Sullivan’s Evidence

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Kathleen was still recovering from her divorce from her first husband, George Dupont, who had traded her in for a younger woman after seventeen years of marriage. The situation was especially painful because she and George had no children. The little twit George had remarried had just delivered the couple’s second baby.

  Dean had come along at the lowest point in Kathleen’s life. He was an intelligent and charming man, as well as a wonderful lover. Emotionally insecure, Kathleen always worried that he would tire of her and the events of the past would repeat themselves. Consequently, she was constantly fighting for Dean’s attention. He was usually home only one week per month. Even with her busy professional life, she got lonely. The convertible top on the Mercedes was down because the midday sun was out—unusual in September, when most days were gray and foggy. Looking toward the runway, Kathleen saw the private jet arriving. Her husband walked down the exit stairs, looking great in his tan pleated pants and matching red golf shirt and cap. Six one, lean and fit, his skin burnished by the sun, Dean cut an impressive figure. He had dark hair, beautiful eyes, and looked much younger than his forty-five years. “Hi, handsome,” his wife said, smiling.

  They threw their arms around each other and kissed. “I missed you,” he said. “It’s good to be home.”

  “Liar,” she chided.

  They walked toward the Mercedes, Dean opening the driver’s-side door and sliding behind the wheel. His own car, a Porsche 911, was stored in the long-term parking lot. “I’ll pick the Porsche up later. Right now, I’m starving. Why don’t we go over to Pebble for brunch?”

  “It’s my birthday,” Kathleen complained. “Can’t we eat somewhere that doesn’t overlook a golf course?”

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he told her, patting her thigh as he steered the car out of the parking lot. “Then I guess I’ll have to cancel the eleven o’clock facial and massage I booked for you at the spa. I thought you might want to relax a little. You’re not that young anymore.”

  She hit him in the arm. “Younger than you, old man.”

  “Careful, I need that arm to win the U.S. Open next year. Are you going to keep your appointments at the spa or not?”

  Kathleen knew he wanted to hit some balls. Besides, her birthday wasn’t important. She had one every year. “An afternoon at the spa sounds great, darling. You picked a thoughtful and practical gift. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

  A short time later they entered the famous Lodge at Pebble Beach. “Beach Club okay?” he asked without looking at her.

  “Fine,” she said, linking arms with him. Dean had a way of asking for her opinion, but not really asking. He knew she would go along with anything he suggested.

  The restaurant was wise to put mirrors on the inside walls to reflect views of the ocean from every table. Looking toward the water, she could see the vistas of Carmel Bay. The green fairways at Pebble Beach extended to the edge of the ocean cliffs. The natural beauty was breathtaking, no matter how often you saw it.

  As soon as they were seated and had ordered their food, Kathleen told him, “I’ve decided to travel with you and put my real estate career on hold.”

  Dean turned sideways in his seat and spat out, “When did you come up with this bright idea?”

  Kathleen twisted her napkin in her lap. “Between the two of us, we have more than enough money. I want to be with you, honey. I can go to your tournaments and root for you. It’s not right for a husband and wife to be apart all the time. I’ve already spoken to Elaine Caldwell. She can run the office for me, and I can do a lot by phone.”

  His jaw locked, and he spun around, almost knocking over his coffee cup. She was relieved when her cell phone rang. “What do you mean they’re canceling the escrow?” Kathleen said, her voice carrying out over the restaurant. “Call Larry in Legal and have him fire off a letter reminding the buyer of the liquidated-damages provision in the purchase and sale contract. If they think they’re going to lose their hundred grand, they may think twice before backing out. Tell Larry not to sit on this. I’m expecting it to be done before I finish my lunch.” She terminated the call, slipping the phone back into her purse. “Larkin deal. Major problem, but that means the deal’s almost done.”

  “How much is the commission?” Dean asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

  “Just over a hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “And you’re going to walk away from that kind of money? Come on, Kathleen. You’ve worked for years building up that business. Elaine can’t handle it without you. You’re the one with the contacts.”

