Justice (40 page)

“And you’re sure about that?”

Terry closed her eyes and opened them. She said, “I know Chris has had a few problems in the past.”

“A
few
problems?”

“All right. I know about his breakdowns. I know about his brushes with the law. I know lots of things that even you don’t know about. But the past is the past and it’s time to move on. I refuse to let him look back. I owe him that much.”

“You know lots of things that
I
don’t know?”

Again, Terry opened and closed her eyes. Decker wondered if she’d picked up the habit from Whitman. “Yes. And don’t ask me about it anymore. Because that’s all I’m going to say.”

“Good for you, Terry. A tight lip will serve you well in that family.”

The sarcasm angered her. Still, she was overly polite. “Thank you for what you did. I’ll always appreciate it even if you don’t understand certain things.”

Decker kept his face flat. “Terry, maybe you do know everything. And if that’s the case, what I have to show you will be pretty meaningless.”

He handed her a manila envelope.

Her eyes clouded. “What is this?”

“Some newspaper clippings.”

She broke open the seal with her fingernail and pulled out two articles—the sum total of Decker’s library re
search over the past month. But he felt it was enough. Her expression was a question mark.

“Go ahead,” Decker said. “Read them.”

Terry’s eyes flitted over the print. Her face registered distaste but not horror. “They’re articles about murders.”

“Not just any homicides, Terry. The murdered men were rivals of Donatti.”

She looked at him. “I told you, Sergeant. I know what his uncle is…what he
does
. I
hate
it!” Her face was branded with rage. “But it’s not
Chris
!”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes!”

She was barely controlling her temper. Decker stood up. “I’m glad you’re sure. Because I wasn’t. Because Chris has always been kind of a cipher to me.”

She kept her eyes on the articles and said nothing.

“I just thought it was odd that…here was this guy, old for a high school student—”

“He missed a lot of school because of his problems. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I agree. Except Chris is a real bright kid. And he was hanging out with dolts. He didn’t seem to fit the mold.”

“Is there anything wrong with individuality?”

“Of course not. But like you said, Chris is close to his uncle…his father actually. And here he was in LA while all his family was back east. At first I thought he might have been running from something.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Yeah, I scratched that idea. But I wasn’t satisfied. I get a little obsessive sometimes, even Chris noticed it. So I got to thinking about how he supported himself…by playing cello all over the country.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Not at all if that’s what he was doing.”

Her head shot up.

“You were his tutor, Terry,” Decker said, softly. “I
assume you had a schedule of his sessions with you. If you still have your appointment book, you might want to check the dates. See if any of his…gigs corresponded with the dates of those newspaper clippings. See, you’d have a record of when he was here in town…and when he was absent.”

Her eyes darted from the shreds of newspaper to Decker. Color suddenly drained from her face. Her hands started shaking.

Gently, Decker said, “Terry, I have no proof. And I’ll never get proof. If I investigated his whereabouts, I’m sure he’d come up with an iron-clad alibi. Because that’s the way it works with them. They take care of each other.”

Decker tried to make eye contact, but she kept averting her glance.

“The question is,” he whispered, “who’s going to take care of you? I only told you this…showed you this…because I think you should know what you’re
really
getting into.”

Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him. And in her, he now found the expression that he’d been dreading.

Because now her eyes registered horror.

He was surprised to see me
because that wasn’t the plan. I didn’t know if it was my sudden appearance or my expression, but something caught his attention, judging by the way he was scrutinizing me. I walked into his apartment.

It had been stripped bare, all the furniture removed and shipped back east. This room, which once represented to me adult independence, now looked lonely and rejected. I didn’t go into his bedroom, but I knew it was the same. The only personal item left was Chris’s sleeping bag lying like a twisted corpse on the white living-room carpet.

Two packed suitcases rested on the kitchen counter. He said, “What are you doing here? I thought I was supposed to pick you up in an hour.”

I clasped my hands, then let them fall at my sides. “I finished early. I thought I’d come over and see if you needed help.”

His smile was slow to come, but bright. “I’m fine, Terry. How’d you get here? Did you walk?”

I nodded.

“Where’re your bags?”

“At home.”

“Well, I’m almost done.” He eyed me hungrily. “How ’bout if I take a break?”

I looked down and shrugged. He came to me, cupped
my chin, and raised my face. “I know it’s been an intense couple of days for you. Are you real sore?”

I nodded.

“So how about doing me with your mouth?”

I managed a weak smile. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

My focus met his expressionless eyes. Softly, he said, “Think you can fake a little more enthusiasm?”

I walked away and leaned against the counter, staring at his empty cupboards. I felt my throat go dry. A moment later, his hands were on my shoulders.

“It’s just that I love you so much, Terry. I want you to want me.”

I turned around and nodded, tears in my eyes.

“I know I should back off, give you a break.” His hands went over my shoulders, around my neck. “I just can’t seem to do it. You’ve got to remember where I’ve been, angel. I’m not adjusted yet. Seeing any female…let alone you…so incredibly gorgeous…delicious. Have a little patience with me. I promise I’ll be more patient, too.”

