled how she’d felt when she had heard the news about Abernathy’s murder. It was amazing how one person’s mistakes could impact so many lives and generate such an intensity of animosity. But hate was like poison. You had to find a way to rid yourself of it or it would destroy you. “Do they know who shot McAllen?”

  Veronica shook her head, her lips compressed.

  “Listen, sweetie,” Carolyn said, reaching over and placing her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “I know what you’re going through. It seems sick to be happy when you hear someone’s been murdered. It goes against everything we do. We spend every day working with the aftereffects of violence, trying to protect society, making every effort to be fair and impartial.” She rubbed her eyes, bringing forth images of that awful night with Holden. Sometimes she woke up in a cold sweat, seeing his loathsome face looming over her in his mother’s dilapidated house. “I wouldn’t shed a tear if someone shot Carl Holden. Like him, McAllen was nothing more than human garbage. A bullet’s too good for a man who butchers children.”

  Veronica’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. “You don’t understand. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve already told Drew I’m going to turn in my resignation.”

  “But why? This isn’t you, Veronica. You’re been at this job longer than me, and I’ve never known you to let things upset you to the point where you want to quit. Who’s going to replace you, huh? Some kid off the street that’ll put in his eight hours and take years before he can even begin to comprehend the complexities of the law. Not many people are willing to carry this kind of responsibility. A situation like the one with Abernathy will probably never happen again, at least not in this county. Forget about McAllen and Abernathy. Get back on the horse.”

  “I know who killed them,” Veronica said, the wild-eyed look returning. “I should have gone to the police when Abernathy was killed. I caused it to happen, don’t you see? Because of me, a father who’s already lost his wife and son may end up in prison. He might even face the death penalty. There’s no doubt that his actions were premeditated, and he’s killed two people now.”

  The picture was coming clear. Carolyn said, “The boy’s father, right?”

  “Yes,” Veronica choked out. “Tyler Bell might never have known about Abernathy if I hadn’t called and told him. How could I have been so stupid, Carolyn? The man had nothing to lose, don’t you see? He buried his son in pieces. A month later, he found his wife with her wrists slit in a bathtub full of blood. He lost his business, his home. He didn’t need to know about Abernathy.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Bell would have found out eventually.”

  Veronica slapped the seat. “You’re not listening. You’re just trying to placate me. I called and told Tyler about Abernathy while everything around him was collapsing. Maybe he would have moved away or something and never found out that McAllen was turned loose. Even if he’d found out about McAllen, he would have had more time to recover.”

  No matter how she had tried to play it down, Carolyn knew that her friend was in trouble. A law enforcement officer who had information about a crime and failed to report it could be prosecuted. Now she was in the same boat as Veronica. “But you don’t know for a fact that Tyler Bell killed Abernathy and McAllen.
Is that true?”

  “Tyler was in the Marines,” Veronica said, relieved now that she’d gotten it off her chest. “When I interviewed him, he mentioned that he was a sharpshooter. I’m certain he would have killed McAllen back then had he not been in jail under protective custody. Both Abernathy and McAllen were killed by a single shot between the eyes. Not only that, Tyler was a house painter. He had something slick on his hands the day I interviewed him. He apologized after we shook hands, telling me that his skin was too sensitive to use turpentine, so he cleaned them with some kind of oil-based solvent. That’s probably the substance the police found on Abernathy’s gate that distorted the killer’s fingerprints.”

  It was after five now, and people were streaming past them on the way to their cars. The temperature during the day still remained somewhere near seventy, one of the reasons California real estate was so high. At night, though, it dropped down into the high fifties, except when the Santa Ana winds blew in and warmed the air enough that people could go for a swim. Everyone was wearing coats and jackets now.

  Carolyn’s house hadn’t sold, and she had no idea how she was going to pay John’s tuition. Her little family was just now beginning to surface from the nightmare they had experienced at the hands of Carl Holden, and she was developing what could end up being a lifelong relationship with Marcus. Now she had this problem regarding Abernathy’s death to contend with.

  “Everything you’ve told me is supposition,” she said. “The same person may not have killed both Abernathy and McAllen. There’s no telling how many people wanted Abernathy dead. That’s also the case with McAllen. Didn’t he serve a prison term for sodomizing a boy around the same age as the Bell child?”