Kill All the Lawyers

by Paul Levine

  Stop worrying. Bobby's okay.

  Steve kept telling himself that. The boy hadn't run away from home; he hadn't been kidnapped. Maria's the first girl who showed him the rhinestone in her navel, so he's experimenting. They're probably necking somewhere under a palm tree, and they'll show up at dawn, sweaty and mosquito-bitten. It's normal.

  He's okay, dammit. Stop worrying.

  Steve had already checked out Cocoplum, driving down to the bay, then coming back up to the circle at the Gables Waterway. Now he hung a left at Matheson Hammock. He passed the deserted picnic area and drove parallel to the bicycle path, which wound through a tangle of black-and-red mangrove trees. He stopped at the saltwater pond. No cars in the parking lot. Bicycle rack empty.

  No Bobby. And no Maria.

  Steve got out of the car and walked around the pond, just yards from the open bay. The tide was out, and a marshy smell hung in the air. A passel of herons tracked across the wet sand, seeking an early breakfast. Across the bay, a few lights twinkled in the condos of Key Biscayne. To the north, the downtown skyscrapers were dark.

  The silence was broken by a Boston Whaler chugging out of the channel, an early start for a day of fishing. Over the ocean at the horizon, flashes of lightning brightened a ribbon of clouds. The wind was kicking up, rippling the water. The full moon was obscured by a growing cloud cover but still bright enough to light the sky, like a lamp through a shade. The forecast was for rain, a band of squalls in advance of a cold front.

  Steve got back in the car and drove farther south on Old Cutler, pulling into Fairchild Tropical Garden. He'd brought Bobby there a few times, the boy enjoying the peacefulness of the place. Noises still tightened him up. Tranquillity seemed essential to his therapy.

  Steve parked at the gate. Everything locked. He got out of the car, leaving the headlights on. Crouched down on a narrow dirt path that ran up to a perimeter fence near the entrance. Next to a hibiscus hedge, bicycle tracks. Two bikes had been here.

  Okay, so what?

  Well, for starters, the tracks were fresh. It had rained briefly in late afternoon, and the tracks would have been made after that.

  Great. Give yourself a Boy Scout badge, but like I said before, so what?

  Well, you couldn't ride past this point. The dirt path dead-ended at the fence. So the bikers must have stopped and parked their bikes here. Maybe they went inside.

  Yeah? So. . .

  Steve didn't know. Except . . . in the reddish dirt two sets of tire tracks approached the fence, but only one left. So what the hell happened to the other bike?

  Just then, Steve's cell phone rang, the sound jarring in the stillness. On the screen, he recognized his home phone number.

  "Yeah, Vic?"

  "Bobby just rode up."

  "Great. Maria at her house?"

  "No." He heard the tension in her voice. "Steve— Bobby doesn't know where she is."

  * * *

  Just before dawn, Steve slid the Mustang to a stop in his driveway and someone screamed.

  He hadn't seen Eva Munoz-Goldberg running toward his front door. She nimbly leapt to one side and the front fender just missed her. In great shape from step class or tai chi, Steve figured. Good thing, or he'd be facing vehicular manslaughter charges.

  Eva's momentum carried her toward the flagstone path leading to the house. She hopped over a small shrub, then lost her balance on the dew-slick flagstone. The second scream came when she pitched forward, scraping a knee. Steve admired the way Eva scrambled to her feet and headed for his front door without stopping to curse at him.

  Bobby's bike was leaning against the pepper tree. Meaning the boy was inside. Steve heard the shouts before he made it to the front door. He found Eva in the living room, her knee bleeding, hair a mess, shrieking at Bobby. "Where is she! Where's my daughter!"

  Janice slung a protective arm around Bobby's shoulder and kept her considerable girth between her son and Eva. "Back off, bitch, or you're gonna need some more plastic surgery."

  "Thank God you're here, Steve," Victoria said.

  Steve wasn't sure which was more disconcerting, Eva screeching or Janice holding on to Bobby. "C'mere, kiddo." He pried the boy away from his mother, hoisted him up by the armpits, and worked both arms under his butt. It's easy to do with a toddler, not a twelve-year-old, even one as gangly as Bobby.

  Bobby was trembling and pale and he smelled sour. He looped his legs around Steve's waist and put his head on a shoulder.

