Carrie Diamond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Nelson defense team met early Monday morning, only to face the disappointment of the previous night’s efforts. It was clear, after the debriefing of Chuck’s men, that nothing new had emerged. A few strange cars parked around the four-block area. Vague descriptions. No license plates. No positive I.D. of Frank Santiago or anybody else who seemed suspicious. Chuck’s vague discomfort with Dirk and Sally Palmer’s response was the only thread of a lead. Greg and Rob found Chuck’s assessment of the Palmers’ reaction intriguing. How could they approach the child to find out whether she’d seen anything relevant to Kim’s murder?
Carrie was strangely silent until Greg asked, “What do you think, Carrie? I trust your instincts when it comes to legal ethics.”
“Molly Palmer goes to the Tampa School for the Deaf,” Carrie said slowly. “I don’t know the child well. She’s in the sixth grade, not in Elizabeth’s class, but I’ve met the parents.”
“And —” Rob pressed.
“They’re outgoing, quite active in the school. I think she’s secretary of the PTA. Yes, she is.”
“And how they treated me last night,” Chuck asked, “does it seem out of character?”
Carrie nodded. “Sally is a nonstop talker, and Dirk has always been quite friendly.”
“Well last night he was downright hostile.”
“Carrie, is there any way we can get to talk to the girl?” Rob ventured. “Perhaps at the school?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie replied. “The Palmers sounded like they were adamant. We’d have to be very careful to avoid any real or perceived exploitation, especially with such strong parental objection.”
“It could be important,” Greg said. “Carrie, could you take the assignment to try to reach the child in a way that would not compromise us or the school?”
“I’ll give it a try. I realize how important this might be to Laura. But you know, if this were Elizabeth —”
“Thanks, Carrie,” Greg said quickly. “Call Chuck if anything comes up.”
After passing the security cameras that flanked every corner of the main building, Carrie Diamond walked through the open door into the principal’s office at ten o’clock. She found Randall Franklin poring through a thick, black binder full of charts and tables of numbers. A big man in his mid-fifties with black bushy eyebrows behind wire-rimmed glasses and a triangular beard that made his face seem too long, he looked formidable, yet he was known for his compassion. Carrie stood silently a few moments until the big man looked up with surprise.
“Why, Mrs. Diamond —”
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You just looked so engrossed.”
“Ick, budgets,” he said with a smile as he rose from the swivel chair at his desk. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. Wasn’t yesterday just grand?”
“Absolutely. Elizabeth was thrilled being in that skit. It’s such a confidence builder for the kids to perform in front of an audience.”
“Great turnout. Hope you parents know how much I appreciate everything. The proceeds from an event like yesterday let us do so much more for the kids, especially during our summer sessions when we can plan these types of performances.”
“It was fun,” answered Carrie. “It’s great to spend time with the other parents. We have a lot in common.”
“Of course. So how can I help you?” the principal asked, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Elizabeth seems to be doing well — excellent grades and a great attitude. Is there a problem? Here, sit down.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Franklin …” Carrie hesitated as she settled into the chair opposite his desk, “how to go about this, so I’ll just be as honest as I can. There may be a problem, but it’s not about Elizabeth.”
“Go on, please.” Randall Franklin removed his glasses and looked closely at Carrie.
“It’s about Molly Palmer.”
“Oh? Her father called me this morning, reluctant to send her to school. Said she’d been having some stomachaches.”
“Oh? Anything else?”
“He asked me about our security. I reminded him that in addition to a morning and night patrol, our buildings are equipped with security cameras operating twenty-four hours a day. A little bit later, Mr. Palmer arrived with Molly and escorted her to her classroom. It was odd.”
“Hmm. Have you noticed anything else unusual,” Carrie paused, “about Molly?”
“Well, now that you mention it, at the picnic yesterday, the Palmers seemed rather protective of her.” He stopped abruptly. “Is something going on that I should know about?”
