The Solomon Organization

by Andrew Neiderman

“My attorney? What about the anesthesiologist?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing,” Scott said, standing up. He took a deep breath and walked out. The guard closed the door and indicated he should continue down the corridor. They came to a bland wooden door at the end and the guard turned the knob.

  “Mr. Lester,” he announced and stepped back so Scott could enter. He did so slowly. Every time he had entered a room lately, it resulted in some more unhappiness.

  But this time, seated at the conference table was a rather attractive dark-haired woman with the brightest hazel eyes he had ever seen. She wore her hair cut and curled just shoulder high. She had petite facial features with a chin that made a soft turn up into high cheek bones. Her firm bosom lifted against the light blue Chanel silk suit jacket when she sat back. Under the jacket she wore a pearl silk blouse, the two top buttons undone.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Lester,” she said, indicating the chair across from her. “I’m Faye Elliot, from Orseck, Greenberg and Wilson.”

  “You’re my lawyer?” he asked, surprised they had sent him a female attorney.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Do you have a problem with that?” she followed, those hazel eyes sharpening as they narrowed.

  “I don’t know,” Scott said sitting down. “I’ve had lots of problems lately.”

  Faye Elliot nodded.

  “That’s for sure,” she said. “I’ve spoken with Michael Fein, so I know the history of your relationship with your wife and the current divorce proceeding and battle for custody of your child.”

  “Justine,” Scott said. “Her name’s Justine. Meg picked it out, but I always liked it.”

  “It’s a very nice name,” Faye said quickly. She was firm, stiffly seated, all business. “Now I assume you understand the charges that have been made against you. They’re going for attempted murder. I’ve already had a quick discussion with the assistant district attorney. I think if the whereabouts of Justine can be determined, we can deal.”

  “Deal?”

  “Get them to reduce the charges. You’ll plead guilty and…”

  “Just a minute. Hold it,” he said, sitting forward. “I’m not guilty of anything. I mean, I didn’t attack Meg and I did not kidnap Justine.”

  “Mr. Lester, here’s what they have: motive—your wife has filed for divorce and you’re losing the fight for joint custody of your daughter. In fact, it looks very likely that you will be severely restricted when it comes to her. Opportunity—you were found at the scene of the crime, even though you were clearly not supposed to be on the premises at that hour and there is evidence that a struggle ensued; weapon, confirmed—this little statue was used to bludgeon your wife; finally and conclusively, your prints are clearly on it.”

  “I didn’t do it,” he insisted. “I found her. I called the police. If I did it, why would I call the police and stay there, huh?”

  Unflinching, her eyes straight, her lips firm, she leaned toward him.

  “Precisely for what you are doing now—using it to establish your innocence. That’s what the district attorney will say,” she said, sitting back. He stared at her.

  “All right, Mr. Lester…”

  “Scott. If you’re going to be my attorney, at least call me by my first name,” he said. “I feel like I’m in an IRS audit instead of a conference with my attorney.”

  She blinked. He had finally broken through that facade of efficiency and officiality.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to be realistic. At times like this, it doesn’t pay to dabble in illusion, pretend things are better than they are just to spare feelings.”

  “You very experienced?” he asked.

  “Not very,” she confessed. She hesitated and then admitted, “You’re my first violent crime.”

  “What? Oh, I get it,” he said, “they sent you because everyone thinks this is a fait accompli, huh? A lost cause. That’s why you’re marching me through it so quickly.”

  “Mr. Lester, that…”

  “Scott. Call me Scott, damn it.” She blanched. “Look,” he said more calmly, “I know how it looks. I don’t need you to spell it out, but I swear to God, I didn’t do it. I may be an asshole to do some of the stupid things I’ve done, but I’m not a vicious, violent individual. Hell, the last time I’ve been in a physical confrontation of any sort was the sixth grade and the other boy, Rube Martin, kicked my head in.” He took a deep breath. “Please, give me the benefit of some doubt. If you don’t, who the hell will?” he pleaded.

