Twisted Justice

by Patricia Gussin

  Laura laughed. “Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. You’re coming home soon, honey, very soon. Okay?”

  “When? We miss you.” Nicole hadn’t stopped for a breath. “You better talk to Nattie, she’s crying again. She’ll be okay as soon as we get home.”

  “Honey, thanks for taking such good care of your sister. I’d better talk to her now, okay? I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

  “You’re not in jail or anything are you?” Nicole asked.

  “No, honey, I’m not in jail. I’ll be right here when you get here, okay?”

  “I love you, Mom. Here’s Nattie.”

  “I love you, sweetie.”

  Natalie was barely coherent as she took the phone from her sister. “Mommy,” she managed between sobs, “Mom, I miss you. I want to come home.

  Why can’t Nicky and I come home?”

  “Natalie, I love you so much. Listen, honey, you and Nicole will be home real soon, okay?”

  “But Dad said you were going to jail.”

  “That’s not true at all, Natalie. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” That she could do.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Greg, Carrie, and Rob spent all day Friday in Greg’s office working out preliminary trial strategy. They wanted to stall the Nelson case as long as possible to give the real killer time to make a mistake, to somehow reveal himself. Meanwhile things were starting to shape up in Laura’s favor. Kim’s troubled relationship with Frank Santiago, followed by his total disappearance from the Tampa Bay area, had caused the police to intensify their efforts to question him. Lopez and Goodnuf also told Rob that they wanted to question Steve again, this time more specifically about Kim’s relationship with Santiago. Chuck had been right; the more they learned about Santiago, the more obvious his connection with the Miami and Tampa Latin mob became. Now Santiago’s disappearance on the heels of two dead Mexicans turning up in a cocaine-laced truck, the D.A.’s office had to be sweating it. District Attorney Jake Cooperman would be astute enough to jump ship if he smelled political risk.

  “It’s almost six,” Greg finally announced. “Let’s call it a day.”

  “Good,” said Carrie.

  Greg saw the relief on her face. He reminded himself not to work her too hard. Carrie had a tough time balancing work and family. Her daughter, Elizabeth, was deaf and mute, and Carrie was dedicated to providing her with every advantage. As Greg had predicted, however, Carrie and Laura had developed a bond between them, and Carrie was pushing herself too hard.

  “I want to talk to Sandra Mulloy on Monday,” said Rob, sounding optimistic. “Try to put some pressure on her to suspend charges against Laura while they track down Santiago. May not work, but it’s worth a try.”

  “That’d give her more flexibility to move about,” said Carrie. “To say nothing about boosting her morale.”

  “I agree,” said Greg. “Maybe by then Chuck will have more on Santiago. My guess is he’s hiding out in Miami.”

  Rob nodded, packing up his files. “So, heading out on the town tonight?”

  “Going home to an empty house. Celeste’s staying in Atlanta this weekend.”

  “I got a bunch of guys coming over for poker. Want to join?”

  “No thanks, buddy. How about you, Carrie? Plans?”

  “The usual. Kids. My daughter’s school’s having a fund-raiser, a carnival with a picnic, tomorrow.”

  “How’s she doing?” Rob asked.

  “Elizabeth is fine, thanks. Doing well,” she said quickly. Any solicitous attitude toward Elizabeth annoyed Carrie.

  The intercom buzzed. Chuck was on the phone at Cherry Airport with the twins.

  “Things are going according to schedule with Chuck,” Greg announced as he hung up. “All’s well that ends well, eh? Let’s regroup Monday around noon. And Carrie,” he added, “can you swing by Laura’s Monday morning to make sure everything is okay with the girls. My guess is she’ll be feeling 100 percent better just to have them home.”

  Chuck Dimer had booked himself and the Nelson twins on the Friday seven p.m. flight from Cherry Airport through Chicago’s O’Hare to Tampa International. They’d arrive late, but getting the girls home to Laura as soon as possible was his goal. The release paperwork at the Grand Traverse County Courthouse had gone smoothly, and he waited in Jim Nelson’s driveway so he’d be right there at five when they all returned home after the foray to the mall.

