“Better. You know, I haven’t seen you since your mother’s passing almost —”
“It’s five years ago. I know, Dad. You’ve never come to Florida.”
“I’ve got your mother’s roses to care for. Last winter we had so much snow I couldn’t have come anyway. But you —”
“I know. It’s been hectic with my job and the kids and, of course, Laura’s always on call. I know it’s a lot, us landing on you like this, but I’ve got a plan. I’ll take the boys camping in a few days, and Marcy can help with the girls. That’s why she’s here.”
His father frowned. “Steve, Laura called.”
“Not now, okay?” Glancing back at the kids, Steve picked up his pace.
Initially, Steve brightened when they arrived at his father’s street. The neighborhood looked unchanged, homes all in good repair, plenty of beautiful shade trees. Neighbors sat on porches enjoying the perfect summer temperatures, the sweet aroma of roses climbing on trellises, and rhododendrons in full bloom. Halfway down the block, now painted the color of celery with slate gray shutters, with the old wraparound front porch, was his parents’ house, where he and his twin, Philip, had shared a large bedroom upstairs with full-size poster beds. They spent most of their playtime in the tree-playhouse Dad had built to match the big house. Stepping from the car, Steve looked from the tree stump up into the air where the tree house used to be.
He had been ten years old, the age of his own twins when it happened.
In those rare moments when Steve allowed himself to reminisce about growing up with his identical twin brother, he ruminated over the biggest difference between them. Philip was the aggressive one, making all the plans, pretty much telling Steve what to do. Much like the role of his daughter, Nicole, while Natalie was more like him, the follower. And how Nicole irritated him because of it. Even though he’d resented Philip’s control, he still loved him, depended on him. Nobody would ever know the depth of his pain as a child and his lingering grief still. The day of the accident the boys had been arguing over which twin their Black Lab puppy, Lucky, liked best. Steve had angrily shoved Philip out of the tree house and he’d ended up dead. It was an accident.
An accident.
Once Marcy took over the kitchen to make lemonade and chocolate chip cookies, and the kids discovered the swing beyond the back porch, Steve and his father sat nearby under an oak tree. Jim Nelson brought up Laura again.
“Maybe you should call her and let the kids talk to her.”
“I don’t want them mixed up in this. No calls to or from the kids. I’m trying to get them away from all her troubles.”
“But Steve, I told her I’d have you call. You know that I haven’t always agreed with Laura. Your mother never did understand why she was hell-bent on going to medical school instead of staying home with the kids. But over the years, I’ve come to believe she’s a good mother. And you said yourself that this was all your fault. Because of — well, you and that dead woman — what you did.”
“Dad, I made a mistake. We all make mistakes, right?”
Jim Nelson nodded sadly.
“Before that Laura and I were very happy. Now we have to give her time to work with her attorney. She needs a break from the kids.”
“That’s not what she said,” his father said shakily, “and I did tell her I’d make sure you called.”
Steve acquiesced. “I’ll call her later, okay? Now let’s not worry about Laura.”
“And Steve,” he continued, “how are we all going to manage in this small house?”
“I’ll sleep with the boys in the spare bedroom and Marcy can stay with the girls in my old room. And like I said, I’m going to take the boys camping in a few days, so it’s only a couple nights.”
“But we don’t have enough beds.”
“Sleeping bags will be fine for the kids. Really, Dad, it’ll be okay.”
It was a struggle to talk to his father now, because Steve had become irritated as well as preoccupied. Coming back home, he realized he saw Traverse City as a security blanket, one that was more than a thousand miles away from Frank Santiago. Though Steve had tried to avoid thinking about it, the reality was that Santiago was one violent — and dangerous — son of a bitch. The mob! It was everywhere, wasn’t it? Were they looking for him right now, here in Michigan? A personal vendetta because he had screwed the woman Santiago wanted to marry? He sank deeper into his chair and stared up at the sky as he wondered why he hadn’t thought more about all this when he agreed to do the goddamned TV interview.
Because he was in shock, that was why. Kim. That gun. Laura. That night was all too much.
