Taking a deep breath, he sat down and told her the entire story about the night he had accidentally killed his father. He was brutally honest, and left out no details. As he looked her in the eyes, she never once showed any sign of surprise or disgust towards him. Occasionally she would scribble notes in the legal pad, but that was it. She remained silent the entire time he confessed, and her cool, detached manner impressed him, because in business, his number one rule was to never let anyone see you sweat. When he finally finished he slumped back, emotionally drained.
Studying him in silence for a moment, she finally spoke. “I wouldn't advise you to go to the police with this story. Not yet, anyway.”
“I know you're the expert, but wouldn't that....”
Holding up a hand, she interrupted. “Listen. You hired me to advise you, so just shut up, and please allow me to do what you hired me to do.”
“Sorry.” he mumbled, feeling his face flush, unaccustomed to anyone speaking to him like that.
“Now, I personally know the Commonwealth Attorney in the county you say this murder and body disposal took place in. His name is Darren Radcliffe, and if you go to the police with this, he'll see you as nothing more than a spring board to the Governorship. He's a low down, sneaky son of bitch, and the biggest media whore in the entire state. You would be a gift from the Gods in his eyes. Listen: In this day and age most cases are tried by the media before they ever hit the court room. You're a multi-billionaire, Mr. Mortensen, a very big fish to fry, as the hicks would say, and he would go out of his way to fry you, make you fodder for the press. He would make that Duke Lacrosse mess look like school playground shit. Then there's this: The fact that your mother and these two members of the household staff never came forward and informed the police of the crime. And to complicate things, they were accessories as well. They helped clean up the crime scene and dispose of the body. Now, it wouldn't be hard at all for me to have you charged and tried as a minor, since you were underage at the time of the crime, but for your mother and those staff members, forget it. They would be lucky if they got off with twenty five years apiece. Now, I don't need to remind you that prison is hard on young, strong men and women, let alone the elderly. They would be dog meat the moment they stepped foot in prison.”
Stunned, Granger thought, I can't believe that never occurred to me. Well, I can’t let Edoardo and Gianne spend one night in jail, let alone the rest of their lives. This was all my doing, not theirs...
“Mr. Mortensen, are you alright?” she asked sharply.
“Well, what's your professional advice, what should I do?” he croaked.
Tapping her pen against the notepad, she replied, “I want to look more deeply, discreetly of course, into your father's death. The official documentation, is what I mean. Something just isn't clicking here for me. From what you said, the official cause of death was listed as drowning. So if that's true, he had to have been still breathing when his car slid off that mountain road and flipped end over end into the river. But if your suspicions about your mother are right, and she did grease some palms to cover up the crime, we need to know who. You're a very wealthy man. Someone, sometime, somewhere, would have came back and blackmailed her for more money. Believe me, I deal with the dregs of society every day, and I know. If she paid someone off, they would have made contact either with you, or her, by now. You're a living, breathing, lottery jackpot for some underpaid police officer, or any public official.”
Rising to her feet, she flipped her notepad shut, then put it and the pen back inside her bag. “The first thing I'm going to do is hunt down that former mistress of your father's, the one who insisted he was murdered. I want to know why she suspected that.”
Standing, he nodded and said, “Alright, I'll give you two weeks.”
“Very well, but understand this: You are not to discuss this with anyone. Not your wife, your son, your doctor, not even Jesus, understand? And if you're the type to let something like that slip after a night of drinking with an old college buddy you haven't seen in years, I would suggest you stop drinking. I'm deadly serious, Mr. Mortensen. If that D.A I told you about even gets one whiff of this, you're toast, whether you're guilty or not. He doesn't care.”
Chilled by her words, he mumbled, “I understand.”
“I hope you do. Good day, Mr. Mortensen, I'll be in contact soon. I'll see myself to the door.”
After she had left, he began pacing again, the seriousness of the situation finally sinking in. It was also the first time that day anything or anyone had managed to make him think about anything or anyone other than Cassandra. “Two weeks.” he mumbled. “I have to find a way to keep Eduardo and Gianne out of this mess, even if I have to spirit them away to a country where they can't be extradited. The only person who's going to take the fall is me.”
Chapter 25
Plastic and pediatric surgeon Doctor Charles Quintin Harris smiled as he finished wrapping the child's ear. “Mandy, your ear is healing nicely, next week the bandages come off for good” he said, and the little girl's smile was all the reward he needed. Reaching into his lab coat pocket, he withdrew a Tootsie Pop and handed it to her. “Now, remember, I know it itches something terrible, but don't be scratching and messing around with it, hands off till next week.” he instructed.
The little girl gave him a big smile and nodded.
“Thank you so much, Doctor Harris, for everything you've done. I don't know how we can ever repay you.” the child's mother said, close to tears. The woman had very little money, and no health insurance. The doctor had offered his services after the reading in the paper about the vicious attack her daughter had suffered at the hands of a stray pit bull. She had explained that she had no money, no insurance, and couldn't even afford to pay the emergency room bill, but he had assured her he would take care of the child for no fee, reasoning that she had suffered enough, and shouldn't have to face life with a facial disfigurement.