  “I don’t care about the business,” she insisted. “I want to be with you. Is that so wrong?”

  Dean’s face softened and he smiled, reaching over and clasping her hand under the table. “We’ll discuss this later. Today we’re celebrating your birthday.”

  “How was the tournament?” Kathleen asked, deciding to change the conversation to his favorite topic.

  “Disappointing,” he said. “Monday and Tuesday I played well enough to make the cut. Then I lost my swing and shot seventy-eight. All the guys out there hit the ball well. The difference is their mental game. If I improve in that area, no one will be able to touch me.” He paused, looking around for the waiter. “I should have ordered a Bloody Mary.” Turning his attention back to her, he added, “I can’t afford any distractions right now. Even when I’m not playing, I’m working on my game. If you travel with me, I won’t have any more time for you than I do now.”

  Kathleen lowered her eyes. “I thought we weren’t going to discuss it right now.”

  The waiter came over with their food. Dean asked her if she wanted a cocktail, but she declined, so he ordered one for himself. “Don’t give up on me, Kathleen,” he said. “Golf is the hardest sport in the world to master. It takes work and sacrifice to make it.”

  “It seems like you’re punishing yourself as well as me,” she told him, her voice trailing off. “Maybe you’re just not cut out to be a professional golfer. There are more productive things you could do with your time. You’d be a great addition to my business. Getting your real estate license would be a piece of cake. You could still play golf in your spare time.”

  Dean gave her a dark look, but he didn’t reply. At some point, she had to decide if they had a genuine marriage, or if she was nothing more than Dean Masters’s adoring fan. How could she leave him, though? She was in love with him. He called her every day, but phone calls didn’t satisfy her need for a physical connection.

  “You’re just feeling neglected,” he told her, taking a sip as soon as the waiter brought his Bloody Mary. “I flew all the way back from Atlanta to be with you on your birthday. Why can’t you ever appreciate the things I do for you?”

  “I do, Dean,” Kathleen said, reaching for a roll from the bread basket.

  He reached over and snatched the roll out of her hand. “Stop eating, for God’s sake. You’re getting fat. What size is that suit, anyway, a fourteen? You might think you’re hiding the weight, but you’re not. If you went on the road with me, you’d probably stay in the hotel room all day and eat. Then I’d have to haul around a cow.”

  Kathleen was crushed. She felt her eyes moisten with tears, but she refused to cry. There was something far more serious than his hurtful remarks on her mind. How could Dean have been in Atlanta when one of her friends saw him at a restaurant in Ventura? The worst of it was that he’d been having lunch with an attractive woman. She stood and threw her napkin down on the table. “I’ll see you back at the house. I don’t want to be late for my massage.”

  “Stop it,” Dean whispered, seeing the couple at the adjacent table staring at them, “You’re acting like a child. Sit back down and eat your lunch. You have thirty minutes before you have to be at the spa.”

  “Eat it yourself,” Kathleen said, walking out of the restaurant.

  The garage door opened. Dean would be coming through the kitchen directly into the living room. Kathleen was
seated on their white leather sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. As soon as she heard his keys turn in the lock, she flinched, resisting the urge to make up with him so they could enjoy the evening. Instead, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for the argument that was sure to come.

  “How was the spa?” Dean said, walking over and planting a kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry if I was abrupt at lunch, honey. I was annoyed because you were nagging me again about the time I spend on the road. Just so you’ll know, I don’t usually shoot seventy-eights. This was a tougher course than I expected.”

  Kathleen straightened her back. “Just so you’ll know, I’ve never worn a size fourteen in my life.” She gulped oxygen, then blurted out, “What were you doing in Ventura Saturday? You were supposed to be in Atlanta.”

  Dean moved away from her, his face shifting into hard lines. “What are you talking about? Why would I be in Ventura?”

  “Andrea Worthington saw you,” she said. “She said you were having lunch at the Olive Garden with a woman. Are you having an affair, Dean?”

  “Andrea’s an idiot!” he said, pacing in front of her. “Of course I’m not having an affair. I’ve only been to Ventura once, and that was ten years ago.”