Well, he’d lay low in northern Michigan. He’d be able to think once he got to the Upper Peninsula. Not only did he need to calm down, he needed a plan. A long-term plan.
Late Sunday afternoon, Mike picked up the phone in his grandfather’s kitchen on the first ring. As he’d so hoped, it was Laura. “Mom,” he breathed, not daring to talk too loudly. He’d heard his dad tell Grandpa Nelson when they’d arrived on Wednesday that the kids were not to talk to their mother.
“Mike, is that really you? Oh, honey, how I miss you all. How are you?”
“Not so great, Mom. We’re supposed to go camping, but Dad doesn’t want to take the girls. Dad’s sending Mrs. Whitman home too.”
Laura paused. “Yes, Marcy just called to tell me.”
“I tried to get Dad to take Natalie and Nicole, but he says it’s a guy trip.”
“Honey, I’m going to try to get you all back to Tampa as soon as possible, but now Dad doesn’t even want me talking to you guys.”
“Dad says that you don’t have time for us, that’s why we have to stay up here.”
“Of course I have time for you. I’m frantic with worry about you. I can’t think of anything else except how to get you home.”
“Then why don’t you just come and get us?”
“Mike, I’m not allowed to leave Tampa. It’s legal stuff. Otherwise —”
“I didn’t know that. Kevin and I were wondering why you didn’t come.”
“Mike, of course I would if I could. The problem is, I can’t. Honey, will you please try to make the younger ones understand?”
“Sure, Mom, but I gotta hang up. I think Dad’s coming.”
Before the connection was broken, Laura heard Steve in the background, “Mike, how many times have I told you —”
Laura had walked the streets of Davis Island Sunday afternoon following a thunderstorm that temporarily cooled the humid Florida summer air and left a cloying smell of jasmine. She reflected on the dreadful week since she’d stumbled upon Kim Connor’s body — the end of her marriage, the nights in jail, the absence of her children. Roxanne Musing called every day with hospital news, but Laura’s practice, her patients, her entire professional life so quickly seemed unreal, something from the past. Even Roxanne’s reports on the Ruiz family served only to remind her of the night she’d found Steve with Kim.
After her walk, Laura had returned home determined to talk to her children. She’d put the call in to Traverse City and to her relief Mike had picked up. And before Steve yanked the phone away from him, she’d learned more distressing news. What was Steve trying to do to her? Now he was taking the boys camping, but where and for how long? And why was he sending Marcy home? Why wouldn’t he send the girls home with her rather than leave them alone with his father in Traverse City? It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Jim, but he apparently had some kind of medical problem. Surely he wouldn’t want that responsibility. A guy who never even bothered to visit his son and grandchildren?
This was just so wrong, so unfair. She needed to do something. She needed to be with her children, but she was trapped, helpless to do anything to get them back.
Once she’d finally stopped shaking after talking to Mike, Laura dialed Greg’s home number. It was July first, a Sunday. What had he told her? Was he going to Atlanta to see his fiancée or was she coming to Florida? Ple
ase be home, she prayed.
“Hello,” a woman’s upbeat voice answered.
“Hello,” Laura said faintly, “is Mr. Klingman available?”
“I can hardly hear you. Can I say who’s calling?”
“It’s Laura Nelson.”
“Oh, Dr. Nelson,” the voice cooled. Celeste had just poured two glasses of Chardonnay to tide her and Greg over as the swordfish marinated in olive oil and orange juice. “It’s Celeste Marin. May I take a message?”
“Oh yes, Celeste. Please, will you ask Greg to call me tonight? It’s important.”
“Surely, I will.”
But it wasn’t until after they’d finished dessert, pecan pie with French vanilla ice cream and their second cup of coffee that Celeste mentioned that he’d had a call from Laura Nelson.
“When did she call?”
“About six.” It was now nine forty-five.
“On a Sunday night? I should have gone into taxes or contracts.” Greg reached over to the phone on the table behind the couch and dialed Laura’s number.
She answered on the first ring. “Greg, is that you?”