“It was my pleasure.” he smiled as he helped the child down from the examination table. “If you'll just wait here a few more moments, my nurse will be in to schedule a follow up appointment.”
The little girl wrapped her little arms around his leg, then looked up and smiled at him again. “Thanks, Doctor Harris.”
Looking down at her, his heart went out to her for the hundredth time. He made a mental note to ask a colleague of his, a trauma counselor, if she could help out much the same way he had, free of charge, and help the girl deal with the emotional issues and nightmares that would surely follow, after suffering through such a terrible ordeal. “ You bet, see you next week, princess.” he beamed, then patted the top of her head gently.
Leaving the exam room, he signed the paperwork, called to one of his nurses, and handed her the girl's medical record. “Rhonda, make sure you give Mandy's mother the ointment. Schedule a follow up for some time next week, whatever time is best for her, she works long hours, and can't afford to miss a day of work.”
“Yes doctor.” she nodded, then left.
Glancing down at his watch, he realized his next, and last, appointment was in thirty minutes, then began walking to his office. Opening the door and stepping inside, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Mr. Bishop.” he said slowly as he closed the door behind him, never taking his eyes off the cocky private detective who was lounging behind his desk.
“Well well, if it isn't Box Charlie! Or should I just call you plain old Doctor Charles Quintin Harris the third?” Raidon smirked. Reaching down at his feet, he lifted a large brown object onto the desk. “Here, I brought you a new box.”
Charlie remained silent, studying him warily.
Rising to his feet, Raidon began walking around the office, pretending to study the many framed awards and degrees on the wall.
Finally releasing a sigh of defeat, Charlie went to his desk and sat down heavily. “Well, either you're good, very very good, or I'm getting too old, and beginning to slip.”
He said.
Turn
ing to look at him for a moment, Raidon tilted his head towards a framed photograph on his desk. It was a photo of a younger Charlie, with his arms wrapped proudly around two teenage girls. One appeared to be seventeen or so, the other perhaps fourteen. “That’s the young lady, your daughter, isn't it? The one who you suspect Brett Parker, uhhh, attacked?” he asked in a quiet, respectful voice.
“I don't SUSPECT, I know for a FACT he killed her!” he nearly shouted as tears sprang to his eyes.
“I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry.” Raidon answered in a soft voice.
Ignoring the apology, Charlie slumped back in his chair, seemingly drained of all vitality for the moment. “I had just started my practice when it happened. Mona Parker, Brett's grandmother, as I'm sure you know, lived not two hundred yards from our house. When Brett moved in with her, after his own parents had died, I'm sure you know about that as well, he started coming around. At first I thought he was interested in Tamra, my oldest daughter. Bear in mind, all this was before anyone suspected foul play in the deaths of his parents. Well, it turned out it wasn't Tamra he was interested in, but Shelly, our youngest. To my wife and I, it seemed harmless enough, they were close in age, so we allowed the friendship.”
Approaching the front of the desk, Raidon pulled up a chair and sat down, facing the man silently.
Visibly struggling to compose himself, Charlie continued. “After about...six months, we started noticing a change in Shelly, she became withdrawn. She was no longer the outgoing young lady she had always been. Both her mother and I tried to get her to talk to us, but she refused. Then one day, seemingly out of the blue, it appeared she snapped out of the funk she had been in, and began indulging again in one of her favorite past-times, long distance running. There was another thing that escaped our notice at the time, and that was the fact that Brett Parker hadn't paid a visit for a couple of weeks, leading up to her snapping out of the depression she had been in. She had met a rather nice young man at school, and seemed much more interested in his company. One morning went for a run, and never came home, it was the last time we ever saw her alive.” he finished as his voice cracked.
Raidon had learned bits and pieces of the story from one of his contacts, but he remained tactfully silent.
Wiping his eyes, Charlie reached into a pocket and withdrew a key ring. Opening a locked desk drawer, he reached in and pulled out a brown leather journal. ”After we buried my daughter, I went to her room to pack up some things, neither my wife or oldest daughter could bear to go into her room, and I found this. Her last entry was three days before her...before she left us.” he said as he opened the journal, flipped through the pages for a moment, then handed it to Raidon.
Handling the journal like it was a priceless treasure, he looked down and read:
May 1st: Brett won't leave me alone, he shows up everywhere I go! Yesterday he followed me down to the river (I had no idea at the time) where I was supposed to meet Sam for our morning run. Sam wasn't there yet, I always arrive earlier than him, to do my stretching exercises, and Brett confronted me.
He was holding a small white kitten, and his eyes, Brett's, I mean, just didn't look right, and it scared me. He said that if I didn't stop hanging out with Sam he would make me suffer. Only then did I notice he was strangling the poor kitten. I cried and begged him to stop, but he didn't.