  Laura sat on the edge of the sofa in the family room of her empty house, too wound up to focus on the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. She wore a yellow cotton shirt open at the neck, fitted tan slacks that were now baggy, and soft brown loafers. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders, giving her a look of innocence, even vulnerability.

  It was almost eight thirty. At nine, she planned to drive to the airport. Calmly, she kept reminding herself. It was only a twenty minute ride, and she would be there at least an hour early to meet the ten thirty arrival. Soon, so soon, the girls would be home. She could wait that long.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On Wednesday, the Fourth of July, a drenching rain had convinced Steve to delay leaving his dad’s until late afternoon. Jim Nelson had helped Steve load everything into his rented Ford station wagon, strapping the rest up on top, before Steve headed out with his three sons toward the Mackinac Bridge connecting Michigan’s Upper and Lower Peninsulas. When they reached Wilderness State Park just south of the bridge that night, they set up their tent, made a fire, and cooked hot dogs and beans. There were no fireworks allowed in the park, but Steve let the boys light sparklers as long as they were careful to dispose of the glowing ends.

  They stayed at Wilderness for two nights. The weather was chilly, but the family in the next tent had boys the same age as the three young Nelsons and they all played baseball, fished, collected frogs, even went swimming in the frigid Lake Michigan waters. There was a pay phone at the office, but Steve took pride in “roughing it,” savoring the isolation from worries encroaching upon him from all directions.

  It was wise, very wise, to be far away, and now, out of sight.

  On Friday, Steve packed up camp and headed to Mackinaw City. He tried to relax and bought the boys fudge before heading to the Starline Ferry bound for Mackinac Island. The kids were thrilled by the island without cars, and Steve rented bikes so they could explore. As they made their way to Fort Mackinac to watch the rangers fire the historic muskets, Steve noticed that Patrick was having trouble keeping up.

  “Pat, you okay?”

  Steve asked after the third time his son lagged behind.

  Patrick wheezed, “Yeah, Dad.”

  Steve sat down on the curb next to his son. Why was he breathing so fast? Like he was having trouble catching his breath. Laying his hand lightly on the child’s thin chest, Steve gasped at Patrick’s fast, wild heartbeat.

  “Come on you guys, ” yelled Kevin. “The fort’s up there on that hill!”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” shouted Mike as he bicycled in circles around his brother and dad. “To the fort!”

  “Pat’s resting,” said Steve. “Slow down, will you?”

  “Pat’s a sissy,” taunted Kevin. “Sissy, sissy, come on, let’s go.”

  “Am not,” countered Patrick, attempting to get up off the curb, but quickly sitting down again.

  Steve was worried now. Patrick had been born with a heart murmur — a hole in his heart. They had said it was nothing to worry about, that Patrick had no physical restrictions, but — “Okay, boys,” he announced, “let’s pack it in. We’ve seen the island, we’re going back now.”

  “Aw, Dad,” complained Mike, “you said we were gonna see the show with the guns. You said, after lunch.”

  “Yeah, and the horse and buggy ride,” Kevin added.

  Steve got up, hoisted Patrick to his feet, and started walking their two bikes slowly back toward the rental shop.

  “Pat’s
sick. Let’s go,” Steve called.

  “He’s just a spoiled brat,” Kevin said to Mike, loud enough for Steve and Patrick to hear.

  Instead of heading directly to the new campsite back on the mainland, Steve drove to the small town of Cheboygan on the shores of Lake Huron, about thirty miles away. Without telling the kids where he was going, he suddenly pulled into a parking lot.

  “Where are we?” Kevin asked, looking up at a red brick building with a wide circular driveway.

  “It’s a hospital,” muttered Mike, waking up from a snooze in the backseat.

  “Look, you two just stay in the car for a few minutes,” Steve said. “Pat, you come with me.”

  “Dad,” whined Patrick, “I wanna stay with Mike and Kev.”

  “Come on, Patrick,” Steve insisted.

  A half hour later, at three thirty, Steve came out to get Mike and Kevin. Before he could say a word, Kevin blurted, “Dad, are you having a heart attack?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Is Pat really sick?” Mike asked.