  "You stink, kiddo."

  "Threw up."

  He carried Bobby into the kitchen, just to get away from the others. He could hear Victoria telling the two women to give them some space, let Steve handle this.

  "I'm sorry, Uncle Steve."

  "It's okay. Where's Maria?"

  "Dunno. We were at Fairchild. She got mad at me and left."

  "What made her mad?"

  "I was stupid."

  "Yeah?"

  "I tried what Dr. Bill said . . ."

  Steve felt his jaw clench and a wave a heat flared through his gut. "Dr. Bill?"

  "He said I should take Maria there at the full moon because that's when girls get really hot. And then she'd want to do it."

  "But when you got there, Maria said no?"

  "Yeah."

  "And what'd you do?"

  "At first, I sort of pushed her. But then I stopped. 'Cause of that dorky stuff you taught me. 'No means no. Maybe means no. It takes maturity to keep your purity.' All that stuff."

  "Good boy. But Maria was still mad at you?"

  "I guess. I got sick and hurled chunks all over some bromeliads. I went over to the lake to clean up, and when I got back she wasn't there. I got my bike, but hers was gone. I thought she was riding home."

  "Did you try to catch up with her?"

  "Yeah. How'd you know?"

  "Because that's what I would have done. Ride really fast. If she only had a few minutes' head start, you would have caught her."

  "That's what I tried. But I never saw her."

  Because she was snatched! When she came to pick up her bike, someone was waiting.

  It came back to him then. That day in Kreeger's office.

  "Just a hypothetical question, Solomon. If Robert killed Maria, wouldn't you do anything to keep him out of prison? Wouldn't you even take the rap for him?"

  Steve felt his arms involuntarily tighten around his nephew. Conflicting emotions. Thankful Bobby was safe. But absolute horror at the thought that his girlfriend could be dead by now. Maybe Bobby heard Steve's breaths quicken or felt his heart thumping. Whatever it was, the boy whimpered.

  A second later, Victoria was alongside, running a hand through Bobby's hair. He stretched his neck like a cat that wanted to be petted. A second after that, Janice was there, too.

  "Bitch went outside," Janice reported. "How's my boy?"

  Bobby shrugged. His arms tightened around Steve's neck.

  "Stevie, can I have my son, please?"

  "Yes."

  "Because you've got no right to keep him away from—" Startled, she stopped. "Did you say yes?"

  Steve put the boy down. "We gotta all be on the same team, Jan."

  "Why? What's going on?"

  "Take Bobby to bed and we'll talk."

  Puzzled, Janice draped a meaty arm around the boy and walked him toward his bedroom.

  "What's happened, Steve?" Victoria asked.

  He could barely get out the words. "Kreeger. He's got Maria. He's going to rape her and kill her. And frame Bobby. All to punish me."

  Victoria blinked twice. Then she swiftly recovered. "I'll talk to Eva. You call the police."

  Just then, a woman's scream. Steve recognized it immediately. It was the third time he'd heard it that morning.

  Steve and Victoria raced outside. Eva was standing next to Bobby's bike. The zipper on the vinyl bag attached to the seat was open. Eva clutched something to her chest. A moment later, when Steve realized what it was, a feeling of dread spread throug
h him like a poisonous tide.

  "Where is she!" Eva ran toward Steve, flailing at him. "Goddammit!" Her voice broke between spasms of sobs. "What did he do to her?"

  Punches landed on his chest, his shoulder, his arms. One wayward blow glanced off his temple. Steve made no effort to ward off the punches. He was already in such pain, it simply didn't hurt to be hit by a petite woman, her face wet with tears, a small pink brassiere wrapped around her fist.

  Thirty-Seven

  FROM THE SWAMP TO THE SEA

  The cop had a familiar face.

  A mini-Afro. A name tag that said "Teele." A skeptical look.

  Sure, the guy who arrested me at the radio station. The second time.

  Bad break, Steve thought. They were standing in Steve's driveway just after seven A.M. Janice was inside, sacked out on the sofa. Bobby was asleep in his bedroom, Victoria sitting watch alongside. Myron and Eva were back in their house on Loquat, giving statements to Teele's partner, Rodriguez.

