Interest of Justice

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “Yeah,” she said, wiping her nose with a paper napkin off the end table. “How well I know.”

  The room fell silent. They were both uncomfortable. He belonged to someone else, Lara thought. This type of discussion held no future for either of them.

  “I know how you feel,” he said. The neighbors had turned the music down, and they could now hear only the bass notes, a sort of thump, thump, thumping that almost vibrated the walls. “I killed someone one time.”

  Lara jerked her head up. “You shot them?”

  “No, it was an accident—a young kid, a two-year-old boy.”

  Lara didn’t know what to say. His face was etched with pain, the memories flooding his mind. They weren’t good ones. With the one light on the end table, the other side of the room was bathed in shadows. He stepped to the back wall and stood there as they talked.

  “I was working the graveyard shift…it was years ago. To be honest, I was sleeping in my unit, parked under a freeway overpass. This woman ran up to me screaming her baby was dying, that he wasn’t breathing. I tried to administer C.P.R. I was determined I was going to save him. Back then I thought that was what the job was all about.” He stopped speaking and she could hear him breathing, loud, raspy breaths that were like another instrument combined with the pounding bass.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “He was so small, so tiny. My younger son was about the same age. The woman panicked, jumping on my back, beating it frantically with her fists. She was screaming that I was killing him, insisted that I get off. She was heavy. I was bent over the front seat of her car giving him C.P.R. I fell forward on top of the child and shattered his sternum. He died.”

  “It was an accident,” Lara said quickly, not knowing what else to say. “Things like that happen. You were trying to save him.”

  “But I didn’t,” the detective said. “I killed him.”

  Lara was silent. He continued, “And I never got over it. That kid’s face chased me around for years. I dreamed about it; I thought about it day and night. My philosophy back then was that a person has only one chance in life to do something great, heroic—like destiny or something. I thought you lived your entire life for that one specific moment. You know, to pull someone out of the path of a car, to save them from drowning, to tackle a man with a gun and disarm him before he hurt someone. And I was convinced that I missed that chance. I didn’t think there’d ever be another one.”

  “Was there?” she said, her eyelids fluttering. They were going way off track, into another realm of familiarity.

  “No, there wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.” He stepped out of the shadows. The past was receding. “But maybe this is it, you know. This case…helping you…”

  “Tell me,” Lara said finally, her voice weak and cracking, back to the present nightmare. “It’s hard to picture a sixty-seven-year-old judge tracking down a guy like Cummings and putting a hole in his head.”

  “Picture it. That’s what I think happened. I think Cummings wanted more money or saw how dirty this whole thing was—you being a judge, Ivory being your sister. Evergreen was terrified of exposure. Possibly he didn’t even intend for Cummings to kill them, but just to get the pictures back. He could have gone crazy over that. You know, protecting yourself from exposure is a long way from murder. Anyway, I think he met Cummings in that parking lot and blew him away. It’s only four blocks from the courthouse. He could have shot him, returned to work, and no one would have been the wiser. And it was a tree-shaded area. Perfect.”

  “Phillip could have done that, shot him and driven back to the courthouse.” Lara couldn’t help it, but the more she thought about it, the greater her suspicions were that Phillip might be involved. “He’s a strange man, Ted. Believe me, I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t think there was something to it. And he’s been acting funny lately, like he has some kind of personal problems.”

  “I keep telling you I think the killer is Evergreen, and you keep talking about your secretary,” Rickerson said, annoyed. “Can I continue my line of thought here?”

  Lara nodded.

  “Okay, even if we prove Evergreen is a pedophile, we can’t necessarily prove that he was responsible for your sister’s death…But if he does have an apartment we may find her prints there.”

  “Even that wouldn’t be enough for a conviction,” Lara retorted. “Hell, you’ve see the list. Being her client means nothing. Half the county was her client.” Then she thought about it. “The only way to prove this is a direct link between Evergreen and Cummings, and you don’t have it. Not only that but you don’t have any proof that Cummings even committed the murders. There weren’t any prints at the San Clemente house.”

  “But we may have evidence soon. Forensics is working on matching the pubic hairs we found on your sister to Cummings and the skin tissue under her nails. He had some abrasions on his face and arms. There was also semen in her vagina. And it wasn’t your brother-in-law’s.”

  “But not yet?”

  “No,” he said slowly, “not yet. So as a judge, you don’t think we have enough yet for a warrant to go for Evergreen? If it came to you, you wouldn’t sign it?”

  “An arrest warrant, no,” she answered. “But a search warrant to gather evidence? Possibly. You get everything you talked about put together, and you might be able to get that.”

  “You’ll sign it?” he said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t think any judge in this county will sign it, go up against Evergreen. This is serious, vile stuff we’re talking about. He could sue everyone involved for every dime they have—defamation of character, false arrest, no telling what else. He’s a powerful, influential man. He’ll hire the best lawyers in the country. He’ll…”

  Rickerson rubbed his forehead and finally sat down on the wood floor. He looked funny there. He was so big. Lara got up and gave him the chair.

  “Professionally,” she said, “I’d say go for the child molestations. The statute of limitations has been extended on those type of offenses, so there’s no problem there. But you need a victim. You can’t have a crime without a victim.”