  “She knows you, Dean,” Kathleen said, certain now that he was lying. If he’d admitted being there, he might have provided a justifiable reason for having lunch with a woman. She could have been a female golf pro, or someone involved in organizing the tour. Maybe there’d been some problem with the jet that had necessitated his stopping in that area. For all she knew, the pilot could have been a woman. He felt so confident that he could get her to believe anything he told her that he hadn’t even taken the trouble to make up a believable story. “She said you were only two tables away from her, but you were too engrossed in your lunch date to notice. She even described the clothes you were wearing—that black Gucci turtleneck I bought you last Christmas.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Dean barked. “You and your pea-brained women friends. Black turtlenecks are a dime a dozen, for Christ’s sake. Even if Andrea did see me out somewhere, do you really think she could tell if my turtleneck was a Gucci? Frankly, it looks like it came from Target. I hate that stupid shirt. I only wear it because you gave it to me.”

  “Who is she?” Kathleen said, lowering her chin and peering up at him. “I was already married to a man who cheated on me, remember? I blame myself for not figuring it out before now. Because I don’t pay attention to golf, I can’t be certain what you do when you take off in your jet.” The more she thought about it, the madder she became. “I bet the girls are really impressed, Dean. With your looks, and the way you like to spend money, you should be able to get anyone you want.” She stood and turned to leave the room.

  “Get back here!” he shouted, his hand clutched in a fist. “I’m talking to you…. I’ve never been unfaithful. Do you know how it makes me feel to be accused of something I didn’t do? And what’s this shit about me working for you? I play golf, you sell real estate. What are you trying to turn me into, some kind of office boy?”

  “This will probably come as a shock to you,” Kathleen said, refusing to move, “but everything doesn’t revolve around you. There are more important things than you and your stupid golf. Traveling around the country to shoot seventy-eights. Face it, Dean. You’re a mediocre golfer and a lousy husband.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Dean said, throwing his arms into the air. “I have an important tournament this week. You’re trying to ruin my career by making me a nervous wreck. I am good enough. You’ll see. What I do is what I do. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  “Not on my nickel, I don’t.”

  “I’ve got my own money, remember?” he said, lowering his voice. “When we decided to get married, we had an agreement. I wouldn’t interfere in your real estate business, and you wouldn’t bother me about my golf. What happened, huh? You knew what kind of relationship this was going to be going in.”

  “Leave!” Kathleen said, her voice laced with venom. “I refuse to live with a man I can’t trust. Go ahead and scream, Dean. Yell. Stomp your feet. It won’t do you any good. This is my house, and I want you out. I’m going to my attorney tomorrow morning and file for a divorce. Then you can play golf to your heart’s content.”

  A look of shock registered on his face. She’d won the fight, and lost her husband. It didn’t matter. From the way things looked, she’d lost him long ago. She went to the door and flung it open. “Get out of my damn house before I call the police.”

  “You can’t call the police,” Dean said. “You have no grounds. And, besides, we’re married.”

  “I’ll tell them you hit me.”

  “But I’ve never laid a hand on you.”

  “I’ll lie,” Kathleen said, “just like you did when you said you were in Atlanta instead of fucking some girl in Ventura.”

  Dean was blinking repeatedly in his attempt to control his rage. He didn’t even look like the man she had married. She’d finally caught a glimpse of who he really was—a person she could learn to hate.

  CHAPTER 15

  Tuesday, September 19—9:45 A.M.

  Brad Preston walked up to Carolyn as she banged open the door of Department 46 of the superior court after having appeared at a sentencing hearing on a robbery and shooting. The department’s court officer represented the probation officers’ recommendations on minor cases, but the more serious offenses required the officers to appear in person and verbally present their recommendations to the court.

  “Do you think Carl Holden murdered the woman they found buried in the lagoon?” Brad said.

