A Case of Redemption (38 page)

“And when L.D. decided he was going to testify . . . you set up the hit,” I said.

“No! I didn't know that was going to happen. I swear it. I told Matt that L.D. was going to testify, but I wouldn't have said anything if I'd thought Matt was going to have him killed.”

“Bullshit. If that were true, you would have come clean after L.D. was killed. At the very least, you wouldn't have arranged for Brooks to kill Nuts, too.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor. She was crying in spurts now, while still trying to defend herself in between sobs.

“You don't understand, Dan . . . you really don't. After L.D. died . . . Matt called me and said we were in this together. He said that if he got caught, he'd take me down with him. And he could have. I mean, y-you believe that I was in on L.D.'s murder, right? Who wouldn't? So he told me that I needed to tell him if anything else was hap-happening. When you came home saying that Nuts was going to give up Matt, I . . .”

“You told Brooks, even though you knew that he'd kill Nuts.”

“I told him, yeah, but I didn't think he was going to kill Nuts. You have to believe me. I thought he was going to pay him off, like he did with that housekeeper, or that they'd just steal whatever evidence Nuts had. I didn't think Brooks would have him killed. I swear, I didn't. But think about it from my perspective. What choice did I have?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I said coldly. “You should go, Nina. Right now. Find someplace without an extradition treaty with the U.S. I hear Venezuela is the place of choice for fugitives these days.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me? I'm going to start over. Again.”

A
s soon as Nina left, I boxed up the few personal items that mattered to me—which amounted almost entirely to family photos—and took them to the storage place around the corner. It was the same one that held all of Sarah's and Alexa's items that I couldn't eliminate from my life.

“How long are you going to need to store this stuff?” the guy behind the desk asked me.

“I don't know. At least six months, but maybe longer,” I said.

The bank visit came next. I was able to do the entire transaction with a teller I'd never met before and would never see again. All it took was a single form, identifying the routing number of the receiving bank.

Years before, on the advice of the tax partner at Taylor Beckett, I'd set up an offshore account. I never saw the need to keep funds there, and so I'd only maintained the minimum balance. But by the time I'd left my local bank branch, I'd arranged for enough funds to be at my disposal that I'd be able to live well for a very long time without having any contact with the United States.

Next, I called my sister. I told her that I needed to clear my head a little bit, after the trial and everything, so I might be off the grid for a little while, but that she shouldn't worry. She offered a rueful laugh before saying that she was already worried about me.

My last call was to Mercedes.

“I'm going to be out of pocket for a little while,” I said, “and while I'm away you're going to hear some things about me and my partner,
Nina Harrington, and about L.D. I wanted to make sure that you knew the truth. L.D. did not kill Roxanne. I'm sure of that. And he loved Brianna. Of that I'm also certain. One of the last things he said to me was that the truth should matter more than anything else. When she's old enough, please make sure that Brianna understands that's how her father felt. That at the end, he wanted the truth to come out, and he was unwilling to save himself if it meant living a lie anymore.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“It's better if you don't know,” I said. “Just like I think it's better that you do know what I just told you.”

As soon as the call ended, I threw my phone in the trash. Then I jumped in a cab and headed straight to JFK.

After a maze of flights—Mexico City to Rio; Rio to São Paulo; São Paulo back to Mexico City—I ended up in St. Martin, on the French side.

•   •   •

My hasty vacation to St. Martin was not a criminal act, at least not as far as I know. Of course, the fact that I didn't tell anyone of my plans, and haven't contacted anyone since I've gotten here, not to mention my circuitous travel route, all suggest that I'd rather not test that hypothesis.

I didn't spend a lot of time in my selection process. The weather in St. Martin is warm, the living expenses are low, and most people speak English. Of course, I could have ended up in dozens of other places that fit the same description.

I'd visited St. Martin with Sarah, almost fifteen years ago. It was before we were married, and we stayed at a five-star resort. I don't recall too much about the trip, other than that Sarah was particularly fond of the hotel's fish tacos, and I bought a silver box from the gift shop, which sat atop my night table in the apartment Sarah and I shared, as well as the place in Tribeca. Ironically, the silver box is where I kept my passport.

Reflecting that my stay this time would be open-ended, I eschewed
a hotel and rented a small, one-bedroom cottage about a hundred yards from the beach.

The silver box sits in its rightful place next to my bed, my passport inside.

It is there that I've begun again the long process of starting over.

•   •   •

Matt Brooks's arrest was front-page news all over the world.

The district attorney held a flashy press conference in which Lisa Kaplan stood right behind him. The DA explained that Brooks hired a contract killer to murder a witness who had damaging evidence that linked Brooks to other crimes, and to prevent his wife from finding out about his affair with Roxanne. The name of that witness was being withheld for security purposes, and the DA said that the witness himself was safely in the witness protection program.

The case against Brooks would be based almost entirely on the testimony of the hired gun, a guy named Romanow, who some press outlets were reporting had a connection to the Russian mob. Romanow had a long rap sheet and no obvious connection to Brooks. From what I could discern about the evidence, I figured that Brooks had a better than fifty-fifty shot at acquittal.

Benjamin Ethan is still representing him. He's been a near nonstop media presence, telling any news outlet that will listen that Brooks is innocent, and champing at the bit to have his day in court. The lawyer in me knows Ethan is posturing. Brooks hasn't invoked his speedy-trial rights, and the flurry of procedural motions that Ethan's filed reveals that he's trying his best to stall Brooks's day of reckoning. Perhaps he hopes that Romanow will end up on the losing end of a prison fight.

