“I can understand that,” Larry said.
“So I got out, and my first order of business was to find him. I was offered the job at the FBI, and it seemed like a good opportunity to track him down. As soon as I did, I quit and came here.”
“And you got a job where he worked.”
“That’s right,” she said weakly.
“Why, Melissa? What did you hope would happen?”
“I wanted to get all the evidence I needed on him—enough to put him behind bars for good this time.”
“But he was acquitted. They weren’t ever going to try Sandy’s case.”
“Exactly. So I had to make sure there was another one.”
So you followed him and watched him? he wanted to prompt her. You tried to catch him at something, only he came after you instead? But he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t give her that story. If she would just say it on her own . . .
“What did you do, Melissa?”
She got up then, unable to look at him, and walked to the edge of the patio. “I decided to make myself the sacrificial lamb.”
“No,” he said, his heart plummeting. She didn’t mean what he thought. She couldn’t.
She turned back to him. “I knew the only way I could make sure I got everything on him I needed was to be his victim.” Seeing the look of horror on Larry’s face, she took a step toward him. “But it’s not what you think. I wasn’t really going to let him touch me. I just wanted it to look like he did.”
“You did set him up.” The words came out in a moan, and he stood and faced her squarely. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
She was crying now, and her face twisted. She covered it for a moment, then dropped her hands. “Larry, I was desperate. You have to understand. It was the only way.”
“How did you do it?”
“I—did invite him over—and I was terrified. I had planned to have him come in for a while, touch some things, get his fingerprints all over the place. But I lost my nerve, and when he got there, I told him I didn’t feel well, and I’d give him a rain check. He got mad and pushed his way in—”
“By force.” Larry latched onto those words, thinking maybe, just maybe, Pendergrast had done something. Maybe she hadn’t lied about all of it. Not the important part.
“Well, not for long. I had a knife, and I threatened him with it. He finally just backed off and left.”
Larry’s stomach sank. “But your apartment . . .”
“I did all that,” she said. “I turned over tables and furniture, broke glasses to make it look like a struggle.”
He turned away. “What about the cut on your leg? What about the blood on his shirt in his car?”
She waited a long time before answering that one. “He had an extra change of clothes at work. I took his shirt that day, and got the knife out of his drawer. I cut my hand and got blood all over the shirt, then wrapped the knife up in the shirt and stuck them under his seat. And I got some of the hairs out of the brush he kept in his desk, and put them on my sheets. That night, before I called the police, I cut my leg. Then I showered. In case I was examined, I knew there wouldn’t be any physical evidence, and a shower would explain that. And then I called the police, and as I waited, I started to cry, deeper and harder than I had even when I found Sandy dead. I don’t think I’ve ever been more miserable in my life, but I also felt—I don’t know—justice. That, finally, something was being done.”
She clutched her head as the memory came back. “It was supposed to have been easy. They were supposed to arrest him, put him in jail, take him to trial. The evidence was so conclusive that no jury could have acquitted him. But I never counted on getting involved with a cop who could see right through my story.”
Larry sank down into his chair and rested his face in his hands.
“Larry, it could work! Don’t you see? He’s raped two women, and one of them is dead—and those are only the reported cases, the ones we know about. If he goes to jail because of this, it’ll be justice—finally.”
Larry looked up at her with a helpless expression. “The defense will crucify you, Melissa. He knows you lied. He knows who you are now. He’ll tell them everything you did. They’ll find as much evidence as we have. You’ll never get away with it.”
“But I might!” She sank down next to him and touched his face with her trembling hand. “They won’t believe him. Even his own lawyers won’t. I’m not asking you to cover up, Larry. I’m just asking you to be quiet. Just don’t tell anyone what you’ve found. Now that I’ve explained it all, you must understand. Haven’t you ever had a case where the end justified the means?”
His face was a study in misery as he stared at her. “Melissa, if the police force operated with that philosophy, we wouldn’t even have a court system. We’d just go around shooting everybody who looked guilty. I’ve always gone by the book. I believe in the system.”
“That’s because it’s never failed you!” she shouted. “Your sister didn’t die because of it! If she had, you’d have done exactly the same thing!”
He got up again, putting some distance between them, and paced across the patio, rubbing the back of his neck. “I understand why you did it, Melissa. But it’s still wrong. You can’t plant evidence. You can’t lie to a grand jury.”
“He had already raped, Larry!” she shouted. “They let him go!”
“But he didn’t rape you!”
Silence screamed across the night, and she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “If you turn me in, Larry, I’ll be the one punished, and he’ll walk away scot-free. Again! Is that right? You swore to get criminals off the streets. Well, I’m not the criminal, and he’s still walking the streets!”
His face twisted with pain as he looked down at her, and finally he sat down next to her and cupped her chin with his hand. “Don’t you understand? Even if I did keep quiet, Tony’s an inch away from going to the captain with what he knows. Everyone’s going to figure it out.”