  “Right,” Rickerson said, licking his lips, knowing what she was saying exactly. “We don’t have a victim.”

  Lara stared at him. “What if Phillip is your victim?”

  “Then Phillip would be the murderer,” the detective said, shaking his head as if he didn’t agree. He didn’t say goodbye. He just walked out the door. Lara knew they didn’t have anything yet. What they had was absolutely nothing.

  A few minutes later, Rickerson returned and knocked on her door. Lara had already shed her clothes and tossed on a robe.

  “There’s a light on in your old place, the other condo. Who’s there? I thought it was empty.”

  “I never said it was empty. My friend is staying there. The man who loaned me this condo.” In a way it was ironic. Lara had lived such an uneventful, sedate life outside of the courtroom, and now she was moving every day like a gypsy, living out of a suitcase. Overnight her entire life had changed.

  “That isn’t such a good idea,” he said. “We have no way of knowing if you’re safe here. Evergreen could know where you’re staying, maybe think those pictures are hidden over here now.” His face became flushed. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “No, no,” Lara said. Then she recalled the social workers. “Did you give Social Services my address here?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I told them to contact you at the courts. Why?”

  “They came here today. They had all kinds of information. Claimed some officer named Bradshaw told them. They knew all about the pawnshop fiasco, me covering for Sam. They even knew I was hiding. Who in the hell is this Bradshaw?”

  Rickerson was hot now. “Fucking Bradshaw. I’m gonna kill that prick one of these days. He’s the chief’s son.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do right now.” She looked across the courtyard. There was only a small light
burning in the bedroom. Emmet was probably asleep.

  “I’ll try to spring someone to watch the place.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Thanks, Ted.”

  “Lara,” he said, stepping into the doorway again, only a few inches away. His gaze drifted to the spot where her robe opened in front and her legs were exposed.

  “Yes,” she said, “what is it?” Please, she thought, don’t let him ask to come back in, don’t push this any further than it’s already gone. Right at this minute she had absolutely no willpower. They’d just do something they’d later regret. She had enough regrets.

  Suddenly the burly detective’s face flushed bright red and he stammered, “No—no…never mind. Just be careful.” After that, he left.

  The bedroom Lara’s furniture was in at Emmet’s was the guest bedroom, and Lara had to pass through Emmet’s office to get to the bathroom. It must have at one time been the master bedroom before he converted it to his office, she decided. It probably made it easier for him to get to the bathroom when he was working. Emmet was always working.

  Then she saw it.

  The computer screen was on and there was printing across it and a light on the console was blinking. She stopped and stared at it, thinking Emmet had forgotten to turn it off.

  “Shit,” she said, her eyes scanning the text, her stomach in her throat.

  “Someone’s in here with me. Im scared to move, they don’t know Im here, can’t call police…Emmet.”

  Darting down the wide hall to the front door and flinging it open, Lara started screaming, hoping against all reason that the detective hadn’t left. “Rickerson…Rickerson.”

  She saw movement in the shadows. He stepped out.

  “You rang,” he said, a funny, lopsided smile on his face.

  “Jesus,” she said, spurting out the words. “Someone’s in the other condo. My friend’s there alone. Do something quick. He’s handicapped.”

  “Stay here,” Rickerson said, jerking his gun from the shoulder holster with a snapping noise and a creak of leather. “Call 911 and have them dispatch some units. Tell them I’m here, or they’ll shoot me.”

  Lara rushed back into the condo and did as he told her. Then she stood outside with her arms locked around herself and watched through the tree branches, her heart racing.

  Rickerson arrived at the front door. He knocked and then flattened himself against the wall. “Police,” he yelled. “Don’t move or you’re a dead man.”

  After only a few seconds, Lara could hear sirens. She held her breath. She prayed. Please, God, she prayed, let Emmet be okay. She’d kill herself if anything happened to him. She’d just go right out and kill herself.

  Rickerson was kicking the door in. “Wait,” she screamed, knowing he couldn’t hear her, running halfway across the damp grass in her robe. Other people were coming out of their condos. Some were peering out windows. He was going in by himself like a fool. The backup units would be here any second. He should have waited. She couldn’t bear to watch. Any second she thought she’d hear gunshots and the detective would be dead. This was all her fault. Everything was all her fault.

  Time stood still. The sirens were getting closer.

  “No,” she screamed in total anguish. No one was coming out. Emmet was dead in there. Rickerson might even be dead.

  She ran back to the condo and dialed 911 again. “Hurry,” she yelled in the phone. ‘The detective is in there and he’s not coming out. Something terrible is happening. God, please come…”

  “Calm down,” the dispatcher told her. “The units should be there any minute. Do you hear the sirens?”

  “Yes,” Lara said. They were even closer now. She dropped the receiver and ran back out into the courtyard. Still, there was nothing. She was panting now, terrified. She leaned over thinking she was going to throw up on the grass.

  Then she saw him and a wave of relief washed over her. He stepped outside and waved at her to come over. She ran.

  “He’s okay,” Rickerson said, his chest heaving, his face flushed. “In the bedroom. Go to him. I’ll wait for the units.”

