Interest of Justice

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Tears gathered in Lara’s eyes. She thought of Thomas Henderson. He hadn’t paid. He was sitting in a loony bin, free to walk out the door whenever he felt like it. She pushed herself off the wall and headed out of the building to the parking lot. All these years, all these cases, the endless faces. They were like a blur now, moving so fast before her eyes that she couldn’t remember any of them. How many enemies did she have? Were there hundreds, even thousands? Was someone right this minute lying in wait for her, bent on revenge? Was someone so full of hatred that they would kill her sister and brother-in-law just to hurt her?

  She heard herself arguing in court during her days as a D.A.: “The people believe the maximum sentence is both appropriate and justified in this case, Your Honor. The defendant is a sociopath, a danger to society, an animal….”

  These people had wives and children, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. For all she knew, she’d made mistakes. Could she have been responsible for sending an innocent person to prison? The system wasn’t infallible.

  Lara Sanders tone had a reputation for being tough, unmerciful, always leaning toward the longer terms, stacking the penalties as high as they would go. No one ever mentioned her name and the word leniency in the same sentence. Leo Evergreen had even called her into his chambers and read her the riot act only months after her appointment.

  “You aren’t a prosecutor anymore, Lara,” he had said. “The bench has to consider other factors in imposing sentences. You can’t send every single offender to prison. In some cases there are calculated risks. We have to take them.”

  The truth was obvious. She had enemies, probably far more than even a scum bag like Sam Perkins.

  Lara glanced at the clock. It was late now, almost eleven o’clock. The little condo she’d rented looked like the typical model. Every other wall was mirrored to make it look more spacious. The furniture was small, deceptively so, also in order to create the illusion that the rooms were larger than they were. She wanted to hear noise, so she went to turn on the television. It wasn’t real; it was a black plastic box that just looked like a television. She felt like she was in Disneyland.

  She was still waiting for the detective to deliver Josh.

  Although there was no phone, someone had placed the Yellow Pages inside the doorway. She picked up the book and flipped through the section listing funeral homes, but quickly found her fingers trembling on the thin paper pages. Dropping the large book on the floor, she decided Phillip could take care of it all tomorrow. She’d tell him what she wanted and he’d make the calls.

  That’s when the stark reality of death really hits a person, she thought. When they call a funeral home and purchase a casket to put their loved one in the ground, under the dirt. She stared at the door and tried to swallow the morbid thoughts like a pill without water.

  On the drive back from San Clemente, she’d called almost everyone she could think of on her car phone, mostly the numbers she had committed to memory. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when someone died? She’d called Irene Murdock. Irene was a rock of strength—just what she needed right now, she thought. Irene’s machine had answered. Lara hung up.

  Then she’d called Benjamin England. Even if he was a pig in bed, he was a man and she needed someone. She got his machine too. She’d forgotten that he was going to San Francisco on business. She didn’t leave a message. She wanted to, but she just couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. Telling a machine that your sister had been murdered was almost obscene.

  She’d called Phillip. He’d listened, tried to console her, told her not to come to the office in the morning. He’d make the notifications, he’d said, arrange things, call Evergreen. He asked her if she wanted him to come over, but she told him no.

  She’d started to call her ex-husband, Nolan, a prominent entertainment attorney, but decided against it. The short-term marriage had ended in a bitter divorce a number of years ago. They didn’t have the same goals. He worshiped the God of money; she had a thirst for justice. Anyway, she thought, Nolan had a new wife now and a mansion in Beverly Hills. She doubted if he was willing to drive all the way over here just to help her bury her sister.

  She went to the windows and peered through the drapes. On the coffee table was a little card that said the drapes were a decorator item. They didn’t come with the condo. Although a light was burning in Emmet’s condo, it was close to midnight. It wouldn’t be right to wake him. His illness drained him and, besides, she thought, what could he do?

  She was getting scared—more so with each passing minute. She heard sounds, sounds different from the ones at her house: cars on the nearby freeway, sirens, horns honking, people talking, their voices far away but audible. Was someone out there, waiting, just waiting for her to shut her eyes so they could come in and bash her head in or suffocate her with her own pillow as they had Ivory? They could have followed her even here.

  She collapsed on the sofa. It was small, more like a loveseat. She’d sleep here, give Josh the one bed. Thank God, Rickerson had managed to talk him into staying with her. He’d called an hour ago saying that he was bringing the boy to the condo. He was big, as big physically as most men. They would be together.

  Slouched on the sofa, consumed with exhaustion and grief, she vented her anger at Sam. In her eyes Perkins was a borderline criminal. Although it was mandated by law that a pawnshop operator report any property taken in to the local police, Perkins seldom did. If the police found him in possession of stolen property, he simply suffered the loss and paid the fine, claiming that the paperwork got lost in the mail. He also used his connection to Lara and the bench to escape prosecution and loss of his business license. Three times she had bailed the bastard out. She knew better—it had gone against everything she believed in—but she had done it for Ivory. Besides, all the judges granted favors at one time or another, and she had loaned him a hundred thousand of her hard-earned dollars to buy that business.