  "Dr. Kreeger is canoeing on the Suwannee," Teele said.

  "Canoe-ing on the Su-wan-nee?" Steve used his best derisive tone, dragging out the words. "That is the worst fucking alibi I've ever heard, and my clients have used some doozies."

  Teele lowered his voice into serious cop mode. "You're saying Dr. Bill kidnapped this girl and planted evidence to incriminate your nephew, but you've got no proof. Now, I listen to Dr. Bill's radio show . . ."

  Oh, great. A fan.

  ". . . and I think he makes some good points. As for the girl, she could be sleeping in somebody's backyard, and any minute she'll come riding up the street on her bike."

  Cops usually assumed the worst because they see the worst. But this guy was an optimist, Steve thought. "So you reached Kreeger on his cell?"

  "Couldn't get him. He's up the river past Hatchbend, where there's no service."

  Up the river past Hatchbend? Jeez, I'm in Mayberry with Deputy Barney Fife.

  "What the hell's he doing up there?" Steve demanded.

  "Fishing for largemouth bass, the way we hear it."

  "Lemme guess. The woman living at Kreeger's house gave you this cock-and-bass story."

  Teele checked his little cop pad. "Mary Amanda Lamm. That's correct."

  "Kreeger brainwashed her. She'd say anything he wanted her to."

  "Was she lying when she said both you and your nephew are patients of Dr. Kreeger?"

  "Not patients, exactly."

  The cop made a note on the pad. "So you're not under court order to see Dr. Kreeger?"

  "Okay, technically true, but—"

  "For sexual deviancy."

  "No!"

  The cop used his pen to scratch his scalp through the mini-Afro. "I pulled the report, Solomon. The boy's a peeper. And Ms. Lamm claims she came out of the shower one day and found you lurking in her bathroom."

  "Bedroom," Steve corrected, a lawyer slicing the bologna too thin. "I was lurking in her bedroom. But that's got nothing to do with the court ordering me to see Kreeger."

  "Right. That would be for your violent streak."

  "Look, Teele, Maria's missing. The clock's ticking. By the time you guys get off your butts, she could be dead."

  "I hope not, sir. For your sake. Because your nephew was the last person to see the girl. By his own admission, he made unwelcome advances to her while inebriated, and her brassiere was found in his belongings. The way I see it, the only evidence points straight at him."

  * * *

  Victoria was the first one out of the Mustang when Steve pulled to a stop in front of Kreeger's home. The morning had turned windy and gray and smelled of rain. They'd left Bobby with Janice, but Cece was on the way there to chaperone.

  On the drive to the Gables, Victoria had asked Steve if he had a plan.

  "Amanda's going to tell us where Kreeger is," he said flatly.

  "And betray her lover?"

  "There's a glimmer of something good inside her. We just have to tap into that."

  Victoria wasn't so sure. "And how do we do that?"

  "Good cop, bad cop."

  "I assume I'm the good cop."

  "Which means you go first. If you don't get anywhere, I'll take over."

  Victoria remained skeptical but kept quiet. No use in chipping away at Steve's confidence.

  Amanda answered the door, for once wearing clothes. Two articles of clothing, to be exact: a red tank top and tight white short-shorts. No bra and clearly no panties, judging from the outline of her taco. No makeup. Hair tied in pigtails. A twenty-yearold trying to look fourteen.

  She smiled and said, "Goody, more visitors. Hey, Ms. Lord, did you get that bikini wax yet?"

  Victoria shot a look at Steve, who shrugged as if to say sorry.

  "Cutie here really admired my landing strip." Amanda gave Steve a flirtatious tilt of the chin.

  "Cut the bullshit, Amanda," Steve said. "We've got to talk."

  She ignored him, focused on Victoria. "I offered Cutie a closer look, but he said he'd have to think about it."

  "How unusual," Victoria replied. "Cutie so seldom thinks before acting."

  One minute later, they were all inside. A nondescript living room with a sofa and two facing chairs. An old fireplace. A floor of Dade County pine. A coffee table with a bowl of slightly overripe fruit. No personal items, other than the oil painting of Kreeger on a power boat.

  "Amanda, we really need your help," Victoria said, her tone pleasant.

  "Like I told the cops, Uncle Bill's canoeing upstate."