Carrie exhaled. “My law firm is representing Dr. Laura Nelson, the woman accused of shooting Kim Connor, the television newscaster, a couple of weeks ago. The murder took place next door to the Palmer’s home. I wonder if the child may have seen something that’s frightened her.”
“I see.” He paused. “Well, maybe you should talk to Janice Meyer. She’s Molly’s teacher. If the child is upset, we need to work with her parents.”
“I understand. If this were about Elizabeth —” Carrie’s voice trailed off, “well, I would appreciate help.”
“I’ll have Janice come over during recess.” Franklin looked at his watch. “Which is in ten minutes.”
“Mrs. Diamond, how nice to see you.” Janice Meyer smiled as she rose from the table in the teachers’ lounge and smoothed her red dress.
Carrie knew Janice from the volunteer work she’d done to help orient new families to the school. An attractive woman with red-brown hair and a creamy complexion, she was in her mid-forties with a deaf child of her own.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday,” Janice said. “Elizabeth was great in that skit.”
“Thanks. She had a wonderful time.”
“So what’s happening? Randall said you wanted to talk to me about Molly Palmer?”
“Can we go outside?” Carrie anticipated the influx of teachers who’d all want to say their hellos, particularly Tammy White, Elizabeth’s young, enthusiastic teacher.
“Sure. There’s an alcove over by the garden with plenty of shade. Let’s grab a coffee or a soda first.” She filled her ceramic Tampa Bay Buccaneer mug with hot coffee while Carrie chose a Diet Coke from the vending machine.
Outside, they settled at a small wrought iron table tucked under one of the portico overhangs in a small garden amid a blaze of crimson azaleas.
“Randall said to help you the best I can. What’s happening?”
“First, I want you to know that I represent Laura Nelson, the local surgeon accused of killing her husband’s colleague, Kim Connor, the TV newscaster.”
“Quite a story.”
Carrie nodded. “I’ll say. Did you know that Molly lives next door to Steve Nelson, Laura’s husband, where Kim Connor was shot?”
“Uh, no.” Janice’s brown eyes narrowed. “Remind me, when did this happen?”
“Two weeks ago yesterday. On Sunday night, around eight. The police have investigated, of course, and talked to all of the neighbors. Nobody saw anything.”
“So what has this have to do with Molly,” Janice asked softly, “if nobody saw anything?”
“Yesterday, her parents seemed strangely unwilling to cooperate with our investigator. It didn’t seem like normal behavior for them. My instincts tell me that Molly might’ve seen something that’s frightened her.”
“That might fit with the behavior I’ve been seeing,” Janice mused. “Molly hasn’t been herself. When I mentioned it to the Palmers yesterday, they just brushed me off.”
“I can understand their concern. But if the child saw something, if she doesn’t confront it, well, I don’t know how healthy that is.”
“So you think that what she may have seen would help your client?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I came, to try to find out.”
“What would you do, if it were Elizabeth?” Janice asked. “Expose her to the
world of the police and criminal investigations? A court trial, maybe? Nobody wants that for their child. These kids are so vulnerable.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about that. But, you know, at some time we have to teach our kids right and wrong and encourage civil responsibility even if there might be some risk.” Carrie let it go at that, choosing not to add, “Risk as in this case with a mob connection” or “Though I might want to keep Elizabeth hidden, out of it altogether.”
“Well, I know you wouldn’t be here, Ms. Diamond, if it weren’t important. I’ve read about the Kim Connor shooting, and I can’t believe that that nice woman doctor with all those kids did it, even if that woman was having an affair with her husband.”
“You’re right, my being here is important.”
“So, how do you propose we go about this?”
Carrie breathed easier on hearing the ‘we.’ “Maybe you could talk to the child. Ask if anything is wrong, anything she wants to talk about.”
“I don’t know if that would get anything out of her. My guess is her parents have told her not to talk to anyone about that night,” Janice speculated. “But, you know, kids talk much more readily to other kids. How about Elizabeth?”
“Elizabeth? She’s not in Molly’s class.”