  Emmet was still in his bed, in his bedclothes. His bed was low, evidently so he could get in it by himself. “Okay,” he said weakly. “They…left…”

  Emmet’s belongings were thrown out in the middle of the floor. His laptop computer terminal was broken and in pieces. She rushed to his side. “Oh, Emmet,” Lara said, falling on her knees by the bed. “I’m so sorry. I should have never let you stay here. I’m an idiot, a fool. Please forgive me. Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m…fine.”

  She stepped aside as Emmet scooted himself across the bed into his wheelchair and headed straight to the bathroom, the electronic chair making a funny sound on the plastic runner. The movers had installed a trapeze in the bathroom similar to the one by his chair. She didn’t embarrass him by asking to help. A few seconds later, he opened the door and rolled back across the mat.

  “Did you see them, Emmet?”

  “Mask,” he said. “He…wore a…mask. Big man…deep voice…very thin.”

  Evergreen wasn’t thin and he wasn’t that tall, but Phillip was tall and thin. Lara couldn’t wait to tell Rickerson, but her primary concern right now was Emmet. “Did he hurt you? Oh, God, Emmet, I feel so bad. I don’t know what to say.”

  “No…guess…didn’t think…I was strong enough to…hurt him.”

  She pushed Emmet to the small living room, which was now filled to capacity with officers. Evidence men were checking for latent prints. Lara glanced at the front door and saw where the lock had been forced.

  Rickerson was outside talking to one of the men, smoking a cigar. “Don’t touch anything,” he barked at her through his teeth, his nerves still frazzled. “Nothing. Do you hear me?”

  “Nothing,” Lara said, throwing her hands in the air. “Who did this? Surely you don’t think it was Evergreen? Not the way Emmet described him—tall and thin. Phillip is tall and thin, and he knows where I’m staying. I told you I was on to something with him.”

  “I don’t think it was your secretary, okay? Evergreen just got another goon,” Rickerson stated.

  “God,” Lara said, pulling the robe tighter around her body, pulling on the sash. “Thank God you were still here.” Then she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “Why were you still here, by the way?”

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her aside. “Don’t do anything from now on without checking with me,” he said. “Don’t loan your place out. Don’t talk to anyone about anything. Don’t go anywhere without telling me. Don’t even take a piss without calling me. Are we straight on this, Lara? Are we perfectly straight?”

  She looked down. She didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. “Why did you stay?” she said.

  “Who do you think was going to sit here all night and watch your place, Lara? You think I can just pick up the phone and yank one of our men off the street and have them sit here all night?”

  “You were really going to stay here all night just to make certain I was safe? That’s so sweet, Ted. I mean it, that was a really nice thing to do. And you weren’t even going to tell me?” She shook her head. For some reason this really touched her. “Thanks,” she said affectionately. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, big guy.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, yanking the cigar out of his mouth like it was poison and tossing it across the courtyard. “I hate these stinking things,” he said, the anger gone now, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  Just then Lara remembered that they had driven her car to the condo, Rickerson riding over in a black-and-white. “I remember now, you didn’t have a car.”

  There was a mischievous look in his eyes. “How’d you think I was going to get home? Walk all the way to San Clemente?”

  “Oh,” Lara said, narrowing her eyes, “so that’s why you came back to the door.” He must have felt like a fool and was too embarrassed to tell her. “That wa
s a pretty big speech you just made,” she said, smiling coyly. “Particularly since you just stayed because you didn’t have a car. Like playing the hero, huh?”

  “Just wanted to show you that you can be had, Lara. A lousy third-grader could have your pants down around your ankles in about five minutes.” He paused and cleared his throat, gazing into her eyes with conspicuous longing. “And if you’re not careful, one of these days it just might be me.”

  Then he turned quickly and walked back inside with the men.

  Chapter 17

  As soon as the officers cleared at Emmet’s, Rickerson got a ride to San Clemente and then leaped in his unit, checking his notebook for the address of Carol Montgomery. The address was an upscale apartment complex right off Pacific Coast Highway in Newport Beach, but Montgomery had a record for soliciting. No matter where she lived, she was a whore.

  If he wanted to catch her, now was the time to do it. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Even in her line of work, business was probably over for the day. Tomorrow was Monday. People had to go to work.

  It was a security building, a high-rise. Rickerson called her from the phone in the lobby. At first she refused to let him in. Then he told her he was a cop and the buzzer sounded.

  When she flung open the door, Rickerson felt a gush of air leave his body. She was gorgeous. The woman was tall, shapely, and blond—sort of a Nordic look. She was wearing a see-through silk robe and was completely nude underneath.

  “Come in,” she said, insisting first that Rickerson show her his shield. “I was asleep.”

  The apartment was luxurious. Business must be good. Rickerson gave thought to telling the woman to put on some clothes, then thought better of it. If he had to be out pounding on doors in the middle of the night, he might as well reap a few benefits. There weren’t that many to be had. He walked over to a large wine-colored velvet sectional and collapsed. The woman strolled past him, fully aware that he was feasting on her body, flaunting it. She was wearing spiked heels, and her tan, smooth legs were tantalizing.