He tossed the dead cat at my feet and warned me if I said anything to anyone, he would hurt my family before he killed me.
Raidon felt a cold chill run down his spine. “Didn't she ever tell anyone?”
Charles snorted. “Don't you think if she had told me that I wouldn't have murdered the bastard with my own two hands? And the police, forget about it. Mona was a very powerful, wealthy woman, and she had the Sheriff’s Department in her hip pocket. And all of the condemning evidence found at the scene of my daughter's death? LOST. When I showed that worm of a Sheriff her journal, he dismissed it as the writings of a dramatic, overly emotional girl going through puberty.”
Looking at the entry again, Raidon could tell the book had been opened to that particular page many times. There were several small stains on the paper, it looked as if drops of water had splashed onto the page and dried, but he knew better. Were these his tears, or hers? Or both? He wondered, suddenly feeling queasy. Closing the book carefully, he looked back up at the man. “I'm leaving for Mexico in a few days, and you can rest assured I'll find a way to make Brett Parker pay for his crimes.” he said in a steely voice, then tried to hand the journal back.
Holding up one hand, Charlie replied, “Keep it, maybe you'll see something I was unable to. Perhaps my emotional involvement clouds my judgment from time to time, it's certainly within the realm of possibility.”
“I understand.” he replied quietly, then rose to his feet. “I'll be in touch.”
As Charles watched him leave, he desperately wanted to believe he would see his daughter's murderer face justice. He had lost everything dear to him trying to bring this monster down. His eldest daughter was distant and resentful, and his beloved wife, Christen, had grieved herself to death. “Justice? You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law...William Gaddis. What a lie!” he muttered as his eyes narrowed to slits. One way or another, you'll pay! It ends soon.... he thought as he opened the bottom desk drawer and looked at the .38 revolver lying there.
Chapter 26
Cassandra fidgeted impatiently as she waited to see the supposed specialist Granger had flown in from Europe. Glancing at her husband, who was seated beside her and reading business reports, she drank in the sight of him. He looked gorgeous in the expensive gray suit, and from the lusty looks four office workers were giving him, she wasn't alone in her assessment. It made her feel drab sitting next to him, in her simple white blouse and jeans. Why would this man want me, he could have any woman he wants.. She wondered. A sudden sharp, blinding pain in both temples made her flinch involuntarily, and she closed her eyes and had a sudden flashback of some sort. It was brief glimpse of a woman, but it vanished just as suddenly as it came, and she couldn't make out the woman's face or any other details. Rubbing her temples, she flinched as the vision returned, only this time the blurred image seemed to be charging towards her, brandishing a weapon of some type over her head. Then, just as suddenly as the last, it vanished.
“Cassandra, are you alright?” Granger asked as he touched her arm.
Not knowing what to make of it all, she merely nodded and replied, “Yeah, I'm Ok, guess I'm just tired.”
“Cassandra Mortensen?” a voice called.
Looking up, they both saw a nurse standing there, dressed in crisp pink scrubs and holding a clipboard.
Getting to her feet, Cassandra began following the woman as she led her to what looked like an exam room.
Once they were inside, the nurse said, “Please, have a seat. I need to take your vitals and get some personal information.” Pointing to a plastic chair, she turned and saw Granger standing in the doorway. “Sir, I'm sorry, you'll have to go to the front check in for help, I'm with a patient now.”
“Uhhh, your patient happens to be my wife.” he chuckled, clearly amused.
Cassandra could tell the nurse was embarrassed, her face turned bright red, and she was suddenly having a hard time making eye contact with either one of them.
Mumbling an apology, the nurse quickly took her vitals, withdrew three blood samples, asked several more routine questions, marked the answers off on her own chart, then led them to the doctor’s office.
Looking around, Cassandra felt at ease almost immediately. The room looked more like a library than your run of the mill doctor’s office. Four wooden bookshelves were completely filled with books, and in the center of the room a cherry wood desk faced two large, comfortable looking leather chairs. There was even a natural gas fireplace to the right of the desk.
Taking a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs, she sighed contentedly and tried to brush away the sudden, nagging feelin
g that she was somehow betraying Brett.
Sitting down in the chair to her left, Granger smiled at her and patted her hand reassuringly.
Several minutes later a tall, almost painfully thin white man came walking in, and the first thing Cassandra noticed was how startling the man's dark eyes were in contrast to his fair skin and light hair. He reminded Cassandra of Ichabod Crane, and the bright way in which he smiled at them made him look younger than she had first thought.
“ Mr. and Mrs. Mortensen, I'm Doctor Zachrick. I'm glad to see you've made yourselves comfortable.”
Rising to his feet, Granger shook the man's hand. “Pleasure. I'm Granger, and this is my wife, Cassandra.”
Turning to her, the doctor clasped her hand in his two thin ones. “Nice to meet you, Cassandra, I'm looking forward to trying to help you.”
“Thank you.” she replied. “Doctor, I noticed your degrees on the wall. But I thought you practiced overseas?”
Remember Me Page 25