“But they know each other. I was thinking that if you explained some of this to Elizabeth and she talked to Molly, maybe it would come out and Molly herself would volunteer to talk to you. I can get Elizabeth and Molly together alone over lunch.”
“You mean have Elizabeth just come out and ask her if she knows anything?”
“Sure. Have her explain to Molly that her mother is trying to help another mom who’s in big trouble over what happened to the lady in the house next door. The truth. Right?”
Carrie nodded.
“If Molly wants to tell her anything she knows that might help this other mom and her kids, fine. If not, fine. But if she does know something, Elizabeth could suggest that she tell you. That way, there’ll be no chance that you can be blamed for inappropriately approaching her.”
“Will it endanger the school?”
“You’re the lawyer, but if it’s Molly’s choice to confide in the mother of a classmate who just happens to be a lawyer, what’s the harm done?”
“Okay,” said Carrie with a sigh. “Let’s give it a try. Can you get Elizabeth out of class so I can talk to her?”
Molly and Elizabeth sat in a small alcove off the cafeteria with their lunches arranged on orange plastic trays in front of them. Molly was a thin child, tall, like her parents, with her brown hair in braids, with huge brown eyes, her face sprinkled with freckles. Elizabeth was plumper, with porcelain skin, her mother’s violet eyes, and curly brown hair. The girls interspersed eating with facile sign language as they settled in across the table from each other. Carrie sat inconspicuously at an empty table just outside the alcove, but she had a clear visual angle on the girls’ signed conversation — she also noticed two security cameras trained on the girls from the alcove walls.
Janice Meyer had offered no explanation to Molly, but she had brought over extra chocolate chip cookies to go with their bagged lunches. Elizabeth had been happy with the surprise visit from her mother and told her that she’d always liked Molly Palmer, but since they were in different classrooms and rode different school buses, she didn’t know her that well. Yesterday, after leaving Laura’s, she’d had so many questions about the nice lady she’d met and her twin girls, who’d both been really nice to her. Now she was excited about being able to help the lady, so, sure, she’d ask some questions.
Elizabeth started by admiring Molly’s earrings, telling her by sign that she was trying to get her mom to let her get her ears pierced.
Molly said that she’d had pierced ears since she was a baby and that she had a whole collection of pretty earrings.
“You’re lucky,” Elizabeth signed. Then she relayed her mother’s request.
“I saw those kids go over next door before,” Molly signed. “Some boys and two girls about our age. I thought they were twins. I wanted to play with them, but they were outside playing catch with their brothers.” Then she added, “Plus, they wouldn’t know sign language.”
“Did you see the kids the day the TV lady was killed?” Elizabeth prompted.
“No. I saw the blonde lady come that night. Then later all the police cars showed up, all the red lights flashing. You know the guy that lived there was a TV news man?”
“Yes, he was on TV with the killed lady,” signed Elizabeth.
“I used to watch him go in and out from my bedroom window. That’s where my desk is, where I read or do my homework. And the lady that was killed, I saw her go in that night. I never saw her come before, but I know her from the pictures in the newspapers and on TV . . .” she hesitated, “I didn’t know the man who moved in next door was married to the blonde lady.”
Molly seemed eager to share this information with Elizabeth, but then Carrie noticed a shadow darken Molly’s face.
“My mom and dad told me not to tell anybody.” She leaned forward toward Elizabeth. “I saw someone else go into that house too. He had dark skin, but not a black man,” she clarified. “He went in a little before the blonde lady, but I never saw him come back out.”
“He didn’t come out?”
“Not through the front door. I didn’t mean to spy on them, but nobody famous ever lived next door before.”
“Me either. Then how did he get out?”
“Maybe the back door?” Molly signed. “I can’t see it from my window.”
“Did you tell this to the police?” Elizabeth asked.
“No way, but I wanted to. I told my mom and dad and they said that it wasn’t important and not to talk to anyone about it. I don’t get it. They say I should always tell the truth, so why did they say not to tell the truth to the police?”
