Twisted Justice

by Patricia Gussin

  The Diamond car came to a full stop at the entrance to the resort property. As her husband flipped on the left blinker ready to pull out, a silver BMW turned into the property and braked suddenly, horn blaring. A dark haired woman jumped out of her car and rushed toward them.

  “It’s Celeste! Don, stop.” Diamond rolled down the back window.

  “Carrie, are you okay? I … I was worried.”

  “Celeste, what are you doing here?”

  Celeste peered into the Diamond’s car. “Oh, you have your daughter. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I’m glad everything’s all right.”

  “I think so …” Carrie faltered.

  “Listen, it was probably my imagination,” Celeste said as she brushed back a loose strand of dark hair.

  “What was?”

  “Nothing, really. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “We’re fine, Celeste. Here, let me introduce you to Elizabeth. And, here’s Don. You met at last year’s office party.”

  “She looks just like you, Carrie,” Celeste said, smiling at Elizabeth and saying hello to Don. “Now why don’t you go ahead, I’m just going to go up to make sure the Palmers have everything they need. As long as I’m here, there’re a few things I want to take back to Tampa with me.”

  After they said good-bye Carrie called, “Listen, the bodyguard that Chuck hired is up there with the Palmers. Just so you’re not surprised.”

  “We can’t check in until six thirty,” Steve told the boys as the rented station wagon approached the Northwest departures terminal. “We have plenty of time to unload the luggage. You stay with it right here on the curb while I go return the car, then I’ll circle back on the shuttle, got it?”

  Neither Kevin nor Mike made a move.

  “Look guys, you haven’t said squat the whole trip. Get a move on!”

  The boys lumbered out of the car. Both Mike and Kevin just stood there as Steve unloaded the stack of bulging duffel bags himself, along with his hunting rifle and his shotgun — the ones he’d used as a teenager in the northern Michigan woods. He’d already placed them, with his hunting knives into a properly labeled container, according to airline regulations.

  “Thanks for the help,” Steve said sarcastically. “Just wait out here with the bags until I get back.”

  The boys sulked. Steve tore off in the station wagon.

  It was wise to get the hell out of Michigan, Steve thought as he drove away from the airport terminal. Beyond wise, it was essential. So tired of everyone’s eyes on him, from those of every stranger to his own father, he was tired of listening to everyone else too, tired of hiding out. Hiding out was for losers. Let him just get on with his life and make the best of it. In the end, what more did anyone ever do anyway? Disgusted, that’s what he was, with his life, with all the goddamn secrets, with the fucking world. He’d spent a long night thinking about Laura’s offer to reconcile, but he just couldn’t face it — face Patrick every day, another man’s child. A constant reminder of Laura’s rape — or betrayal? He didn’t know what to believe, couldn’t really believe any of it. And how he’d loved that kid better than the others. No, Alaska would be a new start, a way to get his boys to look forward instead of back, to get away from all the eyes and questions — and Frank Santiago — once and for all.

  Pulling up to the Budget Car Rental depot, Steve did a double take. It was that detective, the dapper one, who’d questioned him in Tampa. Detective Lopez stood, chest puffed out, at the building entrance. He’d spotted Steve instantly and was striding over to the passenger side of the wagon. Without invitation he opened the door and slid in next to him.

  “Remember me?” Lopez said.

  Steve’s heart was pounding. “Uh, yes, Detective. What are you doing here?”

  “Wanted to talk to you, Mr. Nelson, but you’ve been very elusive. There’ve been some developments that concern you.”

  “I’ve already given my statement,” Steve stammered. “There’s nothing more I can —”

  “Let me lay it out for you,” Lopez said sharply. “Frank Santiago surfaced in Ybor City last night. We know he’s on your tail, and that he knows your plans.”

  Steve had broken into a sweat. “Santiago knows? You mean, he knows I’m here? I gotta get out of here. My boys —”

  “Mr. Nelson, calm down. What you’re going to do is stick to your plans, head into that terminal and board the plane.”