“Yes, Laura. What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, but there’s something I need to tell you. Steve’s going away with the boys.”
“What do you mean, ‘going away’? He’s already away.”
“Camping. He’s leaving the twins with his dad and sending our housekeeper home. And he won’t let me even talk to any of them. Greg, I’m frantic.”
“I see. Will the girls be okay with his dad?”
“It’s just that Jim Nelson is like a total stranger to the kids, Greg. The way Steve’s neglected the twins, they’ll be so upset. Isn’t there something you can do to get them home?”
“Neglect to abandonment,” Greg grumbled. “Listen, first thing tomorrow, we’ll intensify our look at custody issues. So far we’ve just gotten the runaround on jurisdiction — Michigan versus Florida. I’ll get Chuck involved. You can meet us at the office at eight, okay? Oh, that reminds me. I got a call from Carrie this weekend. She mentioned that Cliff Casey brought up another case — a malpractice case — that you’re involved in. A Wendy Ruiz? What’s your involvement?”
Laura let out a long breath. “Nothing, really. I was contacted by a lawyer who was interested in representing her father.”
“For what purpose? What’s your role?”
“I was called in for emergency surgery. I said I would tell what happened to Wendy,” Laura admitted. “The ER neglected the patient’s chest wounds, and they called me too late to save her. The child died.”
“Does that mean you’ll testify against the hospital, against other doctors? That’s pretty sticky, especially given your present circumstances.”
“Look, I just can’t —”
“I hope you reconsider. My firm does the defense work for the hospital. If I’m defending a client who’s a hostile witness to another client, it’ll be a perceived, if not real, conflict of interest. Do you understand?”
“Well, not really. But I don’t want to cause problems for —”
“Does that mean you’ll drop out as a witness for the plaintiff?”
Laura inhaled. “Would that be right? I mean, the reason I agreed to help was because of all that poor family has been through.”
“With all due respect,” Greg said gently, “you have to worry about yourself right now. Agreed?”
“Okay, Greg, if that’s how it has to be. I do apologize for calling you at home. I…I just didn’t know who to call.”
“Hey, just stay put. Promise?”
Laura hesitated. “I will,” she said. But no promises, she thought.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Laura arrived at Klingman Law Associates at seven thirty the next morning, a sleepy security guard let her in. She paced the reception area until Greg’s arrival just before eight, her mind filled with images of the kids, what they must be going through — especially the girls. They’d be confused and scared. And not only that, did they think she was a killer?
“Morning, Laura,” Greg greeted her. “Aren’t you the early one?” He walked into his office suite and carefully hung his jacket in the closet before joining her at the window where she stood staring out at the clump of coconut palms in the courtyard below.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Well, come on in.”
Greg motioned for her to take a seat on the burgundy leather sofa in his private office before stepping out to the hallway’s utility cabinet to start the coffee maker.
“I’ve scheduled an update meeting first thing,” he said. “We’ll focus on this new situation first. Then we’ll go over your case. So, tell me what you think your husband’s doing.”
“Besides running away, you mean?”
“I am sorry. Will the kids will be safe where they are?”
“I guess so. I have no idea where Steve is taking the boys, but the girls should be okay at Jim’s.”
“We’ll get Chuck to check their whereabouts and we’ll develop our options. Carrie’ll dig into disputed custody issues —”
There was a knock on the door and Betty Harmon poked her head in. “Morning. Just wanted you to know that Mr. Dimer has arrived. Ms. Diamond and Mr. Wills are waiting in the conference room.”
“Thanks, Betty. Tell them we’ll join them in a moment, please.”
As Greg and Laura walked into the conference room, Chuck Dimer stood out among the business attire with his black jeans, black tee shirt, and loafers.
“Morning, everyone,” Greg said. “First, let me brief you on Laura’s most recent problem.” He brought them up to date on Steve’s activities.
“I’m on it,” Chuck said, leaving the room to place a call to Michigan. If he could prove that the girls had been left behind with their grandfather, it might sway a judge on custody.
