Twisted Justice

by Diane Capri

  The maggots thrashed viciously; I put a hand to my stomach.

  “Drake will need a lot more for a conviction,” I argued.

  Ben just looked at me as if I’d just landed from Mars. “Drake’s office is still investigating,” Ben said, as he left.

  I closed the door; my body slumped heavily against it as I realized anew just how much trouble we’d landed in and we’d need a miracle to get out.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Tampa, Florida

  Thursday 8:35 p.m.

  January 27, 2000

  AFTER HATHAWAY LEFT, I prepared for a late dinner with George. There was much I needed to discuss with him. He had some explaining to do and I was determined to get him to do it.

  I’d ordered the chef’s specialty, Rack of Lamb Julius Caesar, cherry vinaigrette salads with Gorgonzola cheese, broiled tomatoes and a baguette. For dessert, we’d have George’s favorite: creme brulée, served warm in a cereal bowl, with raspberries and blueberries on the bottom. I’d scheduled the food to arrive at nine o’clock.

  My queasy stomach had begun to recover as I chose from the menu. When I looked at my watch, I saw that I had about thirty minutes before George arrived.

  I took a long, scented bath, opened a bottle of Cabernet and tried to relax, to stay in the present and not catastrophize. I was determined to discuss matters with George, but I wanted to keep our relationship on the same easy plane it had been this morning.

  This, too, would pass, I hoped. When it did, I wanted our lives to return to the way they had been—to the extent that was possible.

  I dressed carefully. I put on my black lace bra and matching black bikini panties. A cream silk shirt George liked topped a knee length dark green silk skirt that I left unbuttoned up the front to well above my knee. You could see the bra through the shirt, which was the effect I wanted.

  I’d had a pedicure before all this madness started, so I put on open sandals. I slipped on my diamond stud earrings and the diamond pendant George gave me for my last birthday along with my slim platinum wedding band.

  Light makeup, just enough to accentuate my eyes and a little bronzer on the cheek bones. A rosy copper lipstick completed the look. I was sure George would approve.

  I went out to the curio on the wall in the living room that contains my Herend zoo. The animals had been Aunt Minnie’s. I think she’d had a Hungarian admirer at one time. He’d given her a beautiful set of Queen Victoria china and the whimsical porcelain figurines painted in the technically difficult fishnet pattern.

  Based on the number of animals Aunt Minnie had in her collection, the relationship must have lasted for a while. Aunt Minnie named each animal and recorded those names in the inventory we received when George inherited the house.

  Aunt Minnie’s zoo was now mine and George added to the collection. Whenever a particularly special opportunity arose, he ordered an unusual piece from Lucy Zahran in Los Angeles to give me. All of Aunt Minnie’s pieces, and mine, are one of a kind.

  I picked up Otto, the magical raspberry unicorn. I closed my eyes and made a wish, rubbing his pointed gold horn with my finger. Aunt Minnie told me once that Otto had the power to make wishes come true. Would mine?

  I iced a bucket of Champagne and set out the special champagne glasses we’d bought when we spent a month in Paris for our tenth anniversary. We’d had such fabulous sex there. My cheeks warmed at the memory. George would get the hint.

  As I finished my preparations, I heard him knock on the door promptly on time. So old fashioned, George acted like the invited guest he was.

  George smiled slowly and with appreciation when I responded to his knock. “Please come in, Sweetheart. You do live here, after all.”

  “Indeed, I do. Any chance I can get a warm greeting from the hostess?” He put his arms around me and gave me one of those kisses that took my breath away. How could I be so passionate about a man I’d loved for more than twenty years? It wasn’t something I could analyze, it just was. That passion was doubly precious to me tonight, when I realized how close I was to losing George, the love of my life.

  When I couldn’t stand up any longer, we went directly to the bedroom, leaving dead generals and criminal lawyers and ballistics reports where they belonged in another world.