We kissed, softly at first, then more passionately, his hands taking what he considered rightfully his.

And perversely feeling so good for me.

He led me to his sleeping bag and drew me down. We never stopped kissing, even when he undid his pants and lifted up my dress. Another repeat of the last couple of days—pain mixed with bits of pleasure. I knew I could erase the physical soreness within a month’s time. And then it would be wonderful. He was beautiful and gentle, and was trying so hard to make it good. He was everything I’d ever imagined in a boy, but so much more.

It would take only a month.

If I’d give him another month.

When he was done, he rolled off my stomach and put on his pants. I stayed curled up in his bag. His oversized hand began to rub the back of my neck. It felt like a block of ice and I shuddered.

“What is it, my love?” Chris asked. “Are you scared?”

I nodded.

“Moving three thousand miles away…” His voice was hypnotic. “A new town, new school, new people, and a lover who wants your body every fifteen seconds.” He laughed. “I guess it’s normal to be a little scared.”

I didn’t react. He rolled me over and looked me in the eye. “Terry, I swear I’ll take care of you. Won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off his. For the first time I noticed soft specks of pale green floating in the aqua pools. We kissed, then he pulled away and stood up, hoisting me to my feet with him.

“I’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’re on the plane.”

“My parents are real mad,” I said quietly. “Especially my stepmom. She’s lost her baby-sitter.”

“She’s not mad enough to prevent you from going.”

“That’s because you’re paying for my schooling.” I gave out a nervous laugh. “Anything to save a buck.”

“They’ll get over it. Let me finish up.”

He tousled my hair and went into the bedroom. I rubbed my hands together, then called out to him. He didn’t answer. I went into his bedroom. His clothes were neatly piled on his floor—shirts with shirts, pants with pants, jackets with jackets, and all of it color-coordinated.

“Chris?”

He kept his back to me. “What?”

“Did…” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Did you ever keep a…a playbill…from any of your concerts?”

Still in a crouch, he pivoted around. His eyes met mine and were expressionless. “A playbill?”

I laughed nervously. “Not a playbill.” I hit my forehead. “I mean a program…did you ever keep a program from…from any of your cello performances?”

He stood, suddenly appearing enormous in bulk as well as height. Chris’s beard was gone, but his head was still nearly shaven, reminding me of where he had been just a few days earlier.

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s for my grandparents in Chicago…remember them?”

He didn’t answer me.

“I told them you were this big-shot classical musician. I thought they might get a kick out of…seeing your name in print.”

He stood as still as stone. “I stopped collecting them about two years ago. Just too many to bother with. I think I still have some old ones at my uncle’s house. I’ll try to dig a few up for you when we get back east, okay?”

I felt my heart racing. “But you do have them, right?”

“I’m pretty sure I kept a few of the early ones.” He laughed, but his eyes remained dead. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I just want…to impress them. I want them to like me.”

His eyes went gentle. “Terry, they’d have to be idiots not to like you.”

I felt my emotions crumble. I burst into tears, burying my face in my hands. He came over and drew me to his chest, shushing as he hugged me.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “Nothing is ever going to hurt us anymore, Terry.” He kissed the top of my head, then caught my eyes. “You know why my uncle changed his mind?”

I didn’t answer.

“’Cause he really, really
likes
you.” Chris smiled. “He thinks you’re beautiful, he thinks you’re brilliant, and most important, he admires your loyalty. Course he’d
never
tell me that outright. Doesn’t want to make me feel too secure. But I can tell. You know what he told me the other day?”

I shook my head.

“He said you’d make me good babies—”

“What?” I laughed despite myself.

“’Cause you have big hips.”

Again I giggled. “They’re not
that
big.”

“They’re
perfect
!” Chris laughed with me. “They’re beautiful. I just
love
to watch them move.”

I looked away, embarrassed.

He brought my face back to his. “It’s his dumb way of letting me know that he approves of you.” He brushed hair out of my eyes. “And don’t worry about the baby comment. My uncle’s an old-fashioned guy, but I’m not. I know how important your education is to you. I’ll put you through college…through medical school, too. Set you up in practice if you want. Hell, I’ll get my uncle to buy you an entire hospital—”

“That’s not necessary,” I said.

“Terry, I’d do
anything
for you. All I ask is that you love me in return.”

I nodded, wiping tears from my cheek.

Chris kissed my lips, then said, “I need to finish packing. You keep standing around me, looking so fine, I’m going to get distracted. Why don’t you go and splash a little cold water on your cheeks, baby doll? It’ll make you feel better.”

“Good idea.” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He extricated himself from my grip. “Go freshen up.”

I nodded and went to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and let it run for a long time. Bathing my face in a baptism of tap water.

It felt good.

Thinking pure thoughts even as his seed swam inside my body.

Trying to block out sentences of newspaper print.

Drowning out the potency of the sergeant’s words that rang in my brain.

Erasing old memories…Chris’s beeper going off…leaving his apartment to return the call.