  Steve led them toward the emergency room door where an ambulance partially blocked access to the double automatic doors. “I’m sure he’s fine, but the doctor’s checking him out right now, and I want you here in the waiting room. No fooling around, you hear me?”

  “We haven’t even had lunch,” Kevin complained.

  In the waiting room, Mike started pacing. “Kev, come over here,” he whispered from across the room. “You can hear them talking about Pat in there. Listen.”

  “I don’t understand, Dr. Pope,” they could make out Steve saying. “He’s just a child. He’s got nothing to be anxious about.”

  “Some children are high-strung by nature,” they heard a gravelly male voice coming from the treatment room. “Their bodies overreact, resulting in a rapid heartbeat like the one we have here.”

  “But the tiredness? He just can’t keep up. I told you, it’s not normal when an eight-year-old child can’t even walk a hundred feet without having to stop and his heart racing so.”

  “Probably just nerves,” the doctor said. “Maybe some passive-aggressive acting out.”

  “My son is not a nervous type. I’m telling you.”

  “I’m not a pediatrician, Mr. Nelson, but I’m telling you, there’s no emergency here.”

  “His blood count is normal?”

  “Perfectly. He’s not anemic. No abnormal white cells and a normal hemoglobin. I suggest you take him to your family doctor to do a more thorough check-up if you still feel that something’s wrong.”

  “Fine. I’ll take him in to see Dr. Chambers then,” Steve said.

  “Dean Chambers? Been to a lot of meetings together, the Northern Michigan Medical Society. Say hello for me,” Dr. Pope said.

  Mike and Kevin exchanged looks and scurried away from the door as Steve came out holding Patrick’s right hand. In his left was a large green lollipop.

  “So what happened?” Mike asked as they all settled back in the car.

  “My heart was going too fast,” Patrick answered. “But there’s nothing wrong with me, is there, Dad?”

  Steve attempted a smile. “The doc said it’s nothing, so we’re heading up to the U.P., guys.”

  “Doesn’t Pat have a hole in his heart?” Mike asked.

  Steve glanced quickly at Mike in a shut up way.

  “No way,” Patrick blurted. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Well, let’s call Mom,” Mike went on. “She’ll know what to do. Did you tell that doctor in there that our mom is a doctor, Dad?”

  “Listen Mike, just quit it. This is a camping trip for us guys. Right now my plan is to cross the Mackinac Bridge and stay at one of those cabins on Trout Lake tonight. Then tomorrow we can fish in the morning and leave for Tahquamenon Falls State Park, the place I told you guys about.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Patrick said, “I just wanna go fishing.”

  “We’re all gonna starve to death first,” said Kevin.

  Steve smiled genuinely for the first time all day. “Maybe I should make you catch your lunch, huh? But you’re in luck, there’s a place to stop just before the bridge.”

  After eating deli sandwiches, they crossed Mackinac Bridge, the largest suspension bridge in the United States, and reached the Trout Lake Cabins just at dusk. There were fourteen small cabins situated in a horseshoe pattern, lacking any amenities except for telephones. Steve chose to stay the night there, off Route 123, rather than set up the tent, in case something did happen with Patrick. He parked the wagon behind their cabin, unloading only what the kids would need for the night as well as the ice chest with the sandwiches they’d bought at a small store after they stopped at St. Ignace for ice cream.

  He returned to the cabin amid complaints that that there was no TV. In fact, there were only two double beds, a night table, and a phone. He sent the boys outside and called his father. Learning of Laura’s latest antics — that she’d gotten a court order to have the twins returned to Florida as a result of his absence — Steve began to wonder how much detail the girls would remember of their Michigan trip. Another of his growing bag of worries.

  Later, after a game of cards, he slept with Patrick in one bed, and Kevin and Mike shared the other. In the middle of the night Steve heard a muffled sound — Kevin crying. Turning over he whispered, “Kev, you okay?”

  “Is Pat going to be okay,” Kevin whispered back.

  “I’m sure he will,” said Steve.

