Sullivan's Justice (14 page)

“Carolyn,” Neil said, a strange look in his eyes, “the answer is yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I did sleep with Melody tonight.”

Her brother must think his statement would clear him. Instead, it added another level of complexity. While he was having sex with one lover, the other lover was floating dead in his pool. He certainly wouldn’t make a sympathetic defendant. The women would hate him and the men would be envious. “The police have to consider you a suspect, Neil, at least for the moment.”

“But I just told you I was with Melody,” Neil said, a confused look on his face. “I have an airtight alibi.”

“Wrong,” she said, crushing the soda can with her hand. “Once they bring Melody in for questioning, she’s going to tell them that you were lovers. Then your alibi won’t mean much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How can they be certain Melody is telling the truth? You could have coaxed her into lying. The police might think she did it because she loves you.”

“I’m innocent,” Neil proclaimed, turning sideways in his seat so he didn’t have to look at her. “I didn’t kill Laurel.”

“We’re talking about a court of law.” Carolyn knew she had to be forthright with him. The situation was too serious for false optimism. “Your innocence must be substantiated with facts. How do you think a jury will perceive you when they find out that you’ve been sleeping with two women at the same time? The only way out of this is to flush out the real killer. Did Laurel have any enemies?”

“She’s a teacher,” he said, tipping his chin up. “She was the nicest person I’ve ever met. Everyone loves . . . loved her. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

“Except Melody.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Carolyn,” Neil argued, spinning back around. “Melody didn’t know Laurel. Why would she kill someone she doesn’t even know? Anyway, like you said earlier, Melody was with me when Laurel died.”

“We won’t know the time of death until the coroner completes his report,” Carolyn explained. “You said you drove around before you headed toward Brentwood. Melody could have committed the crime and had plenty of time to make it back to her house before you arrived.”

“She was in the shower when I got there,” Neil argued. “She must have been shopping. I saw sacks from different stores and all kinds of clothes with the tags still on them. I went there to end it. Things got out of hand.”

“In the shower, huh?” Carolyn said, tapping her fingernails on the table. “If you’d just killed someone, what would be the first thing you’d do? Think about it, Neil.” When her brother just stared at her, she continued her explanation, “Wash off the evidence, maybe?”

“Laurel drowned,” he said. “What kind of evidence would she have on her body? There wasn’t any blood or anything. Melody would never kill anyone. Even if she found out about Laurel, she wouldn’t care. In the circles she travels in, the only thing I was good for was a few laughs and recreational sex. For all I know, she was sleeping with dozens of guys. She even slipped tonight and called me Richard.”

God, Carolyn thought, he was even more naive than she thought. “Just because Laurel’s body was found in the pool doesn’t mean the killer dived in with her. There was probably a struggle. Laurel could have scratched whoever killed her. All the lab needs is a few hairs, a drop of blood, or a piece of skin under the fingernails. Melody could have arrived at her house only a few minutes before you. Did you stop for something?”

Neil became agitated, gesturing with his hands. “I stopped for gas, okay? There’s no way she could have made it back before me. I was driving the Ferrari.”

“And she drives a Porsche,” Carolyn pointed out, taking a sip of her soda. “Did you exceed the speed limit?”

He looked down at the table. “I didn’t speed because I don’t want to get a ticket. Besides, it was raining and the roads were slick. I wasn’t going to drive it, but the battery was dead on the van and I didn’t want to take the time to jump it.”

“Melody might not have been as cautious. Besides, there’s also the possibility that she hired someone. With her kind of money, she could hire an army of assassins. How often did you see her?”

“Once a week,” Neil said, fidgeting. “It wasn’t exactly easy for us to get together. It’s a long drive to Brentwood.”

“You may have meant more to her than you realized,” Carolyn said, locking eyes with him. “Neil, this girl may have been in love with you and you didn’t even know it.”

“I don’t think so, especially after tonight. I called her a slutty bitch. Like I told you, she blurted out another man’s name while we were having sex. She wasn’t serious about me. You think she was at my house earlier today. She was more than likely bouncing around in her bed with this Richard guy.”

Was he telling the truth? His body language suggested he was lying. Perhaps he was just upset. She still had to confront him. “You said you got mad when Laurel refused to marry you. Did you hit her? Did she strike her head against a table or something and you panicked, then tried to make it look like someone else had murdered her?”

Neil stood, slamming the chair against the table. “You’re not my sister,” he shouted, furious. “How can you accuse your own brother? Other than Megan, I’ve never hit anyone in my life. Christ, she came at me with a butcher knife. No one believed me. I had to spend six weeks in the nuthouse or the DA would have prosecuted me. Like then, you don’t believe me. I’m the one who always takes the beating. Remember when I was a kid? Chad and Bolly Cummings beat me to a pulp. I just laid there and took it.”

“I’m trying to prepare you,” Carolyn replied. “These are the type of questions the police are going to ask.”

“Don’t prepare me, okay?” Neil said, removing his shirt and throwing it at her. “If you wanted to make me sweat, you succeeded. Now I don’t have anything to wear.”

She walked over to him. “I’m on your side, Neil. Clothes are the last thing we need to worry about right now, don’t you think? Anyway, you can borrow some things from John.” When he started to leave the room, she circled around and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Stay away from Melody. She’s trouble. You have to do what I say, understand? This girl may be a murderer. If she thinks you’re trying to shift the blame on her, you might be her next victim.”

 

 

 

 

 

O
utrageously handsome, John Sullivan stood six-one and had thick dark hair and luminous green eyes. His body was tan and muscular. When Carolyn had divorced his father, she’d taken back her maiden name. John and Rebecca had later become unhappy because they didn’t have the same name as their mother, which sometimes confused people. Because Frank, her former husband, had failed to pay child support, Carolyn felt justified in changing their children’s names to Sullivan as well.