  Quite a while later, I was lounging in our bed wearing the cream silk shirt and nothing else. George poured the last of our Champagne. I vaguely remembered hearing the waiter bring our food about an hour earlier, and I was, all of a sudden, famished.

  “George, darling,” I said, snuggling a little closer to his chest and running my hands over the curly black hairs that grew there, “Aren’t you hungry? I ordered a fabulous meal. I think it’s in a heated cart out on the landing.”

  “I’m starving, actually. Why don’t we go see what you’ve got,” he said, kissing me one last time, causing me to forget the food for a good long while.

  Eventually, we put on our robes and he brought the still-warm meal into the dining room where I had set the table with Aunt Minnie’s linens, china, silver and crystal. I’d had flowers sent up earlier in the day.

  During dinner we talked about the things we always talk about: our friends, our neighbors, what happened with him today, what I did. Of course, my report of my day was a significantly abridged version. Time enough for that later.

  When we reached the point for coffee, we moved out into the cool night, still wearing our robes, and enjoyed the stars. The full moon shone on the sparkling dark water like a shiny mirror reflecting the sky. Under other circumstances, this would have been one of the most romantic nights we’d spent in a long time.

  As it was, I was acutely aware of the rest of my agenda. Finally, seeing no way to gracefully bridge the gap, I just asked him what was on my mind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Tampa, Florida

  Thursday 11:35 p.m.

  January 27, 2000

  “GEORGE, I TALKED TO Ben Hathaway today,” I started tentatively.

  “Did you now?”

  He didn’t seem too upset so far, so I plunged on. “Yes. He said his department has stopped investigating Andrews’s murder. Seems Drake feels they’re better off with the provable case they have now than an un-provable one if they start fooling around with it.” I’d prepared for an explosion, but, thankfully, it didn’t come.

  With the moon, we didn’t need lights, so I’d flipped off the switch before we came outside. I sipped my coffee and glanced over at George, who was thoughtfully quiet for a while before he responded to me. “I know you’re worried about me, Willa. Truly, I’m worried, too. I recognize that political expediency is occasionally served at the expense of justice. But I believe in Ben and that the truth will be told, either at the trial or sometime before they actually execute me.” He smiled wanly at his weak joke.

  I was grateful for the night that hid the tears that sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t accept that my sweet, thoughtful, loving husband would ever be subjected to such a fate. I just couldn’t accept it. Ever. “Look,” I took a deep breath and put a hand on his arm. “I hired you a lawyer today. Olivia Holmes.”

  Softly, but I could hear the edge in it, George said, “What makes you think you have the right to hire a lawyer for me?”

  George is the one who takes care of us. He doesn’t like anyone to forget that. Sometimes he takes this knight in shining armor thing a little too far, whether he recognized it or not. “Obviously, it’s subject to your approval. But, you have to have someone. With your assets, the court isn’t going to appoint you a lawyer, you can’t represent yourself and I sure can’t do it,” I told him. “Besides, I thought you’d like her. She has the reputation for being the best there is.”

  George respects my legal talent, so he asked, “Why do you think she’s the right choice?”

  “Because she has a reputation for representing only innocent defendants, for one thing. I didn’t think you’d want a lawyer who’s known for getting the bad guys off.”

  �
��True,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice now. “I prefer to look like what we are. It’s a good message for the media, too, I suppose.”

  I was encouraged by his tone and his words. He’d started to think strategically, which was a big step from his philosophical rage of innocence. George is good on strategy. I often discussed strategy and tactics with him when I practiced law. He was really good at the conservative, majority, middle-America approach.

  “Yes, it is. No one except Olivia seems to be picking up on the fact that you are not a killer. Maybe our friends will even start to get the idea,” I said, bitterness creeping uninvited into my tone.

  George sat his cup down, reached over and took my hand. “You mustn’t judge them too harshly, Willa. Before the hearings uncovered his ideology, Andrews was well-loved around here. People are outraged at his death. I haven’t offered any excuses for myself. And you saw how incriminating the evidence is.” He stopped a second. “What are they supposed to think?”

