“I told them the truth, that Laura found me with Kim. Only once. It meant nothing, but Laura lost it and threw me out. That explains why I was staying in that apartment, and why, well —”
Greg shook his head. “And why did you take off with your children Sunday without telling your wife that you were taking them to Michigan?”
“Look, my father was sick. I thought Laura was working.” Steve again wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand and hardened his voice. “Now, Mr. Klingman, I’m here to see my wife.”
“Just one more thing,” Greg said icily. “Emptying your joint savings account last week has already caused Laura hardship — an extra night in jail. As I’ve told you, she needs fifty thousand for the bail bondsman. Do you have it?”
“Yes,” Steve hissed. “Look, I don’t have a job. Neither does she, I imagine. I need money to pay the bills. The fact is, we can’t afford expensive attorney fees.”
“I see. So you let her spend another night here so you can stick to your budget? Do you realize what it’s like in there?”
“I’m here to see my wife.”
“Of course. But I’m sitting in.”
Steve did not object so Greg led the way.
They were escorted to the interrogation room by a rail-thin male guard who wore heavy tinted glasses. Laura sat alone at the sole square table, supervised by a prison matron stationed at the door’s threshold. She wore baggy brown pants and an oversized smock the same dull color. She had showered and shampooed, her hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail, her pale face absent of any makeup.
“Steve,” she greeted him dully.
Greg motioned for him to sit across the table from Laura and then he nodded to the matron, who stepped out to stand guard just outside the room. Greg leaned against the edge of the table.
“Disgusting,” Steve said as he took in the yellowing cement walls and chipped gray floor tiles. “Look at this place — and those clothes.”
“I have to get out of here. Last night I was locked in a cell with two prostitutes. I guess I was lucky, they pretty much left me alone. Steve, please get me out of here so I can get home to the kids.”
“I…I have to say I’m glad they can’t see you right now,” he answered, shaking his head.
“Just get me out of here. This is all a mistake.”
“Mistake?” Steve echoed. His eyes were bright. “I knew you were jealous of Kim, but —”
Laura’s mouth fell open. “You think I killed her? I didn’t kill her!”
Steve was sweating profusely now. “Laura, it’s me,” he glanced at Greg, “and your lawyer. You can tell us the truth.”
“I am! I can’t believe this. Kim was dead when I got there! For God’s sake, Steve, I’m a doctor, I know when somebody’s dead.”
“But what about the gun? They said they found you with a gun.”
“It wasn’t mine! You of all people know how I hate guns. How many arguments have we had about your owning guns?”
“But they found you with it, there’s no denying that.”
“That’s because it was there on the floor, and I accidentally touched it before the police showed up. I went to your apartment because I was frantic, trying to find the kids. Kim was on the kitchen floor already dead. But newly — her body was still warm. And what about you? What was she doing at your apartment? And why did you empty our bank account? Why were you taking our kids to Michigan? You must know who killed her.” Laura glared at Steve and pounded her fist on the table, “You must know something!”
Steve shook his head, ignoring Laura’s questions and wiping his sweat away. “All I’m saying is to tell the truth. They’ll go easy on you if —”
Laura slumped back in her chair and looked helplessly at Greg, who was taking in the conversation in stony silence. “He thinks I did it. Steve, what have you told the kids?”
“Just that there’s been an accident and you’re being questioned. Marcy took them over to Lowry Park to distract them today, but I’ll have to tell them later. It’s all over the news. The station wants me to give an interview today too.”
Laura began to sob. Steve stood and stepped closer to Laura and clamped a hand on her shoulder. Looking at Greg, Steve said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s better that I face this head-on. I’ll just say that, yes, something happened between Kim and me. That this is really all my fault. That I never thought it would lead to this. Something like that.”
Laura looked up at her husband in horror. “How could you think I did this? Steve, I’m telling you, somebody else killed Kim. Just think for a minute. Who could have done it? How about the boyfriend you said beat her up?”