The teenager opened the door to his mother’s bedroom and found her asleep in her clothes, a stack of papers on the floor beside her. “Mom,” he yelled, “it’s after seven! Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“What?” Carolyn said in a groggy voice. “I . . . I . . . forgot to set the alarm. Where’s Rebecca?”

“She’s getting ready,” the boy said. “Don’t you remember? You told me to drive Rebecca to Grandma’s today. I’m going to the beach with Turner. Why is Neil here?”

“He’s having his house fumigated,” Carolyn lied, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She’d have to tell them the truth, but she didn’t have time to do it now. “Did you talk to him?”

“No,” John told her. “He’s asleep. Did you ask him why he didn’t come over and look at Rebecca’s drawings?”

Ignoring him, Carolyn jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. How could she have overslept? If John hadn’t mentioned her mother, she would have thought the night before was a bad dream. What was she going to tell her? Merry Christmas, Mom, your precious son may end up in prison.

Throwing on a black suit and a white shirt, Carolyn stepped into her shoes and headed to her daughter’s bedroom. Rebecca was thirteen going on twenty. John had warned her that his sister would be trouble. With long brown hair and fair skin, Rebecca had grown into a lovely young woman. The current fashion trends had turned teenage girls into provocative sex objects. Just last week, Rebecca had shown up at the breakfast table wearing a cropped top and low-rider jeans that exposed the waistband of her underwear. Carolyn thought the stores who catered to young girls today looked as if they were selling costumes for exotic dancers.

Rebecca had her hair tied in a ponytail on top of her head. At least none of her body parts were showing. She was dressed all in black, though, with her feet clad in patent leather military boots she’d bought at a secondhand store. “Hi, sweetie,” Carolyn said, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. “It’s Christmas, not Halloween. See if you can find something a tad more cheerful.”

“We’ve had this discussion a dozen times,” Rebecca said, holding a pocket mirror as she applied her lipstick. “Don’t bother me about my clothes.”

“Fine,” Carolyn said, not wanting to argue. She rushed down the hall to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of Balance bars, a bottle of water, and an apple, dumping them in a large canvas tote. John was outside hosing down his 1992 red Honda Civic.

“What time are we supposed to be at Paul’s tonight?”

“I forgot,” Carolyn said, her mind going in a dozen directions. “It’s dinner. Call Paul and then catch up with me later this afternoon with the time. He invited you and your sister for breakfast as well. Oh,” she added, pressing the button for the alarm on her Infiniti, “don’t speed with your sister in the car. Next year you’re going to be paying the insurance.”

Her domestic duties fulfilled, Carolyn took off for work. Her personal cell phone rang just as she turned onto the ramp for the 101 Freeway. She took a deep breath, seeing her mother’s phone number on the caller ID. “Mother,” she said to Marie Sullivan.

“Did you see today’s paper?”

“Not yet,” Carolyn said, “but I know what it says. Don’t get all worked up and make yourself sick, Mother. I’ve got everything under control.” If only that were true, she thought. “Neil is staying with me right now. There’s going to be an investigation.”

“Is he unstable again?” Mrs. Sullivan asked. “I’ve been worried. He didn’t look good the last time I saw him. He kept rattling on about some woman. Was she the one who was killed?”

“Her name is Laurel Goodwin. Remember her? Neil dated her in high school. This is going to be hard on him, Mother. To be honest, it’s not going to be easy on any of us.”

“She was a pretty girl.” Mrs. Sullivan fell silent for several moments. “Did he do it, Carolyn? Please tell me he isn’t responsible for this poor girl’s death.”

Carolyn swallowed hard. If her mother felt strongly enough to voice her suspicions, her own fears were certainly warranted. “I don’t think so,” she answered honestly. “Or at least, that’s what Neil told me.”

“If he didn’t kill her, then who did?”

“That’s the big question,” Carolyn said, steering into the parking lot of the government center. “Please don’t say anything to the kids. I haven’t had a chance to tell them yet. We’ll talk more tomorrow when I come over to take you out for Christmas dinner.”

Carolyn ran into Agency Chief Robert Wilson in the corridor leading to her office. She’d already noticed the furtive glances from her fellow probation officers, followed by the strange buzz when several people started whispering at the same time.

After Neil had gone to bed, she’d finished the report on Raphael Moreno, then dictated it by phone. The word-processing pool had promised to have it completed by nine forty-five, giving her fifteen minutes to get to the courtroom. The report was supposed to be dispersed to the various parties at least a week prior to the sentencing hearing. Because Veronica’s baby had arrived seven weeks early, the judge had waived the time requirement. Moreno wouldn’t be on the bus to prison, however, as he was now facing additional charges of aggravated assault on a police officer.

Wilson fell in step beside her. “I saw the paper,” he said, steering her by the elbow into his office.

“Who didn’t?” Carolyn said, taking a seat across from his desk. She waited as he poured them both a cup of coffee.

Being the chief certainly had its perks, she thought, blowing on her coffee to cool it. Wilson’s office was the size of her living room. A conference table was located on the left side of the room. On the right was a miniature putting green. His chairs were real leather, and the office had wall-to-wall bookcases. Instead of looking out over the parking lot, Wilson had a view of the foothills. His desk wasn’t cluttered with files. The only things on it were a yellow pad, a pen holder, a stapler, and a neatly folded newspaper. His computer was located on a credenza behind him. The screen saver showed a man swinging a golf club. Other than practice his putting, she wondered what he did all day. She thought of study hall, where a teacher did nothing but sit there and occasionally answer a question.