Justice for All

by Wayne, Joanna

  The quiet surf seemed like thunder roaring in his ears as he climbed behind the wheel of his car. He could face murderers, snipers, the worst crud of the street and never have them see him sweat. But let Callie Baker give him a peck on the cheek and he fell apart faster than a $3.99 T-shirt from the hawker at the beach.

  Wouldn’t the Avenger love to see him now?

  CALLIE STOOD at the front door and watched Max back down the driveway, turn his car on a dime and squeal his tires in his haste to escape. It had been the same eight years ago, almost as if he was afraid of her.

  She dropped to the sofa and let the memories claim her mind. She’d been angry and hurt that night, totally disillusioned to find that while she’d been desperately trying to hold on to her crumbling marriage, Tony had been having an affair behind her back.

  She’d ordered him out of the house and out of her life—and accompanied that command with a hurled wineglass that had missed his temple by inches. It was probably the first and last time she’d thrown anything at anyone. Then she’d collapsed on the sofa and burst into tears.

  When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, she was certain it was Tony, back with more lies. But when she’d opened the door, Max was standing there. As best she could remember, neither of them said a word. She’d just stepped into his arms and held on tight. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember how they went from there to a kiss.

  But she did remember that kiss. Wow, did she remember that kiss. It was as if every pent-up emotion she’d ever felt erupted in a blast of passion.

  There was no denying Max had felt something, too. His arousal had pressed into her and his mouth had ravished hers until her lips were swollen from the force of that kiss. A heated blush crept over her skin and her insides turned to mush just thinking about it.

  But she was forty now, not thirty-two. A respected and formidable hospital chief of staff, not a woman faced with the fact that she’d married a self-serving louse. If the moment of passion she’d shared with Max was no more than a reaction to her emotional state all those years ago, then it was time to move past it.

  But if there was still some kind of spark waiting to catch fire, it was time to find that out, too. Of course, she might have to tie Max down to do it.

  “DO YOU THINK I’m intimidating?” Callie asked as she poured herself a cup of flavored coffee from the pot in Mikki’s office.

  Mikki stopped nibbling on a cookie, her second since she’d finished the sandwich and banana she’d had for lunch. “No more so than a five-star general in battle mode.”

  “I’m not talking about at work, but on a personal level.”

  “You scare the hell out of me and I’ve seen you scooping up Pickering’s poop.” Mikki dumped the crumbs from her napkin into the trash can by her desk. “What makes you ask?”

  “No reason.”

  “You never say or do anything for no reason, Callie, which only ups your intimidation factor.”

  “I just wonder if I throw off some kind of vibes that frighten men off.”

  “No more than any other beautiful, highly successful, nearly perfect woman would.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “So how would I change that conception of me?” Callie asked. “That is, if I wanted to change it?”

  “For starters, you could be a little less self-sufficient. Men love to feel needed, makes them feel like hunky heroes. But to be honest with you, I can’t see Max Zirinsky being intimidated by anyone.”

  Callie’s right hand flew to her hip. “Who said this discussion has anything to do with Max Zirinsky?”

  “Boy, hit that exposed nerve, didn’t I?” Mikki teased.

  Callie started to argue, but knew it was a waste of time. Mikki read her too well. Besides, the one night Max had let down his guard with her had been the night he’d found her in tears, so maybe Mikki did know a thing or two about men. Still, Callie had no intention of tearing up just to make the guy feel needed.

  She sipped her coffee. “I’m not playing ‘poor little defenseless me’ for anybody.”

  “Good. You could never pull that off. I’m thinking more in the line of requesting back rubs for tense muscles or asking for help with leaky faucets or quirky zippers—especially help with quirky zippers.”

  “That sounds like manipulation to me. Besides, I don’t have any quirky zippers.” She glanced at her watch, then gulped down the rest of her coffee. “Okay, girlfriend, gotta run. I have a full slate of patients this afternoon.”

  “Me, too. But then I always do. Apparently birth control hasn’t caught on in Courage Bay.”

  There were three patients in Callie’s waiting room when she got back to her office. Max and quirky zippers were pushed to the back of her mind as she went to work on the problems at hand.

  First and foremost, she was a doctor.

  “YOU HAVE A CALL from Mary Hancock. She says it’s urgent.”

  Callie paused, her hand on the doorknob to examining room three. “Did she say what kind of emergency?”

  Her nurse shook her head. “I asked, but all she said was that she needed to talk to you at once.”

  “I’ll take the call in my office.”

  “It’s line one.”

  Callie hurried to her office and grabbed the receiver. “What’s wrong, Mary?”

  “It’s about Bernie.”

  Callie’s muscles relaxed. She didn’t have time for this right now, but it was better than chest pains or signs of a stroke, always the first things that popped into her mind when someone said emergency. “What about Bernie?”

  “I think I know who killed him, Callie.”

  That piqued her interest. “Who?”

  “I don’t want to say until I have a little more evidence, but if it’s who I think it is, you’re going to be shocked. Everyone in Courage Bay is going to be shocked.”