“I don’t get it either. But would you tell my mom since she’s trying to help the lady — the one with the kids?”
“I don’t know. My parents would be mad at me.”
“My mom’s very nice. She’ll explain to your parents.”
Molly considered this. “Okay,” she finally signed. “I’ll tell your mother if she’ll explain it to Mom and Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By Tuesday, Steve was worried. Very worried. Somehow he’d imagined that fishing with his sons in the remote streams of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula would reward him with a plan. But the reality: he was at a loss. Almost six weeks since that night Laura had walked in on him and Kim. More than two weeks since Kim died. Now Laura was no longer a suspect, and the cops had zeroed in on Santiago.
And the cops and everyone else wanted to talk to him about Santiago’s whereabouts? How the heck would he know where Kim’s mobster boyfriend hung out? And what about Santiago himself, now that he — and the whole world — knew that Steve had boinked Kim. What would a mobster do? Would he want revenge? Steve’s paranoia that Santiago would come after him was rapidly escalating. Was he safe in Michigan? Should he leave the country? Could he get the kids out with him? None of them had passports. Should he take off with the boys? Leave the girls with Laura? Could he convince Laura to come with him? Maybe to Canada? Or should he just go back to Florida, work things out with Laura, and take his chances?
These questions pounded in his head, making it throb with pain. He’d searched their supplies for Tylenol, but he must have forgotten to pack it. The weather had turned miserable, rainy and cold and depressing. Cooped up in a leaky tent, Mike became sullen and Kevin’s high spirits decelerated to outright grumpiness. But it was Patrick who scared him. The little boy could hardly walk from the tent to the outhouse.
“Hey, Pat, wanna go out and have a catch?” Kevin stuck his head inside the tent and yelled. “Rain’s stopping.”
“Okay, yeah,” Patrick said as Kevin barged inside and reached out to pull Patrick up from a sitting position.
Alarmed, Steve watche
d as Patrick had to catch his breath before following Kevin out of the tent’s flap door.
“Come on, Mike,” Steve said, grabbing two gloves, tossing one to Mike. “Let’s go out with them.”
“Okay, Dad, but —”
“Dad, come quick!” Kevin screamed from outside.
Steve and Mike rushed outside to see Patrick sprawled on a wet bed of pine needles. Kevin was trying to pull him into a sitting position.
“Just a minute,” Patrick rasped. “I’m okay.”
“Kev, what happened?” Steve asked.
“Don’t know. Pat musta fell down.”
“Did you slip on the wet needles?” Steve crouched down and held the little boy in his arms.
“Yup. I’m okay.” Patrick’s breathing was rapid and shallow.
For the first time Steve noticed the bluish hue of Patrick’s skin. Was it the light filtering through the thick clouds? Steve turned to his oldest son. “Mike, start packing up the campsite. We’re heading back to Traverse City.”
“Right away, Dad.”
“Pat, we’re bringing you to see Dr. Chambers,” Steve said as he carried the child toward the small, dank tent. “He was my doctor when I was a kid. You’re going to like him.”
“No more doctors, Dad,” Patrick said weakly, his little arms around his father’s neck. “Just call Mom.”
“Nice work, Carrie,” Greg said as Laura’s defense team gathered in the conference room on Wednesday morning. “That child’s ID of Frank Santiago is solid.”
“Thought we’d never get the parents’ okay for the affidavit,” Chuck said, “but Carrie talked them from suing the pants off all of us into full cooperation — as long as their daughter is protected.”
“Can you really protect her?” Laura asked quietly. “I’d be worried sick if it were my child. And she sounds like such a sweet girl . . .”
“She is a sweet girl,” Carrie agreed. “I’ve already talked to the police about it.”
“I’ll take the affidavit to the D.A. right away,” said Rob. “They’ll need to verify it, but with an eyewitness putting Frank Santiago at Nelson’s place — even if it is a kid — they’ll be sweating bullets.”
Twisted Justice Page 18