“No, they won’t!” she cried. “They may think they’ve figured it out, they may suggest it in court, but they can’t prove it! The jury will just think they’re grasping! Another case of the victim being made to look like the criminal.” She rose up on her knees and grabbed his arms, making him look at her. “Larry, it could work. The man who raped my sister and caused her to kill herself could be convicted. All I’m asking you to do is nothing. Just leave it alone. And get Tony off the track. Come up with a story. You can do it.”
He looked at her, saw the goodness, the determination, the torture in her eyes. He had vowed to bring her smile back, but instead he was threatening to send it fleeing forever. His convictions began to wane, and he wondered what would happen if he did just what she was asking—nothing. Maybe Tony would buy the story he’d already suggested tonight. Maybe no one would ever have to know.
God will know.
That voice inside him, the one that always warned him when he began to stray, startled him.
“I’m a Christian,” he said. “I don’t know if that means a whole lot to you, but it does to me.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But God promised that he would not leave the guilty unpunished. Maybe this is his way of punishing Pendergrast.”
“You know it isn’t,” Larry said. “God never asks us to sin to accomplish his will. God didn’t tell you to lie, or to set up a crime, or to pretend that you’re a victim—”
“I am his victim!” she cried. “The day my sister died, I became his victim. God knows that!”
“You can’t hide behind God on this one, Melissa. And I can’t hide this from him.”
“I’m not asking you to. This is between God and me. Leave it at that. This doesn’t have to compromise your faith. God won’t blame you for it.”
“Melissa, if you believe that,” he said sadly, “you’re farther from God than I thought. If I lie for you, or cover up, or even withhold information, I’ll be accountable. My relationship with Christ depends on my heart, not
yours. And if I make a choice that I know is apart from his will . . .” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t go on.
She covered her mouth again and caught a sob, and she rested her forehead on his knee. He touched the back of her head, then bent down to kiss it. Misery overcame him, blinding him, scorching him, and finally, he whispered, “I’ve got to go. I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, raising her head. “I guess you do.”
She followed him to his car, and before he got in, he lingered there for a moment, looking at her with sad, soft eyes. He reached up and touched her wet cheek, and she set her hand on top of his, held it there for a moment. Finally, he leaned over and kissed her, sweet, long, and sad.
“I’m sorry, Larry,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, squinting against his own tears. “Me, too.”
She watched as he got into his car and pulled out of the driveway. In her heart, she knew that he would never kiss her again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Larry sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor as if the facts lined up on it like ceramic tiles.
Fact. He had sworn to get criminals off the street.
Fact. Pendergrast had been charged with two other rapes.
Fact. Pendergrast had managed to beat the law and was still on the streets.
Fact. Pendergrast had broken into Melissa’s apartment, called her, and stalked her.
Fact. Pendergrast had threatened to fulfill the lies she’d told about him, and his history indicated that he would do just that.
Fact. Tony knew that something wasn’t right in the case.
Fact. Melissa was guilty of lying before a grand jury.
Fact. The penalty for that lie was up to five years in prison.
Fact. Larry was falling in love with her.
That final fact made him cover his eyes with his hand and fall back onto his bed. Tony had warned him. He was getting too involved, too close. He was letting her influence him. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking straight.
Even so—could he honestly take the chance of sending her to prison?
He fell to his knees beside his bed and cried out to God to help him with this lose-lose decision—this choice that shouldn’t be a choice at all.
He had never meant to care about her, but she had seemed so alone.
He felt God’s love, radiating through him like sunlight on a July day, and he knew that love was for Melissa, too. God had a plan for her. But what if it wasn’t one that Larry could live with?
“She’ll go to prison if I tell what I know!” he cried out to God. “With hookers and drug addicts and thieves. She’s so little—she’ll never survive.
“And Pendergrast will go free—again! He’ll hurt others. You know he will, Lord. That can’t happen. He raped Sandy. Lord, help me understand . . .”
His prayer went on into the night, pleading with God, reasoning with him, wrestling with him. The options, both his and God’s, whirled through his mind, exhausting him with choices and possibilities, absolutes and shades of gray.
And by the time dawn intruded on the room, Larry had made the choice that he knew he shouldn’t make, the choice that would protect the woman he loved. The choice that would be a lie. Wearily, he cried out to God again, “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do!”
But a shadow fell over the room as he spoke, for God wasn’t listening anymore. Already, there was a barrier.
Already.
Feeling empty and angry, he got to his feet, exhausted, troubled, miserable, and tried to sort out what he needed to do. He would go to the station and tell Tony that Melissa had confirmed the “supposing” he had done last night. He would say that she had worked undercover to catch Pendergrast at something, but that the tables had turned and he had come after her instead. Her plan had backfired, and she’d been made a victim.
And then he’d call in every favor Tony had ever owed him to convince him to let Larry call the shots on this case. Tony would listen. He’d have to.
Melissa would only have to answer to the DA for not telling everything from the beginning. It would look bad for her, but it wouldn’t land her in jail. And any jury would believe it.