  “What? I can’t go back in there if that guy’s a murderer for god’s sake. Look, detective, you gotta help me. I’ve got two kids waiting for me outside the Northwest terminal. You gotta go back there and get them for me so we can get out of here!”

  The detective shook his head slowly as Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Time’s running out. You’ve got no choice, Mr. Nelson. You will go back in there as planned or I’ll arrest you for the murder of Kim Connor right here and now.”

  “What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!”

  “Is it, Mr. Nelson?” The detective ran his palm over his sleek black hair. “What’s been nagging me for a long time was your wife’s statement that she’d left phone messages for you the day of the murder. Four of them to be exact. That made me wonder how it was possible that your answering machine had no messages on it at all when we retrieved it from your apartment?”

  “I … I have no idea,” Steve stuttered. Both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel.

  “Think hard, Mr. Nelson. Answering machines are interesting gadgets. As you know, not many people have them, professionals mostly, like yourselves. You and Kim Connor, that is. So Kim left a message telling you she was coming right over to see you that night. Pleaded with you, actually, that she needed to see to you.”

  Steve’s face had gone gray. “I … don’t know what you mean.”

  Lopez smiled. “Come now, Mr. Nelson. You know better than anybody. What I mean is, when I had our techies go back over those tapes, they were able to retrieve the messages from your answering machine tape that somebody thought they’d erased. Almost worked, we missed them the first time. The missing messages that your wife had left — all four — just like she said, and the last message — Kim’s message, remember? Now how did those messages get erased, I ask myself. Certainly not by Laura since she’s the one who told us about them—”

  “Frank Santiago,” Steve croaked as Lopez’s stare bored into him.

  “Now why would he do that?”

  “Because. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve muttered.

  “That’s hard to believe, Mr. Nelson, but there’s more,” Lopez said. “I’ve been going over the interviews with your kids very carefully. Can you tell me about the movie you saw the night of the Connor murder?”

  “What?” Steve’s entire face gleamed with sweat. “Look — okay — just let me go catch my plane. My sons are waiting. I’m in a hurry to catch my flight. I’ve got a job to get to.”

  The detective glanced from his watch to Steve. “You’re right. We don’t have much time if you’re going to catch that plane to Alaska.”

  Wiping his face, Steve stared back at Lopez in horror.

  “Speaking of jobs, I’ve been going over the statements from the Connor murder investigation. Something was bugging me, something that didn’t quite fit. I’ve been a cop long enough to listen to that feeling.”

  “Look, I said I have to go,” Steve cut in, but Lopez was not deterred.

  “Your son told us that you left the movie the night of Kim Connor’s murder because you had a phone interview lined up.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “A job interview by phone on a Sunday night seems a bit farfetched.”

  “It’s true, goddamn it!”

  “Well, who was the interview with, Mr. Nelson?”

  “Look, I’ve got a pending job offer in Alaska. I’ve already explained that to you. Alaska’s three time zones away. You’re really going down the wrong road with this —”
>
  “I need a name, Mr. Nelson.”

  The knuckles on Steve’s hands as they gripped the steering wheel had gone completely white. He said nothing.

  “Speaking of roads, we interviewed the night clerk at that motel in Georgia. He’s willing to testify that you checked in around four a.m., not at midnight as you and your kids said.”

  “Well, he got it wrong,” Steve croaked.

  “Is that so? Tampa to Forsyth is about an eight-hour drive. If you left Tampa at eight, well, you do the math.”

  “You’re not making sense,” Steve said. “We’ve been all over this. Look, I have to get back to my sons. They’re —”

  “And the gun? Was it Kim Connor’s?”

  “How should I know? You know my prints weren’t on it.”

  “Anybody can wipe off prints. Listen, Mr. Nelson, my theory is that you retrieved Kim’s message, left the movie to go home and meet her, and somehow that gun went off. Kim’s gun — the one her friend — you know who I mean — Carmen Williams — gave her. The gun that failed the trigger test, it was so far off the scale for hair trigger. So was it an accident? Am I on the right road now?”