  Finally there was a soft knock, and she jumped up and ran the short distance, flinging the door open without looking to see who it was. Rickerson stepped inside the condo and Josh followed.

  “You’re so late. I was worried,” she said, her eyes locked on Josh. Even though she knew he was fourteen, she couldn’t believe how big he was, how much he’d grown since the last time she’d seen him. He had to be at least five-ten and his body was developed like a full-grown man’s, with bulging biceps and broad shoulders like his father’s on a lean, wiry frame. “Are you hungry?” she said. “Have you eaten?”

  He didn’t answer. After a few awkward moments at the door, he walked into the room and looked around. Rickerson asked her to step outside.

  “Look, I would suggest that you don’t open the door next time without finding out who’s there.”

  “I know,” she said, embarrassed. “I’ve been waiting all this time, that’s all…”

  “And maybe you should get a gun if you don’t have one.”

  Lara looked up. “You really think I need one?” He was compounding her fears, making her crazy. Why couldn’t he just lie and tell her she was perfectly safe—that this had nothing to do with her?

  “I think that’s a definite possibility. I talked to the S.O. Your place wasn’t burglarized, Lara, it was ransacked, rifled. Someone was looking for something. And they were looking for something at your sister’s as well. They tore that place apart.”

  “But what?…I don’t have anything. I have nothing anyone would want. I don’t even have much worth stealing.”

  “How about a case?” he said. “Do you bring work home, evidence, police reports…things like that.”

  “Certainly,” she said, “but not lately. I’m starting a trial next week, but even if I brought the whole file home, I can’t see any reason for someone to steal it. All they have to do is walk into the records department and fill out a slip, and they can see it themselves. Unless the file is sealed, it’s accessible to the public.”

  He shrugged. “G
et your nephew to some type of psychologist or something. Of course, I’m sure you know that. He didn’t eat. And here,” he said, giving her a halfhearted smile, “don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  Lara stared at the object in his hands. Light reflected off the blue steel of a small-caliber revolver.

  “Go on, take it,” he said.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t want it. I hate guns. And Josh is here…You know how dangerous it is to have a gun in the house with a child.” Especially with this child, she thought. He was so big that even the word child was a misnomer. And Rickerson’s suspicions could be valid. Josh could have come home and found his stepfather standing over his mother’s body and bashed his head in. All she needed to do was give the kid access to a gun. Just the thought made her shiver.

  “Yeah,” he said, letting the word linger, looking deep into her gray eyes, almost as if he could read her mind. “You might be right.”

  Rickerson stepped even closer. The detective had a bad habit of invading her personal space. If he knew what was good for him, he’d step back. He didn’t. He put the small handgun back in the pocket of his jacket.

  A siren was blasting on the freeway a few miles away. Lara held her breath and thought of Ivory, the last night she’d seen her. “The night she came to my house had to have been July seventh,” Lara said. “I thought I’d just tell you. It was the night before my birthday.” Ivory hadn’t even remembered her birthday. She’d gone out to dinner with Irene and some other women in Los Angeles. “What kind of evidence did you collect at the house?”

  “We…I…we’ll have to get back to you tomorrow. We’ve got to sort through everything, see what we’ve got. The crime-scene unit is still working there now, and I’m on my way back. Then we’re going to start on his pawnshop. We’ve secured it as well.”

  It was chilly and Lara wrapped her arms around her body to stay warm, but she was still freezing, her teeth actually chattering as if she were in sub-zero temperature instead of a California evening in the sixties. The chill was not in the air, she decided, it was inside her.

  “That has to be it, you know?” she said to Rickerson. ‘The pawnshop. Of course. What else could it be? They’re not after me. If they wanted me, why didn’t they kill me instead of them? Someone got pissed at Sam over something and came to his house and murdered them. He probably made the guy a loan and then sold the property out from under him. The guy could have been a criminal. Sam wasn’t exactly a sweetheart, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard. Your nephew told me.”

  Lara jerked her head up. “What did he say? Does he know anything?”

  Rickerson didn’t want to upset the woman by repeating his suspicions. Of course, on the other hand, if the boy was a psycho, he was putting her in a pretty risky position. “How close were you to your sister?”

  “Not very.” She cracked the door and peeked inside. Josh was on his stomach on the sofa. She closed the door again. “Not close at all in the last two years. I didn’t approve of Sam. She wouldn’t leave him. Kind of like that, you know?”

  “Yeah, but the kid? What do you know about the kid?”

  “Nothing.” She looked away. She was embarrassed by the truth.

  “Your brother-in-law was killed with a weight, a dumbbell. The weights belonged to the kid.”

  “You already said that. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Another resident of the complex walked by, and Lara and Rickerson stepped back, letting him pass. He nodded at the man; Lara ignored him, tilting her face up at the detective.

  “Looks that way. Can’t rule it out. Not yet.” He rubbed his fingers across his face, feeling the acne scars.

  “Jesus,” she said, shaking her head, trying to convince herself as much as the detective. “I won’t buy it. That’s an aberrant thing, for God’s sake. Don’t even think it, and listen—”

  “Yeah.” He was reaching in his jacket. A few seconds later, he was rolling a cigar around in his fingers. He didn’t light it.