  "We don't think so." Still soft, still pleasant. "We think he kidnapped a twelve-year-old girl. We're afraid what he'll do to her if we don't stop him."

  "That's silly," Amanda said, sounding like a preteen herself. She picked up a green apple from the bowl, tucked both legs under herself, and started munching.

  Amanda didn't seem overly concerned, Victoria thought. A missing girl. Her lover accused. And here she was, nibbling away on a Granny Smith. Was it possible, Victoria wondered, that Amanda was as much a sociopath as Kreeger?

  "Uncle Bill's a lover, not a killer," Amanda added with a sly smile. "And I ought to know."

  "Dammit, Amanda!" Steve said, breaking in before he was supposed to. "Kreeger killed a guy named Jim Beshears. He killed a boat captain named Oscar De la Fuente. And he killed your mother."

  "Now I know you're lying," Amanda said. "I'm the one who killed the witch."

  She said it with a certain amount of glee that Victoria found unsettling. "You were thirteen, Amanda. Kreeger was giving you drugs when he seduced you. Your memory can't be trusted."

  Steve picked up the story and they tag-teamed her: "Your mother found out about the two of you and they had a big fight. Kreeger hit her with a skimmer pole and pushed her into the hot tub. Then he convinced you that you'd done it."

  "Like I said before, you have everything bass ackwards." Amanda giggled. "I seduced Uncle Bill. I was smoking a little weed, but that's it. Bill gave me some Valium after I killed Mom because I was freaking out. I wanted to call the cops and confess, but Bill said he'd take care of everything."

  "He's brainwashed you, goddammit!" Steve said.

  Amanda took a dainty bite from the apple. "Where was Mom hit, Cutie?"

  "Right side of the skull."

  "Uncle Bill's right-handed. If they were having a fight, wouldn't he have hit her on the left side?"

  "Pincher covered that. Your mother must have turned and started walking away when Kreeger hit her."

  Amanda's "ha-ha-ha" seemed contrived, like everything else about her, Victoria thought.

  "That's not how it happened," Amanda said. "Me and Mom. We were facing each other. She called me a little whore, said she was gonna send me away to some school for fuckups and I'd never see Bill again. I picked up the pool thingie and hit her as hard as I could. She fell into the hot tub, and I just stood there and watched her drown."

  Amanda picked up another apple from the bowl and flung it—left-handed—at Steve. He cau
ght the apple and exchanged looks with Victoria.

  "Uncle Bill got rid of the pool thingie," Amanda continued. "He came up with the story that Mom slipped and hit her head. The jury didn't believe him. Why should they? It wasn't true."

  "I don't believe you," Steve said.

  "But I do." Victoria stood, grabbed the apple from Steve, and tossed it from hand to hand as she spoke. "And if I'm right, if you're telling the truth, you owe your life to Kreeger. I'll bet you stayed faithful to him all those years he was in prison."

  "I was a good girl. I promised I'd wait for him, and I did."

  Victoria nodded in agreement. "After what he did for you—covering up a murder you committed—how could you do anything else?"

  "You got it, Ms. Lord."

  Victoria took a step toward Amanda. "Which means you'll never betray him, no matter what he's done in the past, no matter what he's doing now."

  Amanda winked at Steve. "She's smarter than you are, Cutie."

  "I know," Steve admitted. He turned to Victoria, looking defeated. "So if Amanda killed her mother, I lost a case for an innocent man. No wonder Kreeger hates me."

  "But you were right about everything else." Still tossing the shiny green apple from hand to hand, Victoria paced in front of the sofa where Amanda sat cross-legged. "Kreeger killed Beshears and De la Fuente, didn't he, Amanda?"

  "I'll never tell," she sang in her little-girl voice.

  "You know one difference between Steve and me?" Victoria asked.

  "I don't know and I don't care."

  "Steve would never hurt a woman. It's not in him. But me .. ."

  And before Steve saw it coming, Victoria drew back her right arm and threw a punch as hard as she could. Not a jab. And not a hook. A fist that had an apple in it and all her weight behind it.

  The Granny Smith smashed squarely into Amanda's nose.

  There were three sounds, coming a second apart. The crack of cartilage, the thump of Amanda's butt hitting the floor, and a yelp.