  Steve scowled, his eyes bright as he blinked desperately at Lopez. “You can’t prove anything! If Laura didn’t kill Kim, it must’ve been her mobster boyfriend. He’s the one you’re looking for, for God’s sake! Laura told me you have an eye witness.” Steve began trembling badly, sinking back into the seat, abandoning all attempts at bravado. “She said there’s a warrant out for Santiago. He obviously followed her to my place that night.” Steve let his head fall into his hands, then he looked up to face Lopez. “Kim said that if Santiago ever found out that she had sex with me, that he’d kill her — and me. The guy’s a professional killer!”

  “That may all be well and true. Always did wonder why you went so public on TV. But the evidence against you —”

  Steve blinked back tears. “Just tell me what you want me to do,” he pleaded. I don’t want to go to jail. I just want to start a new life. Far away from here.”

  Lopez shook his head. “More than you deserve seeing that you were willing to send your wife to prison for murder. A murder that you committed, you self-righteous bastard.”

  “I … I thought she’d get off easy,” Steve rasped. “I figured she’d get probation. Temporary insanity. I wouldn’t let her go to prison. I —”

  Leering maliciously at Steve, Lopez shifted in the passenger seat, hands tightly clenched. For an instant Steve thought he was going to hit him. “You don’t deserve the deal I’m cutting you, you chicken-shit bastard.”

  Steve pressed his back to the driver’s door. What would he do if Lopez hit him? Just sit and take it? Or hit him back?

  Then Lopez took a deep breath, held it, and settled back, slowly massaging his neck. “Listen, Mr. Nelson. The fact is, I’ve got you for murder. Don’t think I don’t want to put you away. Not so much for killing Connor, if that was an accident, but for what you did to Laura. What you put that poor woman through makes you a piece of scum.”

  Steve shook so violently that he thought he might be having a seizure. “I told you I never would have let her —”

  “Quit the bullshit, you prick. Fact is, Frank Santiago means more to me than you do. I want that son of a bitch. That’s the only reason I’m offering you an opportunity to walk away, but don’t you think I don’t know.”

  “Why?” Steve asked feebly, “if you think —”

  “You’re right, Nelson, someone did see Santiago go into your house on Oregon that night, and I’m going to nail him for murder this time. Bastard took out my partner on the street a long time ago. Guy had three little boys. I want this motherfucker. You, I don’t give a damn about. Look, we’re out of time on this.”

  After the car had pulled away from the curb, Kevin said, “I didn’t think Mom would let us go. Do you think Marcy told her?”

  “She said she would,” Mike answered.

  “Then why didn’t she come get us?”

  “I don’t know, Kev. Maybe she’s just too busy with Pat at the hospital.”

  “I hope he’s okay.” He paused. “Why doesn’t Dad like Pat anymore? He used to let Pat get away with anything.”

  Mike echoed his father’s words. “You’re too young to understand. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. Something Mom did that made him mad, but why is he blaming Pat? He’s just a little kid.”

  “Wait till you’re older. I’ll explain it all to you. What Dad thinks Mom did to him.”

  “Tell me now. I’m not some stupid little kid.”

  “Right now,” Mike said, “we have to get on that stupid plane.”

  “Are we gonna ever see Mom again?” Kevin rubbed his eye, trying to hold back tears. “Or Natalie or Nicole or Pat.”

  “Yes. Mom’ll find us.”

  “How do you know? What if Dad won’t let her? Anyway Dad says he’s got a job with a TV station in Alaska, and that he’ll be famous and we’ll have a lot of money.”

  “He’s got a job interview, but who cares?”

  “Let’s just run away. Right now!” Kevin jumped up.

  “We’d just get caught. Then he’d be even be madder,” Mike said, slumping back into the pile of duffel bags.

  Chuck Dimer had not yet spotted the Nelsons as he circled the Northwest departure area. The clock on the big board registered 6:30 exactly; check-in for the San Francisco flight had just begun. There were three businessmen in suits standing in the first-class line and a growing number of other passengers arranging themselves in the coach-class queue. Chuck looked quickly around the large hall for Steve Nelson and his sons. Nothing. He sped over to a bench by the up escalator where they’d agreed to meet. Relieved, he saw Greg and Laura there.