Carrie leaned over and squeezed Laura’s hand. “I’m sorry. If it were my kids —”
“Thank you. Just help me get them back.”
“Chuck is the best. You’ll see,” Carrie murmured.
“Now let’s get down to work,” Greg said. “We have a lot of ground to cover. First, Rob will summarize the police details. Rob?”
“Right.” He opened the file before him and glanced across the conference table until Laura looked up at him. “To recap what we know. When the police arrived, they found Dr. Nelson standing over the body beside a gun, a Colt thirty-eight, not traceable. Whoever it was maybe carries one of those around “just in case.” My guess. Officers Parker and Belinsky arrive in a squad car exactly nine minutes after the call from upstairs. Neighbor says she heard a gunshot, didn’t see anything unusual.”
“Or hear anything. Like an argument, any voices?” Carrie asked.
“Just the shot. Cops think it’s maybe a car backfire, no biggie. All else is just like you told us, Laura.”
Laura grimaced.
“But no other prints on the thirty-eight,” Greg confirmed.
“Only Laura’s.”
“No other prints on the scene, except the obvious — Steve Nelson’s,” Carrie added, “and an unknown. Presumably the guy Steve’s renting from, considering they’re all over the apartment.”
“Right,” Rob went on, “easy to check out.”
“And Steve’s alibi?” Carrie queried.
“Sounds solid. He was on the road with five kids. Stayed overnight in the Roadside Motel near Macon. Receipts check out,” Rob added, glancing pointedly at Greg. “So far, nobody seems to think he’s connected in any way.”
“Was there a forced entry at the apartment?” asked Greg.
“None at all,” Rob answered. “But remember, Laura said the door was unlocked when she got there.”
“That’s right,” Laura offered. “I remember it distinctly.”
“So maybe Kim had a key? Or maybe Nelson doesn’t lock his door?”
“Lots of maybes. There’s a lot we need to find out about Steve an
d Kim,” said Carrie, “but go on, Rob.”
“Okay. There’s no doubt that the gun beside the victim, the one with your prints, Laura, was the murder weapon. Ballistics, a perfect match. I asked about a residue report. It’s not in the file, but sometimes the lab holds off before running it. Sandra Mulloy said she’d check into it.”
“What does that mean?” Laura asked.
“Standard routine,” Rob answered. “They check your hands for gunpowder residue, to prove that you actually shot the gun. Without a positive residue, the fact is, they don’t have much of a case.”
“They did take my fingerprints, but that’s all I remember. There was blood on my hands that they swabbed off —”
“You think they somehow screwed up and didn’t get it before they let her wash her hands? Or are they playing games?” Greg wondered aloud.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rob said. “Anyway, the autopsy confirmed cause of death. Bullet ripped through the left ventricle. But, Laura, there’s something else that came up: you told them that you didn’t own a gun?”
Laura turned two shades of red. “I know that was a mistake,” she said, looking away. “It’s true I don’t ‘own’ a gun. I guess I never thought they’d find out about Steve’s. He grew up with guns in northern Michigan. All the boys from there hunt.” She turned to face Rob. “Does that mean they think I’m a liar?”
“Let’s say it didn’t help your credibility.” Rob admitted.
“Is there anything else we need to know, Laura?” Carrie asked. “Anything that they know and we don’t can only hurt you.”
“Lies,” Laura said. “They always come back to haunt you, don’t they? Yes, there are a couple more. One, I told my housekeeper that I was going to the ER that night I went to Steve’s. I simply didn’t want to upset her. And I told Steve’s former boss, George Granger, that I needed Kim’s phone number to drop off some photography equipment — another lie. He gave it to me and I left that message on her phone.”
“They know about the housekeeper. She said as much in a statement. But nothing from the other guy, so we’ll let sleeping dogs lie. Only a little white lie anyway.” A miniscule grin flickered on Rob’s face. “I do have good news. They’re looking into the abusive boyfriend you told us about. Turns out nobody’s seen the guy around lately. Lopez and Goodnuf checked around. Interviewed the victim’s friends, acquaintances, didn’t get much.”
Twisted Justice Page 13