  “What’s anxiety?”

  “It means nervousness.”

  “But Pat’s not nervous,” Kevin snuffled. “I wish Mom was here to check him.”

  “He’ll be okay, Kev. Some people may not act nervous on the outside but they worry on the inside, you know.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Kevin. “I’ll try to be nicer to him.”

  “Good idea for all of us, son,” said Steve.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In the pinkish-gray of predawn Saturday, Laura awoke. For a moment, she could not move and panic started to seize her. As a rush of feeling followed, she remembered ecstatically: the twins, they were home! At the moment, one slept peacefully on either side of her, having pressed themselves completely against her as they all went to sleep in Laura’s big bed the night before. Breathing a sigh of huge relief, she thanked God for returning the girls safe and sound to her. Maybe this was a sign that everything would work out, that their lives could finally get back to normal, that everything would eventually be all right.

  She needed this sign. She needed to believe this, she repeated to herself like a mantra, until it finally lulled her back to sleep.

  Laura crawled out of bed just before seven. Later in the kitchen, she checked the clock over the stove as it ticked toward eight, picked up the phone, and dialed.

  “Mom, did I wake you up? I waited until eight.”

  “Laura?” Peg Whelan sounded excited. “I’ve been dying to call, but I didn’t want to —”

  “They’re home! We got back just before midnight — too late to call.”

  “And are they all right, honey?”

  “Absolutely! We all slept in my bed, talked half the night. They’re still asleep.”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you how happy I am. No problems on the Michigan end?”

  “No, thank God. Chuck had the court order, so Jim had to turn them over. Chuck said he seemed relieved actually. You know, I’m going to give him a call later today. I don’t want any hard feelings between us. He’s a nice man and always has been good to me.”

  “Um hum.” Peg paused. “Strange situation though — Steve’s relationship with his family. I mean, Jim’s never visited you down here, and you’ve never taken the children to Traverse City, except for when Helen died five years ago. Well, I don’t know, it’s none of my business anyway. So how are my granddaughters?”

  “They really seem fine. You should have seen us at the airport. All crying at once. Poor Chuck must have been embarrasse
d. Later today, I’ll have a talk with them, see if I can find out what’s really going on. Like why would Steve just take off with the kids? Why the sudden urge to see his father? Is Jim seriously ill?”

  “I think Steve just wanted to punish you,” Peg said not unkindly. “To teach you a lesson, that he can take what’s most important to you. Using the kids to get back at you. I just don’t understand Steve anymore.”

  “He’s like a whole different person,” Laura sighed. “I just want to get my life back together.”

  “Honey, have you gotten around to actually filing for a divorce?” Peg asked. “All these custody issues need to be squared away. You’ve got to get the boys back with you too.”

  “I know. Haven’t done it yet,” Laura admitted. “Need to talk to Greg about it. We’ve all been so focused on getting the charges dropped. My custody chances have to be better once I get out from under all this. Anyway, that should be soon.”

  “Certainly there can be no doubt?” Peg sounded surprised. “Custody always goes to the mother.”

  “Not if the mother is accused of murder,” Laura said. “Not such a minor detail.”

  “Honey, Dad and I will be there later this morning. We can’t wait to see Natalie and Nicole, but we’re expecting a call from Ted today. We think he’s still in Uganda, and Idi Amin’s on another rampage. After kicking out the Orientals, missionaries are supposed to go next.”

  “Geez, Mom, I am so sorry to add to all your worries. You’ve got enough on your minds without all my stuff. You know I pray for Ted’s safety every day. When are those Jesuits going to send him home?”

  “Don’t forget to pray for your sister too, honey. She and Kenneth are still waiting for that baby. She can’t leave France right now or the adoption might be put on hold. Anyway, you know how much both Ted and Janet want to be with you, but —”

  “I know, Mom. You’d better hang up so you don’t miss Ted’s call. We’ll see you and Dad later.”

  “Mom!”

  Laura was flipping through an AMA journal munching her third peanut butter toast with orange marmalade when Natalie and Nicole, still in their nightgowns, bounded down the stairs.