  “You’re being a lot more forgiving than I’m willing to be with them all.” Normally, I try not to give a fig for what people think about me. Judges usually aren’t too popular, since we’re supposed to make the hard decisions. I’d accepted that as part of the job. But, I do want people to think the best of George. He deserves it.

  Besides that, Michael Drake lived and died by public opinion. He was an elected official and he wanted to move up the ladder, where even more people would need to vote for him. If public opinion was on George’s side, it would be that much harder for Drake to stay the course against us.

  George squeezed my hand and then let it go. The cool night air surrounded my palm once his warmth retreated. “Let’s wait and see how it turns out. I have gotten quite a few supportive calls, actually.”

  I felt a little better, encouraged. “Really? From whom?”

  “All of your family. Your Dad. Kate, Jason, Mark and even a wire from Carly in France, for starters.” He listed Kate and all of her children. “Everyone in the restaurant. Senator Warwick. President Benson, although that has to be kept quiet,” he shot me a warning glance. “The President can’t be supporting Andrews’s accused murderer. How would it look?”

  That got my back up again. “Since when have you cared how President Benson looks? He’s not exactly a personal friend. Or your favorite politician.” I wasn’t to be appeased. As far as I was concerned, this lack of faith in George from the rest of our friends was inexcusable.

  If it’s in times of trouble when you find out who your true friends are, then it didn’t seem like we had as many as I’d thought a few days ago. Nobody knows you when you’re down and out. Except we weren’t out. Down maybe, but definitely not out.

  We finished our coffee in companionable silence. When I could put it off no longer, I sprung my idea, just the way I’d rehearsed it. “George, between the two of us, we’re definitely smarter than the average bear, wouldn’t you say?”

  Again, that dry smile. “That is at least one of our conceits.” I smiled, too. “Yes, but true anyway. We can figure this out.

  We have to figure it out. We’re the only ones who want to.” I knew I sounded a little desperate, but I’d seen the police file. George hadn’t.

  There would be no investigation of other local suspects if we didn’t do it. Drake’s cold, steady gaze had told me everything I needed to know on that score. He was planning to prove George killed Andrews and ride that publicity to his next promotion. Maybe all the way to the Governor’s mansion. At least, that’s how he saw it.

  I was not willing to sit around and wait for the real murderer to take credit. If Andrews had been killed by some crazy group with an anti-Andrews agenda, they’d have claimed credit already.

  No, the murderer was someone who wanted to remain anonymous, who would be more than happy to let George take the blame.

  “I wouldn’t say we’re the only ones who want to find the killer, although we’re certainly the ones with the most serious interest.” His tone sounded almost academic and I began to lose my carefully cultivated calm. Another argument was not what I wanted, so I put a lid on my impatience.

  But I needed to get into the particulars or we’d just end up where we were before.

  “Seriously, then, I can think of several people who might want to murder Andrews. All those special interest groups who were attending the hearings: the right-to-life crowd already tried once and failed, the gay-rights groups were very vocal and angry, all of the non-Caucasian races he offended, not to mention the feminists and the Republicans.” I ticked them all off on my fingers, each with individual members who were capable, ready, willing and able.

  Now, he lectured me. “That’s the trouble with free speech. When you exercise it, people automatically assume you’re going to act violently to establish your points.”

  I ignored the invitation to discuss philosophy. “But a lot of people do use free speech to incite violence. You know that as well as I do and there was a good example in Craig Hamilton’s shooting. That man was an easily led ideologue, an instrument of destruction.” An involuntary shiver made my last words trail off.

  I told myself it was the chilled air that reached my bones as I wrapped the silk robe closer around me and tried to warm up.

  George loved a spirited debate and he took this as an invitation. “But what about the concept of free will? Do you really believe that people can be coerced to behave in ways that are repugnant to them?” he asked.

  “Do you really believe they can’t?”