Whatever the outcome, it was better than telling the truth.
He showered and got dressed, playing the story over and over in his mind. Tony would believe him. It would make sense. And Tony would never in a million years think that Larry would lie. Not even for a woman.
His spirits remained deflated as he went around the apartment straightening up, keeping busy so that he wouldn’t think about principles, or values, or his relationship with God. And then he saw his Bible, lying open on the table where he had been reading from it yesterday. The words were suddenly threatening, whatever they were, and he couldn’t bear to see them. He closed it suddenly and set it on the bookshelf where it wasn’t as likely to catch his eye.
He couldn’t think about what he was doing. All he could do was act—quickly—before his own convictions forced him to change his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Melissa, do you think suicide keeps you from heaven?”
“Why would you ask something like that? Sandy, don’t even think that. We’re going to put this behind us. One day, it’ll all be over, and he’ll be in jail, and we’ll be able to laugh again—”
“He’s not in jail, Melissa. He’s still out there. And I feel so dirty.”
“You have to trust. You have to have faith.”
“Sometimes I just don’t have the patience for faith. Prayers take too long to be answered. Maybe I have to take things into my own hands—”
“What do you mean? Going after him? Hurting him somehow?”
No answer.
And then the dream changed scenes, and there were ambulances, police cars, interrogations, coroners, the crowd around the house just like it had been on the night of the rape . . .
Drama upon drama . . .
Then the dream flashed back to little girls on the beach, romping in frothing waves, laughing and splashing each other. It changed to a ballet recital, when Melissa, in awe, had watched Sandy as the star soloist in the spring production, then afterward, when the family had gone out for ice cream, and Sandy had laughed and talked nonstop about all the catastrophes backstage.
Then Melissa stood over a baptismal, watching as her sister gave her testimony, then was baptized—then stepped aside as Melissa, younger but just as touched by the Holy Spirit, did the same.
“Do you feel different, Sandy?” she asked as they climbed the stairs out of the baptismal.
“I feel clean,” Sandy said with tears in her eyes. “Reborn. Like this is a beginning.”
And then the dream changed again, and the baptismal was a bathtub, and it wasn’t the beginning, but the end, and Sandy wasn’t born; she was dead.
Melissa woke in a cold sweat, shivering from the force of emotion that had assaulted her even in the dream. Throwing the covers back, she ran to the bathroom and threw up, then sat on the floor waiting for it to happen again.
“I feel dirty, too, Sandy,” she whispered. Covering her mouth, she tried to muffle her sobs so she wouldn’t wake Lynda. She was dirty.
And she was making Larry dirty, too.
She leaned back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see God through it. “Why did she have to die?” she asked.
She sobbed into her knees, hugging them tightly.
After a while, she got up wearily and washed her face, dried it, and looked in the mirror. She didn’t like what she saw, so she turned away.
Opening the door that went from her bedroom onto the patio, she went outside and sat on the swing, hugging her knees and looking up at the stars as if being there brought her closer to the Lord. “I’ve asked Larry to do something horrible,” she whispered to God. She covered her face. “How could I ask him to make a choice like that? Who am I, to do that?”
Her muffled sobs came hard
er.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever make me new again, like when I first knew you?”
Slowly, a strange peace fell over her, as though some heavenly hand were stroking her hair, whispering to her that it would be all right. And for the first time since Sandy’s death, Melissa began to feel that, someday, maybe it would be all right.
Sliding her hands down her face, Melissa cried out, “Lord, tell me what I have to do.”
She wept some more, feeling all her energy draining out of her, but into her mind crept the answer she had sought. There was only one answer.
She had to set things right—for Larry, and for herself—no matter what the consequences were. There was no one left to depend on but God. And somehow, now, she felt that she had the patience Sandy had not had to trust him. He would take care of her. He would forgive her.
She really had no choice. She had tried to do it all herself, and she had spoiled everything.
She wiped her face, tried to pull herself together, and went back into the house. Tiptoeing up the hall, she peered into Lynda’s room. Lynda was in her bed, but she was sitting up, looking back at Melissa as if she’d been waiting.
“Lynda?” The word came out hoarse, raspy, on the edge of a sob. “You’re awake. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Lynda pulled back the covers and patted the bed for Melissa to sit down. “I thought I heard you throwing up. I went to check on you, but you were crying. Something told me you needed to be alone. But I was praying for you.”
Melissa breathed a laugh. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what?” Lynda asked softly. “Melissa, are you all right?”
Though it looked as if she wasn’t, Melissa nodded her head. “I’m going to be. But I need your help.”
“What do you need?” Lynda asked. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
“That’s good,” Melissa said. “Because I’m going to need a lawyer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Larry couldn’t make himself go straight to the police station that morning. Instead, he drove by Pendergrast’s apartment, looking for either of the two cars Pendergrast was known to drive. The dark blue Cherokee was in its place, and after searching the parking lot in front and back, he finally found the gray Toyota, too.
Justifiable Means Page 15