  “If you have any information, you need to call Max Zirinsky at the police department.”

  “No, I don’t want to get mixed up with the police, at least not yet. But I need to talk to someone. I was hoping you could stop by when you leave the hospital tonight.”

  “That won’t be for another couple of hours. I still have patients to see and hospital rounds to make.”

  “That will be perfect. The caterer has tracked down another of the servers for me to question. She’s on her way over here now.”

  “Do you think it was one of the catering staff who killed Bernie?”

  “No, but they were in a position to see things that none of the rest of us saw, like someone slipping a powder into Bernie’s drink. I just need someone to add credence to my theory.”

  The conversation was making Callie exceedingly uneasy. “I don’t think you should talk to anyone else about this, Mary.”

  “I don’t, either. That’s why I called you. If you think my suspicions are accurate, then I’ll go to the police. It’s just if I’m right, the killer is…”

  “Is what?”

  “A very close relative of a dear friend, and I can’t say more now, Callie. I never trust these cell phones. I’ve read that people can overhear your conversation without your ever knowing it.”

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  “Thanks, Callie.” Mary gave her the code to get in the security gate before saying goodbye.

  Callie broke the connection but hung on to the receiver, wondering if she should call and alert Max. If she did, he’d act on the tip immediately and Mary would feel betrayed. Probably better to call him from Mary’s so she could be there when Max came out to question her friend.

  It wasn’t likely that the Avenger had been so careless as to let the catering staff see him slip the ephedra into Bernie’s food or drink. Yet stupider things had happened.

  A close relative of a dear friend. That could be half of Courage Bay. Everyone was Mary’s friend. And if the Avenger turned out to be someone in attendance at Mary’s party, a lot of people would be shocked.

>   Callie tried to throw off thoughts of the murder as she went into the examining room of her next patient, but she couldn’t shake the prickles of dread Mary’s tone had caused. She’d have to persuade Mary to talk to Max tonight. He’d convince her that investigating her theory on her own was far too dangerous.

  CALLIE RANG THE DOORBELL for the third time. Mary wouldn’t have gone out without calling and cancelling their appointment. She had to be around here somewhere. Callie waited a few more minutes, then decided to walk to the back of the house. Maybe Mary was in the garden or the pool.

  “Mary.” Callie called her friend’s name. When there was no response, Callie peeked over the black decorative fence that surrounded the pool. The patio table held two place settings, a small vase of roses and a bottle of wine. So like Mary to have prepared dinner for the two of them.

  Callie tried the gate. It wasn’t locked, so she let herself in. She’d started toward the French doors off the patio when she caught sight of an overturned lounge chair near the edge of the pool. She walked over to right it, and that’s when she spotted Mary. Facedown. Lying on the bottom of the pool at the shallow end.

  Callie felt a scream at the back of her throat but couldn’t release it. And then she heard the gate squeak open again and knew she was not alone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FRANTIC, CALLIE dropped her handbag, kicked off her shoes and waded into the pool without so much as turning to see who’d joined her. She grabbed the floating arm and tugged Mary to the surface, knowing even before her fingers closed around the lifeless wrist that there would be no pulse.

  Still, fighting off waves of shock, she dragged Mary onto the deck and began CPR.

  “Oh, my God! What happened? Is she…”

  Callie ignored the ragged male voice and did her best to breathe life back into Mary’s lungs. She worked until she was forced to face the fact that her revival attempts were useless. When she finally looked up, Henry Lalane was standing over her, his eyes wide and his hands tearing at the silk tie knotted around his neck.

  Henry squatted next to Callie and stared at the body. “She’s…dead.”

  Callie nodded, barely aware that water had soaked the bottom half of her slacks and was dripping onto her feet. That her blouse had pulled loose at the waist, and the heat of the late afternoon sun was relentlessly bearing down on her back.

  “How?” Henry asked, looking at her as if she should have answers. Why?”

  Callie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “She was an excellent swimmer,” Henry said. “She wouldn’t have drowned in her own pool.”

  “But she did.”

  “Then she must have had a stroke or a heart attack.” He stood and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. His mouth twisted into a scowl. “Or maybe she intentionally drowned herself over that worthless Bernie Brusco.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Callie protested. “Mary was too level-headed for that.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Anyway, we have to call the cops.”

  “Right.” Callie got up and walked over to her handbag. Retrieving her cell phone, she punched in Max’s number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Max Zirinsky.”

  “Max, this is Callie. I’m at Mary Hancock’s and…” She took a deep breath and tried to compose her tangled thoughts and get a handle on her emotions. “I found Mary at the bottom of her pool. I pulled her out and tried to revive her, but…She’s dead, Max.”

  Callie could hear the sharp inhalation of Max’s breath before he spoke. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m shaken, but other than that, I’m fine. Henry Lalane’s here with me.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “I don’t know. He just showed up right after I did.”