  He looked at me then, with a puzzled expression. “Yes, actually. I think everyone makes his own life and is in control of his own destiny.” He must have noticed the gooseflesh on my legs. He stood up and took me by the hand, leading me back inside where it was warmer. “We all have the ability to choose whether to do an immoral or illegal act. The choices we make define us.”

  I followed him docilely back into the warmth, but not into this quagmire of philosophy over reality. “You sound like you’ve been talking to Kate. But I’m not interested in discussing esoteric concepts. I want to consider possible murder suspects. It seems to me we’ve got to include every member of Andy’s family and,” I said, remembering Olivia’s story about her brother, “every soldier Andrews ever came in contact with, as well as his close friends and acquaintances.”

  “Is that all? Should be a snap to wrap this up by morning.” He smiled his indulgence of my plan.

  “You have any better ideas?” I challenged.

  “No. But I will have in the morning. Now is not the time to panic, Mighty Mouse. You don’t always have to save the day. Let me sleep on it.” He sat his glass down, kissed the top of my head, and went into the bedroom. I took the glasses into the kitchen. I’d do the dishes later, as a sort of meditation. I looked forward to an occupation for my hands while my mind worked on more knotty problems.

  When I came out of the kitchen, George was in the den, fully dressed. I was stunned. How could he think of going back to the Club to sleep after everything we’d gone through tonight?

  “Where are you going?” I asked him. “I have a lot to talk to you about yet. We have to examine the evidence. Figure this out. You can’t just leave.”

  He walked over and held me. “Everything I said this morning still goes, Sweetheart.”

  He kissed me again, long and lovingly this time.

  When we parted, he said, “I need to stay away from here until this gets resolved. I’ll be in the restaurant, like always. Drake will notice I’m behaving normally, if that worries you. But I intend to keep suspicion away from you.”

  When I started to protest, he put his index finger over my lips. “It’s no use trying to argue me out of this. You got me to agree to Olivia and to investigating this murder ourselves. Count this as a successful use of your feminine wiles and get some sleep.”

  He moved his finger, gave me another kiss and walked out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Tampa, Florida


  Friday 8:35 a.m.

  January 28, 2000

  THE TRIAL DAY, WHICH after today I had limited to four mornings a week, continued to be substantially less mesmerizing than my private life. As CJ promised, another three hundred cases had been added to my load. My docket clerk badgered me to get them on the calendar.

  I had very little time to investigate Andrews’s murder, but there was no chance I’d stop. I could live without this job. I could return to private practice or take an in-house counsel job. But I couldn’t live without George and I wasn’t willing to let Drake take George away from me.

  Too many things on my mind; staying focused on the Newton trial was increasingly difficult.

  Fortunately the case was a jury trial, so I didn’t need to pay strict attention to everything that happened. The jury would decide the facts and I only needed to make evidentiary rulings as they came up.

  We were still hearing Newton’s case in chief. Moving right along, but shortened trial days meant little accomplished.

  There was no way Newton could keep the fact that he’d been married four times from the jury. The information was contained in The Review story he was suing over. He’d tried to take the sting out of his marital history on voir dire by choosing jurors who had been married more than once, but Tampa is still a pretty conservative place. Divorce is common, but not desirable.

  Instead of relying on the marital privilege to exclude spousal communications, today Newton planned to call the most recent of his four ex-wives to the stand. His strategy escaped me. Maybe he was trying to show that since he’d been involved in at least four heterosexual relationships, he couldn’t possibly be gay. Like the jurors, I’d just have to wait and see.

  “What’s your name, ma’am?” Newton asked his first witness.

  “Jennifer Newton,” said the fourth former Mrs. Nelson Newton.

  She looked like a young Tampa matron on her way to church: fresh, neat, not overly showy. Nervous. She held a tissue in her small hands, twisting it so tightly that her knuckles whitened. I thought she looked like she could use a tranquilizer. The entire jury already felt sorry for her.