  “It certainly looks like Holden’s handiwork to me,” Carolyn responded, continuing down the carpeted corridor at a fast clip. “I’m not sure the police are convinced, but there are far too many similarities. Every cop in town is looking for him. He’s still a registered sex offender, and no one knows where he’s presently living. When I interviewed him, he said he’d stayed at the shelter after he was kicked out of his apartment in LA. I called every shelter around, and no one has ever heard of him. They should have kept him in jail until he established a permanent residence. How many times can the system screw up?”

  Seeing an attorney she didn’t care for conferring with his client, Carolyn turned around and began walking back down the same corridor they had come from.

  “You want to tell me where you’re going?” Brad asked, stopping.

  “The long way,” Carolyn told him, glancing over her shoulder. “That was Don Pinehurst, the asshole who’s representing Benjamin Abbott, the twelve counts of child molest you assigned me. I’m not in the mood to listen to his opinions on the sexuality of prepubescent boys.”

  “Listen to me,” Brad said, catching up to her. “Judge Reiss couldn’t hold Holden without cause. The other guy started the fight in the bar and pushed Holden into the window. I’m surprised Reiss even convicted Holden. As far as being a registered sex offender, that’s leftover red tape from the old charges. He’s been cleared on those crimes.”

  “Reiss knew who Holden was,” she argued. “He’s a damn judge. He could have figured something out.”

  They took the elevator to the first floor, crossed the lobby, and stepped outside into the morning sunlight. People were streaming in and out of the courthouse or sitting around the ledge of the fountain. It was a gorgeous day, but Carolyn didn’t notice.

  The defendant in the case she’d appeared on would turn twenty in two weeks. A former surfer, Cory Slaver wasn’t old enough to buy booze, but he would spend his birthday, along with the best years of his life, inside a prison cell. He had an extensive record, most of the prior offenses related to drugs. This time he’d moved into the big time, robbing a pawnshop and killing the owner, a Russian immigrant with a wife and five children. The law afforded victims the right to make a statement during the sentencing hearing. The dead man’s wife had appeared, surrounded by their young child
ren, tearfully telling the court in broken English of the desperate life they’d led in Russia and the many dreams her husband had held when he’d moved his family to this great land of opportunity. The only opportunity her husband had now was to spend eternity in a cemetery on U.S. soil.

  Carolyn and Brad continued walking toward the adjacent building where the probation department was located. “I want Holden in prison until he dies, Brad. Like it or not, once he’s in custody, you’re going to help me.”

  Brad opened the door for her. “And how am I going to do that?”

  “Whatever it takes,” she said. “We have to get this animal off the street any way we can.”

  They passed the headquarters for the sheriff’s department, and then hiked up the stairs to the second floor. Once they’d entered the secure area behind the reception console, Preston placed his hand on her elbow and steered her toward his office. He kicked the door shut behind them with his heel.

  “Calm down,” he told her. “Holden will eventually get what’s coming to him.”

  “I’m just so tired, Brad,” Carolyn said, an anguished look on her face. “I feel like I’m surrounded by evil, fighting this enormous battle that I have no chance of ever winning. I mean, you should see my bed in the morning. I thrash around all night like someone is chasing me.”

  “Your children aren’t evil,” Brad told her, moving closer and clasping her hand. “Children are the essence of good. Your family loves and needs you. I care about you. There’s your mother and Neil. You take too much on your shoulders, Carolyn. You always have.”

  She pushed him away and started pacing. “This thing with Abernathy…I was consumed with hatred and indignation. But I didn’t want someone to blow his head off, for God’s sake…. Then the poor woman reduced to bones at the lagoon…” She stopped walking and grabbed the back of a chair. “At the sentencing hearing this morning, I was so conflicted. I knew Cory Slaver got what he deserved, but he was just a kid, only a few years older than John. He threw his life away. And for what? A few watches, some gold chains, a handful of cash. I felt such compassion for the victim’s wife and family. All these lives destroyed. It never ends, even when I’m not at work. The other night I stopped off at El Pollo Loco to pick up some food. These two thugs came in. I was certain the restaurant was about to be robbed. Earlier I saw a father abusing his five-year-old right across from the church. The whole world has gone mad.”