“But they found you there, not him.”
“What boyfriend?” Greg cut in.
“I didn’t do it!” Laura cried. “This is all to get back at me, isn’t it?”
“Face the facts, Laura.” Steve took his hand off her shoulder. “You’re the one who told the police about me and Kim. About how she threatened our marriage, at least you thought she did.”
“Oh, my God,” Laura sobbed, elbows propped up, head in hands, “Oh, my God.”
Later, Steve watched the six o’clock news on the big TV in the family room with Laura’s parents, who frowned throughout the broadcast.
“I tried to take as much blame as possible,” he said as he clicked off the set. “So much of this was my fault.”
“How could you,” Peg finally sputtered, “when that reporter asked you whether you thought Laura killed Kim, you didn’t deny it. Laura could never kill anyone! Why didn’t you just tell them that?” She burst into tears.
Carl reached over to comfort his wife. “Not now,” he whispered to her. To Steve he said, “You made the world think she did it.”
“How can you say that? This hasn’t been easy for me either, you know.”
“I don’t know anything at this point,” Carl said.
“Look, Carl, we’re all upset, and I need some time alone. Marcy can handle the kids when they get back. Why don’t you and Peg go home; get some rest yourselves.”
“We need to be here for our daughter when she comes home,” Peg said stonily.
“Well, we don’t even know when that will be,” Steve said, walking to the back door and blatantly holding it open. “I’m sorry. With all this, I’m not a good host.”
As soon as Steve closed the door behind Laura’s parents, he picked up the phone and dialed and hung up a few times before finally calling his own father.
Laura jumped out of the shiny black Porsche as it slowed in front of her house at seven thirty. She had waited in the jail holding cell with no food or water for four hours, though the matron had allowed her to change out of prison garb into the same cutoffs and tee shirt she had worn Sunday night. Her clothes smelled like a mix of body odors, but it was much better than being in that cell with Sheila, a hardened prostitute, and Bobbie, a young girl picked up for shoplifting. It was seven by the time Greg had arranged for her release, once Steve provided the money for bail.
Without waiting for Greg, Laura bolted to the front door and rushed inside, nearly colliding with Steve, clad in gray sweatpants and a white tee shirt, who was carrying a bottle of beer across the hall into the family room.
“Where are the kids?” she asked anxiously.
“Uh, still out.”
“I thought my mom and dad were here.”
“They left.” Steve set down the bottle and glared as Greg Klingman trailed Laura into the house.
“Where did my parents go?” Laura insisted. “They left a message at the jail that they’d be here.”
“We have to talk. Alone,” Steve said. He’d made no move toward, her but stood frowning at her disheveled appearance. “Why don’t you shower and change. Put on your contact lenses.”
“Mr. Nelson,” Greg said, “we do have to talk.”
“You might as well come in and watch my interview,” Steve said, “both of you. I recorded it when it ran at si
x. Then we’ll talk.”
Laura and Greg followed as Steve walked into the family room and inserted a videocassette into the VCR.
The interview was sandwiched between the AMA convention in St. Louis proposing a resolution calling for voluntary physician curbs on escalating fees, and the birthday of fifty-year-old Mickey Mouse.
Amy Katz, a young, attractive reporter with overly styled brassy hair, had that strangely upbeat air of the interviewer as she peppered Steve with serious questions. She was pictured sitting next to him on the patterned brocade sofa in the Nelson living room. Steve wore brown slacks and a yellow and white striped short sleeve shirt open at the neck. His hair was combed back and sprayed to stay in place, and he’d insisted on studio makeup. He looked young and disarmingly innocent.
Ms. Katz began, “Mr. Nelson, I know how difficult this must be for you. I don’t want to seem intrusive at such a sensitive time, but since you and Kim were so well known across the Tampa Bay area, it’s a big story.”
“That’s okay, Amy. Please, call me Steve.”
“How did you feel when you first learned that your wife had been arrested for the murder of Kim Connor, your former coanchor here at the station?”