  “Please, have the decency not to spread this around about my nephew’s possible involvement. He just lost his mother.”

  Rickerson grimaced. “It won’t be in the press release, but it’s not confidential information. I mean, there were dozens of officers at the scene today, and they all know the murder weapon was a dumbbell and the dumbbells belonged to the kid. We found them in his room.”

  She was indignant. “What kind of cops are you?” She flushed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see the rationale behind this. Just because the murder weapon is a dumbbell and the child owns a set of dumbbells doesn’t mean anything. That would never fly in any court I sit, or anywhere else, for that matter. You’re grasping at straws here, Rickerson.” She turned and put her hand on the doorknob. “I want every officer you can round up to start tearing that filthy pawnshop apart. Call every single person he’s ever made a loan to and run them every which way for criminal history. There’s where you’ll find your killer.”

  “I’m sending a man over tonight to watch your place.”

  “Thanks,” she said. At least she could sleep. She opened the door and started to enter. Rickerson headed down the walk to the parking lot. He turned and spoke over his shoulder, “No forced entry. Whoever killed them knew them or had a way to gain entrance to the house.”

  She heard him. She couldn’t think about it now. Seeing Josh on the sofa was something she’d have to get used to. But there were a lot more difficult things to get used to in this nightmare. That he might have been involved was one.

  “Josh,” she whispered, placing her hand lightly on his back, bending down over the sofa. He didn’t raise his head, but he turned his face. The sofa was so small his long legs were protruding from the other end. She could see he’d been crying. He looked grown up, but he wasn’t. He was still a child. And this child had been royally screwed, she thought, by the forces that be. He’d lost his father on that blasted motorcycle, and then Ivory had brought Sam into their lives, a situation she was certain had not been pleasant. Could it have made him bitter enough to kill?

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “I know how much you’re hurting. I loved your mother very much.” Instinctively she stroked his hair as her mother had done when she and Ivory were children.

  He fixed her with those penetrating eyes, eyes so like his mother’s. “Just…” he snapped, knocking her hand away, “leave me alone? Okay?” Then he turned his head toward the back of the sofa.

  Lara got up and walked around the condo. It was so small. It was confining, like a box, like a coffin. She had to get out. “Josh,” she said softly, “I’m going to drive over to Taco Bell and get something to eat. They’re open all night. Are you hungry?”

  He sat up on the bed and rubbed his red eyes with his hands. “I want to go home,” he said flatly. “I’m not staying here with you.” He got up and headed for the door. “I’ll walk if you won’t drive me. I’ve gotta get outa here.”

  Lara leaped in front of him and put her body in front of the door. “No, Josh. Listen to me. You can’t go home. You have to stay here with me. The police won’t let you back in the house, and you’re too young to stay alone.”

  “Get out of my way,” he snarled. He was looming over Lara, glaring down at her like he was going to pick her up and toss her across the room. “You can’t keep me here. This isn’t a jail.”

  Lara felt tears on her face and wiped them away with her hand. Keeping Josh with her wasn’t going to work. He was too disturbed and she didn’t have a clue how to handle him. But no matter what happened, they had to get through tonight. She took a deep breath and turned to him, her voice firm. “Look, Josh, I know you resent me. But that was my sister that was murdered there today. It wasn’t just your mother. It was my sister. I’m going to get myself something to eat. If you want, you can go with me. If you don’t, you can starve. It’s your decision.”

  “I’m hungry,” he finally said. “I’ll go.”

  “Good,” she
said. She found her purse and headed to the door, mumbling to herself under her breath, “We have to eat or we’ll get sick.” That’s what her mother always said.

  She had planned on going through the drive-thru and then returning to the house with their food, but she couldn’t face the condo now. “Want to go in?”

  He was staring out the passenger window. He didn’t answer.

  Lara parked the car and got out. Josh followed a good distance behind her. They got their food. He had ordered all kinds of things. “I’m glad you came with me, Josh,” she told him. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  All he said was “I’m hungry.”

  Walking to the table, Lara noticed his face had softened somewhat. She figured it was the law of survival. They had been thrown into this situation. Neither of them could change it.

  “You a real judge?” he said, unwrapping a large burrito and shoving it into his mouth.

  Lara glanced at his hands and saw that his fingernails were dirty. “Sure I am. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that I became a judge?” She studied his face, his eyes.

  “I didn’t think hot-shot judges ate at Taco Bell.”

  “Well, now you know the awful truth.” They were talking. His tone was still sarcastic, but it was a start. “I’m a fast-food junkie. I’ll probably die of a heart attack from all the chemicals and cholesterol one of these days, but I like the quick fix. No muss, no fuss. You know?”

  The burrito was gone. He tossed the paper aside and began on the taco. “I don’t like health food,” he said, his mouth full of food.“I lift weights and I’m supposed to eat right. Never do, though. I hate that bean curd stuff. That’s sick.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lara said, munching her taco, thinking he’d actually managed to complete an entire sentence without lashing out at her. “You’d think sick if you knew what was in that taco. I don’t think about it. I just eat it.”