  Her face softened, first her lips relaxing and then her eyes warming. She flipped open a legal pad and opened a pen.

  “All right, Scott, what were you doing at the house?”

  He thought a moment.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” She finally smiled.

  “I was left there…dumped.”

  “Dumped?”

  “I was unconscious at the time…stoned,” he added, his voice dropping.

  “I see. Who dumped you?”

  “A friend, or at least someone I thought was a friend. His name is Philip Dante.” She wrote it down.

  “How long have you known Mr. Dante?”

  “Not long. Days,” he said.

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “In court. I turned around and he was sitting in the back observing the proceeding. Afterward, we talked and went for a drink.”

  “How did you get into this situation…dumped?” she asked, sitting back and folding her arms under her bosom.

  “I went to a party with Philip Dante. It was kind of rowdy. Lots to drink…champagne, girls. I must have passed out. Next thing I know, I wake up in the house.”

  “You went to a party with a man you had just met, drank yourself into unconsciousness…”

  “Well, there was some coke, too,” he confessed.

  “Mr. Lester…Scott, admitting you were under the influence of drugs doesn’t let you off the hook. Under the law, people are still accountable—”

  “I didn’t hurt Meg,” he insisted.

  “The prosecution will prove the other possibility; they will convince a jury. Even if I was willing to put forward this line of defense, I would be irresponsible to let you believe it could be argued successfully in a courtroom with grown-ups.”

  He flinched. She looked down at her notes.

  “You told the investigating officers, Lieutenant Parker and Detective Fotowski, that you never touched the statue of cupid. How do you explain your fingerprints being on it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe I did touch it once.”

  “You shouldn’t have been so definite in saying you didn’t,” she complained.

  “Yeah, well the next time this happens to me, I’ll clamp my lips together from the moment I’m picked up until my attorney arrives. I’m innocent. I didn’t think of doing things to protect myself until it was too late,” he moaned.

  She took a deep breath. The lines in her neck were so smooth, he thought. How could he sit here admiring her looks? he wondered. Maybe he was crazy.

  “All right,” she said after a moment. “What about this Philip Dante? Can we get a hold of him and have him testify that he brought you to the house?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s his phone number?” she asked, leaning over, “and address?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. She looked up. “I tried calling him as soon as I discovered what had happened at the house, but the information operator didn’t have a listing, not even for an unlisted number.”

  She shook her head. “Can you hear yourself? Do you understand what you are saying? Can you begin to imagine how a jury presented with the evidence will react?”

  “I didn’t hit my wife with that statue,” he insisted. He hated the whiny sound in his voice.

  “Can you find this Mr. Dante? Do you know where he works?”

  “He’s an insurance salesman,”
Scott said, grabbing onto that fact desperately.

  “Okay. What else do you remember about him?”

  “He was involved in a nasty divorce and custody hearing, too,” Scott said quickly and continued to rummage through his mind, tearing the shadows away from his memories. “He has a son…little boy named Marvin and his wife’s name is Maureen. No, not Maureen, that’s the woman his wife caught him with…Victoria. Yeah, that’s it,” he said happily. “She works for a dentist.”

  “You know a lot about him without knowing his address and phone number,” Faye Elliot said.

  “Yeah, well, he told me his situation.”

  “Uh huh. That information is helpful, Scott, but it would still require the services of a private investigator to locate the man, and that’s expensive.”

  “I don’t care. It’s more expensive for me to be wrongfully accused and convicted. I’ll mortgage myself to the hilt, sell everything of value I own.” He leaned toward her. “Money should not be of any concern at this moment, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” she said. “If you have it or can get it.”

  “I’ll get it. Can you get me out of here?”

  “There’s a bail hearing in the morning. We’ll try,” she replied.

  “I’ve got to sleep in that hole,” he said with a sigh. His tone made the comment sound like a complaint.

  Faye didn’t look sympathetic. “I’m innocent. Really.” He sat back calmly. “Who else but an innocent man would protest his innocence in the face of such an overwhelming case against him?” he asked.