L.D.'s murder remains unsolved. As Judge Pielmeier predicted, the investigation of who actually put the shiv in L.D. ended without an arrest. Not that it mattered much, given that L.D.'s killer, like Nuts's would-be assassin, was almost certainly a hired gun anyway, and one who was already in prison to boot. And while there has been
press speculation that Brooks was behind it, none of the media or enterprising bloggers have come up with any proof to support that charge, but I have no doubts that Brooks ordered the hit. There have also been the press reports that the DA is considering reopening the investigation into Roxanne's murder, and that Brooks was required to provide a sample of his pubic hair. The results of that test have not been made public, but I'd bet my life that they were a perfect match for the ones in Roxanne's bed.

Brooks was right about how damaging it would be for him if news of the affair became public. Shortly after the DA's press conference, Chiara filed for divorce and Capital Punishment's IPO was shelved. Although the divorce proceedings are just beginning, it's a safe bet that Chiara's settlement will be one for the record books.

There hasn't been any public disclosure of L.D.'s true identity, his sexual orientation, or his relationship with Nuts. If Matt Brooks goes to trial, which I consider almost a certainty given that I can't envision him agreeing to a plea that includes the lengthy prison term that the DA's office will undoubtedly demand, the whole story will come out. But just like I told Mercedes, I think L.D. would have been pleased that, in the end, the public will learn who he really was and what he was really all about.

Mercedes hired a lawyer to file suit against Capital Punishment. The lawsuit was brought in the name of L.D.'s estate, noting that any recovery was to be held in trust for L.D.'s only living heir, his daughter Brianna. The complaint sought more than $4 million in royalties, and the case settled right before Brooks was scheduled to give a sworn deposition. Although the settlement terms were confidential, my guess is that L.D.'s estate got every penny it was owed, and then some.

As for the last player in this drama, as I suspected, Nina was never charged.

The DA's office initially described Nina as a “person of interest,” but in the weeks following Brooks's arrest, her name appeared less
and less frequently in the press. I run a Google search now once a week, and it's been a while since there's been a hit.

Without my testimony, the DA won't be able to make a case against Nina. Nuts never did have any evidence of Brooks's affair with Roxanne, which meant that no one else could have tipped off Brooks except either Nina or me. By making myself unavailable, I've destroyed the prosecution's case against Nina because she can now plausibly claim she knew nothing about Nuts's connection to L.D., or my claim that he had evidence against Brooks, without fear of contradiction. Nuts might tell Kaplan I told him Nina knew about my visit, but that's not admissible, and even if it were, it doesn't prove that I told Nina that Nuts had incriminating evidence against Brooks.

Of course, Brooks could still do her in, but I sincerely doubt he will. Giving Nina up would mean acknowledging his own guilt, and I just don't think Brooks is built for that.

And that's probably the best explanation for my conduct, too. I'm just not built to destroy the life of someone I loved, no matter what crimes Nina committed.

•   •   •

Three months into my self-imposed exile, I received an email at my Sorensen and Harrington email address. The fact that I continued to check that account puts the lie to any claim that the message took me by surprise.

The sender's address was unrecognizable, and it was unsigned, even electronically. The contents were sufficiently ambiguous to allow a denial of authorship, if it ever came to that. But I had no doubt that it was from Nina.

My Dearest Daniel:

I hope you have found a place that makes you happy. I know you'll understand if this note is short and doesn't address all that I'd say if given the opportunity to do so in person. Are there any more insincerely uttered phrases in the English
language than “I'm sorry” and “Thank you” and “I love you”? How can I convey that all three are true?

Love

Love
. There was that word again.

Sometimes I tell myself that it was more like lust than love. I was a starving man and Nina presented me with the opportunity to feast. But other times, truer moments, I accept that I was in love with Nina. It was a different type of love than the kind you experience in a decade of marriage, but it was love nonetheless.

When I arrived in St. Martin, my goal was to stay long enough to devise a plan about how to start my life over. It didn't take me that long, however, to realize that starting over is not a possibility. There's just no reset button in life.

Perhaps a better way of looking at it is that I've already started over. I'm now content with the days drifting into weeks without any accomplishment to mark the passage of time. Simply taking time for myself. To think. To appreciate what I once had and to contemplate what still lies before me.

I've started running again. Not too often or that far, but a few miles along the sand every couple of days. Although I keep a bottle of scotch in my kitchen, it's the only bottle I've bought down here, and it's still more than half-full.

I can't help but think that Sarah would approve of my new life. I'm only sorry I didn't reach this realization sooner, so I could have shared this version of myself with my wife and daughter. But all I can do is take comfort that I've discovered this path now, and not later, or never at all.

And I know Alexa would have loved living so close to the ocean.

I began with the question “Where should I start?” and so I suppose it's fitting to ask, “Where should I end?” I've chosen this point, which I also believe to be the middle.

A Case of Redemption
is my second novel, and people sometimes ask if writing the second book is more difficult than the first. The answer is yes, although perhaps not for the reason people think. I have the sense that readers and friends alike assume that an author's first book is autobiographical and the second requires more creativity. At least in my case that's not actually true (both are very loosely autobiographical, and other than that, completely made up). However, the second book
was
more difficult to write for me because I knew from the outset that people other than my friends and family would read it, and that put pressure on me to make it as good as it possibly could be.

It is my great hope that such pressure made my second effort superior to the first. And like with
A Conflict of Interest
, if that is the case, it has much to do with the people I'm about to thank, all of whom were instrumental in shaping the book.

I am greatly indebted to everyone who reads my work. One of my favorite things about publishing
A Conflict of Interest
, and something I'm already looking forward to after
A Case of Redemption
comes out, are the emails I receive from readers. Whether they are short notes of praise or longer discussions about things that made them angry or that I got wrong, I truly enjoy reading every email, and encourage all readers to share their thoughts with me at
[email protected]
. I answer them all, so you'll hear my views, too.