  “Then he wasn’t there when you arrived.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be right over. Don’t touch Mary again or anything else. And tell Lalane not to touch anything, either. But I do want him to stay at the scene.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  She broke the connection and took a deep breath, trying to regain her professional edge. She turned to Henry, who had walked over to join her. “That was Max Zirinsky. He’s on his way.”

  “Good. So why are you here, anyway?” Henry asked. “Did Mary call and insist you come by, the way she did with me?”

  “She asked me to stop by.”

  “But didn’t say why, I guess. You can think what you want, but somehow her relationship with Bernie Brusco is behind this.” Henry sank onto the edge of a deck chair. “Mary called me at least a half dozen times today—wanted me to tell her that Bernie was not a piece of drug trafficking scum.”

  “She was fond of him.”

  “That was evident.” He glanced back toward Mary’s lifeless form, but looked away quickly. “I know we can’t help her, but shouldn’t we at least take her inside or something. I mean, she looks so…” He threw his hands up in frustration. “She looks so dead.”

  “Max said not to touch Mary or anything else.”

  “See? He thinks there’s something suspicious going on here, too.”

  “He didn’t say that.”

  “Why else would he be treating this like a crime scene?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure Mary didn’t kill herself. She was upset, but not depressed or suicidal. If anything, I’d say she was driven to find Bernie’s killer.”

  Callie walked over and knelt beside Mary again, and this time she noticed small bruises on the flesh at her neck. She shuddered, suddenly overcome with a premonition that something dark and ominous was hovering over them, and it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

  MARY MCGUIRE HANCOCK had been murdered. That was evident almost from the moment the crime scene investigators arrived. The bruises on her neck indicated strangling, probably by a smooth length of fabric, possibly a scarf—or a tie like the one hanging loosely from Henry Lalane’s neck.

  Max walked away from the CSI team and rejoined Henry Lalane and Callie inside the kitchen of Mary’s house. He’d taken both their statements when he’d arrived, but he wanted to talk to them a bit more. Callie wasn’t a suspect, but Henry was, especially since he’d been one of the people present in the room when Lorna Sinke was shot. But no police officer made an accusation of murder against a prestigious and popular district attorney without firm evidence to back it up.

  Henry stood when Max walked into the room. “Was it suicide?”

  “Preliminary findings indicate strangulation before water entered her lungs. We’ll know more after the autopsy report.”

  “Another senseless killing,” Henry railed. “Definitely not the Avenger this time, though. Mary was no criminal.”

  “No motive has been established,” Max said, studying Henry’s body language. He could tell almost as much by a man’s muscle reactions, facial expressions and eye movements as what he said.

  “Any reason you need Callie and me to hang around?” Henry asked.

  “If not,” Callie added tentatively, “I should get back to the hospital. I need to meet with the relatives of a critical patient in the ICU.”

  “You can go, Callie,” Max said, walking over to look at the latch on the kitchen window while he talked. “I have a few more questions for you, but I can catch you later.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No reason for me to stay, either,” Henry said. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “I appreciate that,” Max told the district attorney, “but I need to clarify a few things in my own mind.”

  Henry frowned. “I hope this won’t take long. Janice and I have plans tonight.”

  A little callous, Max thought, considering it was Henry’s friend who’d been murdered, but then being questioned by the chief of police at a murder scene would put a lot of people off, especially a very astute district attorney.

/>   “A few minutes should do it,” Max assured him, then waited until Callie had said her goodbyes and left. Max would have liked to walk her to her car and tell her how sorry he was she’d had to find Mary like this, but under the circumstances, it would have been awkward for both of them.

  He pulled his small black notebook and a pen from inside his jacket pocket. “I know you’ve already told me about getting a phone call from Mary, but it would help if you’d explain that in detail again.”

  “Not much to explain. Mary called my office a few minutes before five o’clock. She told my secretary it was urgent, and Doris pulled me out of a meeting with one of my attorneys to talk to her.”

  “Be as specific as possible. What were the first words Mary said when she got you on the phone?”

  “I can’t remember exactly, but basically it was ‘It’s really important that I see you immediately, Henry.’ I tried to get her to elaborate, but she refused. Said she didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  “Did she mention Bernie Brusco at all?”

  “Not during that phone call, but she’d called me five or six times earlier in the day. Mostly she asked questions about what I knew about Bernie, but I got the idea she just wanted me to tell her the stories that appeared in the paper about Bernie’s being involved in drugs were erroneous. Of course, I couldn’t do that. Everything I’ve heard indicates that he was a major player.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “I didn’t see any reason to lie.”

  “Did she sound as if she was afraid or hysterical the last time you talked to her?”

  “No, nothing that extreme. She was upset, but no more so than she’d been during the other calls.”

  “So why did you stop what you were doing and come over here after that last phone call and not the others?”

  “Like I said, she insisted that she had to see me at once, and since it was late in the day, I just knocked off and came on over. It never crossed my mind she was in danger.”

  “Were you a close friend of Mary’s?”