Wiping away new memories, too. The stench of burned leather that once was my old appointment book.

Because the dates matched and I didn’t want to think about it.

When I came out of the bathroom, Chris wasn’t in the bedroom. I found him leaning against the kitchen counter. My purse was open. He was reading the newspaper clippings that I had stashed in my wallet.

I stopped in my tracks. He looked at my face and held up the articles. “Where’d you get these?”

“Why…why were you looking through my purse?”

“You answer my question first…then I’ll answer yours.”

I stood mortified.

He said, “Okay,
I’ll
go first. I went through your purse because you were acting funny and asking me strange questions. Now it’s your turn.”

I couldn’t talk.

“Cat got your tongue?” he said playfully. He pocketed the clippings and sat on his carpet adjacent to his sleeping bag. He patted the spot next to him. I forced myself to walk over and sit. He put his arm around me. “I’m not mad. Just tell me where you got them.”

“From…”

“Go ahead. From where?”

His voice was soft like a faraway echo.

“From Sergeant Decker.”

“When did you see him?”

“About a week ago. He came to my house.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

My eyes started getting misty. “I don’t know why.”

“He spook you, Terry? Spook you about me? Truth now.”

I paused, then nodded.

“Do you know why he did that?” Chris flipped hair
from his eyes. “Because the prick hates my guts. This is his final revenge on me.”

“He got you out of prison.”

“No, you got that wrong, angel,” Chris stated. “He got me out of prison to save his
own
ass. Because he screwed up the first time around. If he hadn’t done something, my lawyers would have brought incompetency charges against him and sued the entire LAPD.”

I looked down and said nothing.

“Did he tell you I had something to do with these murders?”

I started crying. Chris pulled me close. “Terry, I need you to tell me the truth. Did Decker tell you I had something to do with these murders?”

I blurted, “He just told me he thought it was funny that you were out here going to high school. And he thought that your cello gigs didn’t make any sense—”

“How did he know about my cello gigs?”

My voice got small. “I guess I told him about them. In the beginning. When he first interviewed me. Like why I tutored you…you know, to explain why you missed so much school.”

“You talk a lot, don’t you?”

I looked away and didn’t answer.

Chris said, “We’ll have to work on that. But first, I want you to listen carefully. Did he say
anything
about investigating these murders?”

“He said he didn’t have any proof about…about who did them. That even if he…if he investigated them, he’d probably come up empty. Because these guys take care of each other.”

Chris closed his eyes, then opened them. “Terry, look at me.”

I did.

Chris crossed himself. “I swear to Jesus, I didn’t have anything to do with this shit. Decker told you things to discredit me.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I told you why. Because I fucked up his investigation by being
innocent
of Cheryl’s murder. He had to go back and retrace his steps and hope that my lawyers didn’t catch on. To save face, he tried to snow you with this garbage. And that’s what it is, Terry. It’s garbage!”

He fished the articles from his pocket and ripped them to shreds.

“I don’t
kill
people, Teresa. If we’re going to make this thing work between us, you can’t doubt me. Because I don’t want to have to spend the rest of my life proving that I’m not Joseph Donatti.”

I didn’t react.

“Look at me, Terry.”

Again, I looked at him.

“Do you believe me?”

I averted my eyes. He picked my head up. “Nuh-uh. You can’t run away from me now. Do you believe me?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t
know
?”

I said nothing.

“Look at me, dammit! I went to
prison
for you!”

I looked at him, my eyes swollen with tears. “I know you did. I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry about everything.”

“What does
that
mean?”

I looked away, stared at my lap, and couldn’t speak.

Chris let out a soft laugh. “Oh…now I get it. You need another break from me, right? A temporary separation, right? Just like the first time you blew me off. I’m not perfect so that gives you a right to rip out my heart.”

Anything I said would have angered him. We sat in utter silence, my eyes glued to my lap, until I heard something click. I looked his way. My mouth dropped open.

A gun in his hands. It must have been tucked away in his sleeping bag. He showed it to me, then pressed it against my temple.

I was trembling so hard, I bit my tongue. But Chris’s
hand was steady—a flesh extension of his weapon. His face was as dead as if he were embalmed. He said, “They were bad men, Terry. You believe that, don’t you?”

Icy rills were running down my cheeks. I felt faint, but managed to keep conscious.

“Answer me,” Chris said, quietly.

“Yes, I believe you.”

“Very bad men—dealers, murderers, extortionists. Got in my uncle’s way. Just…bad men killing bad men. No concern of yours…unless
you
get in the way.”

Chris’s voice turned very soft.

“I’m not stupid, Terry. I know you don’t believe a word I say. And you shouldn’t, because I’m a pathological liar. All you had to do was fake it…minimally fake it. Why didn’t you do it?”

I hugged myself to prevent the spasms from overtaking me.

“You hurt my feelings,” Chris said.

“I’m…sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m sure you’re
very
sorry now. Look at me.”

I did, the gun moving from my temple to between my eyes.