  Faye Elliot smiled, this time a wide, warm one.

  “If we can find this man and he can testify to bringing you to the house and dumping you there as some sort of sick joke…”

  “Yes?” Scott leaned forward.

  “And the coroner determines that the time of the attack on your wife was much earlier…”

  “Uh huh.”

  “We can establish some reasonable doubt. Does your wife have any other enemies you know?”

  “I’m not her enemy,” he said. “I was an unfaithful husband. I screwed around, hooked myself into a cocaine habit, but I wasn’t her enemy. I was angry about her trying to cut me off from Justine. I’ll admit that, but I wouldn’t try to kill the mother of my child.”

  He didn’t want the tears to fill his eyes; he hated revealing his weakness in front of a woman he had never met before; he hated the groveling and the pleading; he despised himself as he now was, but somehow, he knew he had to cling to enough self-respect to care and to do battle for his survival.

  “I’m sorry,” Faye Elliot said. Her femininity appeared to rise to the surface. “Does she have any enemies?”

  “None I know.” He hesitated. Should he tell her? He wasn’t afraid of betraying the Solomon Organization; that was the furthest from his mind. He was afraid he would lose the morsel of sympathy he had evoked from Faye Elliot. She would see him as a plotter, a co-conspirator. Even if he had no knowledge of what they were going to do, he was still an accomplice. If he could just locate Dante and do what his attorney suggested…create reasonable doubt.

  “And you have no idea, no thoughts or suggestions as to where Justine might be?”

  “No. Wherever she is,” he said softly, straining to get out the words, “she must be terrified.” He shook his head, a single tear escaping. He hoped she didn’t see it fall. “Maybe I am guilty,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Guilty of creating the situation that enabled all this to happen.” He took a deep breath and sat up. “But I didn’t try to kill my wife or kidnap my daughter.”

  “Okay,” she said, folding her notebook. “Try to get some sleep. I want you to look as good as you can for that bail hearing tomorrow.”

  She stood up and tapped on the door. The guard opened it.

  “Good night,” she said and left. He heard her heels clicking down the hall.

  “Let’s go,” the guard said, eying Scott’s departing attorney with a leer. “Not bad,” he added. “I’m tempted to commit a crime.”

  His laughter wrapped itself around Scott as they started back to his dingy cell. It was as if a giant spider had woven a web. He could only wait for the sting. Just like the trapped fly, he knew it was coming. His passion for life was so great, he could even tolerate the stinking, dark hole to which he was returned.

  5

  Justine opened eyes and was surprised to find herself in the prettiest, brightest bedroom she had ever seen. She sat up slowly, almost afraid to take a breath. The two windows across from her were draped in cherry pink and white curtains. The walls were covered with the Loony Tunes paper that depicted all her favorite cartoon characters.

  Whoever had put her here had first visited her dreams and made a shopping list of all her desires and wishes. To the right of the windows was a doll house big enough for her to crawl into, filled with miniature furniture. There was even a miniature television set with real miniature dials that worked. On the wall to her left were a half-dozen shelves loaded with the largest collection of stuffed animals she had ever seen. Every single one that she owned and every single one that she ever dreamed of owning was there, all smiling down at her, just waiting to be cuddled and loved. Below the shelves was a gigantic toy chest with Bugs Bunny etched out on the front. His toothy smile promised the chest contained more delightful surprises.

  She gazed at the bed she was in. It was her very own bed with its white posts and pictures of Mickey and Minnie Mouse on the headboard. These were the same fluffy pillows and this was her pink and white down comforter. She pressed the soft material to her face. The linen even had a similar pleasant scent. Was she home? How could she be home? She didn’t have all these things at home.