“Absolute shock. I was with our kids.” He paused as the camera zoomed closer.
“Do you think she did it?”
His brow crinkled. “I just don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess, but Laura’s such a wonderful person.”
“Could this be a crime of passion,” the reporter asked quickly. “Are the rumors true that you were having an affair with Kim Connor?”
Steve exhaled with resignation. “I’m saddened to admit it, but yes, Kim and I did have a brief, well, indiscretion. But it was over, completely over. I’m committed to my family. Besides Kim was moving out of Tampa.”
“One more question, Steve,” Amy’s upbeat voice continued. “Your wife is a very successful surgeon at Tampa City Hospital. What impact will this charge have on her career?”
“I…I don’t know,” Steve stammered. “I guess this is all my fault, really. None if this would have happened if I hadn’t had that one indiscretion. I really do blame myself.”
“What about the children? You have five kids, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. We’ll have to manage,” Steve said quietly.
Amy Katz thanked Steve with a faint smile. Then the new anchorman – the one from Memphis — thanked Amy before announcing the upcoming clip on Mickey’s Mouse’s birthday celebration, to be followed by sports and the weather.
“You’re a damn fool, Nelson.” Greg shot up and faced Steve, who sat quietly reflecting on his performance, oblivious to his stunned and ashen wife.
Pale, Steve drained his bottle before rising to eject the cassette. “What?”
“Do you realize what you’ve done? Condemning your wife in front of the entire Tampa Bay viewing audience?” Greg stepped back abruptly. “I’ve never seen such a blatant betrayal of a spouse. What are you trying to do, man?”
“What right do you have —”
Greg raised one hand in a “stop” gesture. “Your wife’s charged with murder, for God’s sake.” He turned to face Laura. “We’ll make the best of this.”
“Hey, you think it was easy, making that confession about Kim? All my fans think of me as an all-American family man. Now —”
Laura finally stood up. “You think it was easy, spending two nights in jail? Worried out of my mind, not knowing where my kids were? Finding a dead woman on your kitchen floor, how easy do you think that was? And if I didn’t kill her, because I didn’t, who did? You still haven’t answered me.”
Wordlessly, Steve sat down again on the sofa, sweat starting to seep through the underarms of his tee shirt.
“Try to stay calm, Laura,” Greg said softly. “Mr. Nelson, you didn’t do your wife any favors with your performance.”
“I know my wife better than you do,” Steve countered. “Now why don’t you just leave so Laura and I can talk things out.”
“Fine. You should know that I’ve instructed your wife not to discuss the case with anyone. Not even you.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll help her through this, but I’m not sure I want you for her attorney.”
Laura stepped in front of the TV, both fists clenched. “Well, I’m sure.”
Before Steve could respond, there was a loud knock at the front door. Laura sprang toward it as Steve followed.
“Laura,” a familiar male voice called from the front hall.
“Dad!” She raced toward him. “Oh, Dad, Mom, thank God you’re here!” She threw her arms around them both.
“We had to see you, honey,” Carl Whelan said, eyeing Steve accusingly. “We got a bite to eat then we stopped at the jail. They said you’d just left, so we came right over.”
“Might as well come in,” Steve grumbled.
“Oh, Laura, we were beside ourselves with worry,” her mother began, wiping away fresh tears. “How could anyone accuse you of this? What can we do?”
“Mom, I don’t know. Just stick with me and help with the kids.”
Peg glanced around. “Are they back?”
“No,” Laura answered. “They don’t know what’s happened yet.”
“Listen, folks, I’d like to make my introductions and then leave you,” Greg spoke for the first time, addressing Laura’s parents once he’d entered the room. “I’m Greg Klingman, Laura’s attorney.”
“Mr. Klingman, please forgive us,” Peg Whelan began, “we’re just so upset.” She extended her hand to Greg.
“These are my parents,” Laura said simply as her father reached for Greg’s extended hand and grasped it firmly.