  “Laura, good to see you,” Chuck said. “How’s your little guy?”

  “Hi, Chuck. The surgery went well, but he’s still not conscious.”

  “Over there —” Greg interrupted. “That’s Steve, coming in through the automatic door.”

  “I don’t see the boys,” Laura whispered.

  “Let’s wait here a sec,” Greg said quietly, “see how this plays out.”

  “There they are!” Laura blurted as Kevin followed several paces behind Steve, carrying two duffel bags. Impulsively, Laura started to go to him.

  “Wait,” Chuck said, “not yet.”

  “Where’s Mike?”

  “Just wait. Steve’s leaving Kevin with the bags and he’s going back out.”

  “Mike must be outside.”

  Again, Steve hauled more duffel bags. This time he was followed by Mike, who was struggling with a long rectangular case. Steve seemed to be barking orders.

  “Dear God,” Laura gasped, “he’s got Steve’s rifle case.”

  They watched as Steve dropped the bags abruptly before taking his place in line, leaving the boys standing slumped along the wall.

  “They don’t look too thrilled,” Chuck whispered. “I’ve got a car right outside. What do you think?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Celeste watched anxiously as the Diamonds drove away. All of this was so strange. Why hadn’t Greg told her he planned to use her condo? It wasn’t like him to let strangers use it. He was always so considerate of her property and her independence. Only once before, about a year ago, he’d arranged for a client of his to use it, and he had made a big deal of checking with her, getting her approval. Maybe he just didn’t care enough about her permission anymore. Or maybe he figured what was hers was theirs, and maybe that was okay now that she was so close to a real commitment that would merge her — her possessions, her needs, her very soul — with Greg.

  Or maybe the reason that he didn’t tell her was the possibility of real danger. Danger to the Palmer child. And Molly Palmer was still in there. Well, she’d check to make sure the family was okay, and pick up the design sample books she’d left there last time. Then she’d drive back to Tampa. She certainly coul
dn’t stay here with the Palmers. It was just before six, and she wouldn’t get home until midnight. Maybe she’d check into a motel off of I-95. If only she’d brought her travel kit and something decent to travel in, she could leave from the Jacksonville Airport. She’d left enough business clothes in Atlanta, but then her car would be stuck in Jacksonville. It had been really silly to come here.

  As she drove up the long drive lined by tall red hibiscus, she gazed with approval at the lush manicured lawns and flower-studded gardens before wondering whether Greg had given the Palmers her garage door opener. Rather than drive all the way down to the underground garage just to find their car in her assigned spot, she decided to park in the lobby lot out front. It was then that she saw that same car — that dark sedan. Yes, a dark blue Mercury with tinted windows, sitting in a parking spot directly in front of the building. A stab of fear cut through her. Her instinct had been right. Someone had followed Carrie.

  She knew that she had to warn the Palmers. She quickly swung her silver BMW into the nearest space in the visitors’ section. As she walked toward the lobby, she was tempted to peek into the other car, but she was too scared and too much in a hurry. Besides, with those dark windows, she probably wouldn’t be able to see inside.

  Instead of calling up from the lobby, Celeste used her key to access the elevator to her third floor suite. Once she exited the elevator, she’d be in a small foyer. Then she’d knock at the door, expecting the Palmers to let her in. What she met when the elevator door opened was the barrel of a gun aimed at her chest. She gasped at the weapon and the buff young man with the floppy blond hair and matching, bushy eyebrows who held it.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here,” he demanded, Gestapo-style.

  “Please put that down,” she said, once she’d caught her breath. “I’m Celeste Marin. I own this condo. What’s —”

  “Oh,” the man said, the eyebrows shooting up in confusion. “You have identification?”

  “Sure,” said Celeste. “I’m just going to get it out of my bag. Okay?”

  “Slowly,” he stepped closer to monitor her careful movements.