  A cuckoo clock on the top shelf and in the middle of the stuffed animals opened its door and the bird jetted out to cluck the hours. It looked like Big Bird from Sesame Street. She couldn’t help but giggle when the bird jerked back in and the doors closed. Then, as if on cue, a music box on the small desk began to play. Atop it, a beautiful ballerina started to pirouette. Justine watched in fascination until the door to this room was opened and a very pleasant looking elderly lady entered carrying a tray on which there was a glass of orange juice and a bowl of hot cereal. She stepped lightly over the thick white shag rug, lifting and dropping her feet as if she were afraid she would step on eggs.

  She had her silver blue hair pinned up in a bun and wore wide rim, gray metal-framed glasses. Her cheeks were rosy and she had a warm, soft smile. She was dressed in a bright blue housecoat with big pockets. The dress went down to her ankles, which were covered with thick, flesh-colored socks. Her shiny black shoes had wide, thick soles. She was somewhat chubby with soft, heavy arms, wide hips, and a matronly bosom.

  “Good morning, honey,” she sang. “This morning, since it’s your first morning with Grandma, I’ve brought you your breakfast. Here,” she said, placing the tray carefully on Justine’s lap. “Just hold it a moment until I get your little bed table out from under the bed. That’s a good girl.”

  When she bent down to get the table, Justine saw she had a pretty aqua pearl comb in her hair.

  “Just lift the tray now. That’s a good girl; that’s Grandma’s good girl,” she said and slipped the table over Justine’s legs. She helped Justine place the tray on the table.

  “What do we have?” she asked Justine and then pointed to the glass of juice. “We have freshly squeezed orange juice to give you vitamin C.” She pinched Justine’s cheek gently. “And we have a good healthy cereal to give you more vitamins and iron and calcium to make sure you have good teeth. Grandma always brings the bestest things to her grandchildren,” she added and widened her smile to reveal a gold tooth. “Now are you going to eat for Grandma?”

  Justine was still too overwhelmed to speak. She could barely nod her head, but it was enough to make Grandma clap her hands together and squeal with delight.

  “That’s my girl; that’s my g
ood girl,” she said and handed Justine the glass of juice. She drank it slowly, her eyes never leaving the jolly old lady who stood beside the bed gloating. “You’ve got to be hungry,” she said. “Everyone’s hungry when they come to Grandma’s.”

  Justine blinked and thought. She knew that Daddy’s mommy was dead and gone to Heaven, along with his daddy. She knew Mommy’s daddy went to Heaven and Nanny Turner was back East where Aunt Abby lived. Where did she get this new Grandma?

  “Come on now, dear. Eat your cereal while it’s still warm. It will feel good in your tummy,” Grandma said.

  Justine put down the emptied juice glass and lifted the cereal spoon. Grandma nodded, still beaming as Justine began to eat the cereal. It wasn’t bad and it wasn’t too hot like hot cereal often was when Mommy made it.

  “Grandma is so happy you’ve come. It was very lonely here without little feet and little hands. I like to hear the laughter of my grandchildren. Oh,” she said, clapping her hands together again, “we’re going to have such a good time.”

  Justine swallowed some cereal and paused.

  “Where’s my mommy?” she asked.

  “Oh, you mustn’t ask Grandma anything. You must wait until Doctor Goodfellow comes to see you. Doctor Goodfellow is a very wise man, who knows all the answers to all the questions. All my grandchildren love Doctor Goodfellow. He makes them feel safe and secure like a warm bath.

  “After breakfast, I’m going to help you take a warm bath and then we’ll dress you in your nice new clothes,” Grandma said and walked over to the closet. “See,” she said, sliding the door open. Justine gazed at the garments, many still showing their tags. “Everything’s new and pretty.” Grandma reached in and plucked out a pink taffeta dress with a white lace collar and sleeves that had white lace cuffs. “How about this one first?”

  “I want Mommy,” Justine said after a moment. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, dear, dear. You’re not going to cry or anything, are you?” Grandma said and made a terrified face. “It’s no good for Grandma and you don’t want Grandma to get sick, do you?” The kind-looking old lady pressed her palm over her heart and closed her eyes. Then she opened them quickly.