“We’ve spoken. Good to finally meet you,” Carl said. “Why don’t we all go on inside?”
“I’m on my way out,” said Greg, “but Laura, remember, no talk about your case.”
The Whelans nodded in unison.
“And that warning extends to you, Mr. Nelson. Laura is not to discuss anything. It could jeopardize her defense. She’s stated that she didn’t kill Kim Connor, that she’s innocent, and that should be good enough for you.”
Everybody looked at Steve, but nobody said a word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning Greg got out of bed and tiptoed to Celeste’s walk-in closet to rummage on his side for a suit, dress shirt, and tie. Last night they’d had a late dinner, and this morning he hoped she’d sleep late before her flight to Atlanta. As partner in an exclusive interior design firm specializing in luxury hotels, she was about to begin an assignment at a new skyscraper hotel. That might be for the best, since the Nelson case threatened to be all consuming. Greg always slept better in his own place anyway, a sprawling clapboard beach house right on the Gulf of Mexico, in Palm Harbor. Its casual décor — or lack of it, as Celeste liked to quip — relaxed him, the sound of the surf and ocean breezes lulling him to sleep. Its wraparound porch and creaky plank floors made him feel more at ease than her Carrollwood Lake townhouse in Tampa, filled with so many expensive artifacts he always feared he’d break something. But either place was lonely without Celeste, Greg decided, dressing as quietly as he could.
As for the Nelson case, his associates had spent yesterday gathering the basic facts on the crime scene from the police, unfortunately corroborating Sandra Mulloy’s statement about Laura’s being the only prints on the gun. That was about all Greg himself knew, aside from the sketchy information he got from the police once they’d questioned Steve and inspected his gun collection. At this point, it was clearly convenient for the state and the police to have made such a sensational arrest, which meant it fell to the defense to find convincing evidence to create enough reasonable doubt to successfully defend Laura. If she didn’t kill Kim Connor, and Greg believed she did not — it was his job to find out who did. Today his legal team would meet Laura and start to pursue all avenues of her defense.
Greg founded Kli
ngman Law Associates nearly five years after he graduated from Notre Dame Law School. That was twelve years ago, and the firm seemed solid at a staff of ten, including paralegals and secretaries. He prided himself on keeping the firm small, yet dynamic, and so far had held back from promoting either of his other two attorneys to full partner, reluctant to give up full control. But soon, in order to keep them, he knew he would have to.
His right-hand man was Rob Wilson, a thirty-eight-year-old Yale Law grad who had been with him now for three years and was well liked by both staff and clients — especially female clients. Still single, with dark hair untouched by strands of gray and a physique that proved his passion for pick-up sports, Rob had maintained a boyish style that Greg had initially found disarming. Although he was a brilliant strategist, Greg worried that Rob lacked actual street experience, so in this investigation Rob would manage the face-to-face encounters with the police, Judge Potter, and the D.A.’s office. He would also be responsible for tracking the crime scene, the autopsy, and any witness reports.
Greg’s right-hand woman was Carrie Diamond, a talented attorney out of the University of Miami Law School who’d been with the firm for nine years. Carrie usually handled lower-profile cases, those that left her more time for her husband, Don, an insurance agent, and their congenitally deaf eleven-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. Carrie’s strengths included her professional judgment, her knowledge of case law, and maturity beyond her thirty-seven years. She was attractive with dark brown shoulder-length hair usually pulled back behind her ears, dark violet eyes, and a sincere smile. Even though Carrie made no pretense about her family taking priority over the firm, Greg felt she’d be invaluable to this case. He sensed that Carrie and Laura were alike — both professional women and mothers, both smart and assertive — and predicted that a kind of synergy would develop between them, which would only help the case. And if, God forbid, it ever came to court, Carrie always exerted a positive effect on juries with her grounded demeanor, which would play well in contrast to Sandra Mulloy’s flamboyance.
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