Twisted Justice (6 page)

“I love you, Mom.” Natalie joined her sister and Laura and she put her arms around them both. “We get to see Dad, don't we?”

“Of course you do,” Laura said softly.

“Even if I don't want to,” challenged Nicole.

“Of course you want to,” murmured Laura, trying to comprehend what was happening to her family.

The phone interrupted.

“Why don't you two go out and play. I'll clean up here. Then maybe we can all watch a movie,” Laura suggested as she rose to answer the phone. She pushed the peach cobbler away, and steeling herself, assumed it would be Steve, calling about moving back in again as he had all week under the pretense of making arrangements for picking up the kids.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Nelson? I'm so glad I caught you at home,” drawled a vaguely familiar male voice. “I've tried you at the hospital, but —”

“Who's calling, please?”

“Sam Sanders. We met briefly. I'm an attorney handling the Ruiz case.”

Laura was silent. Roxanne had warned her that this man was going all over trying to get evidence against the hospital and the doctors. Apparently, the truck owner's insurance had lapsed, his license was invalid, he had a history of DWIs, and no financial resources. As a result, this Mr. Sanders was trying to sniff out some malpractice somewhere, looking for enough evidence to convince his potential client to sue any deep pockets.

“Look, Mr. Sanders, I'm really busy right now. Perhaps —”

“Won't take but a minute,” he drawled. “I heard that you were mighty upset with the Tampa City emergency room performance that night.”

“That's not something I can talk about right now.”

“And why is that, if you don't mind my asking? Nobody at the hospital wants to talk to me either — except for one of the nurses, that Roxanne Musing you work with. That makes me wonder.”

“That's not what I meant. I meant that I just don't have anything to say. And I don't appreciate your calling me at home —”

“I do apologize,” he interrupted. “Maybe you did all you could, maybe not, but that little Ruiz girl was alive when she got to that hospital in that helicopter, and I'm making it my business to find out why she died. I'm sure you don't disagree that Mr. Ruiz deserves some compensation for all his losses. He's a carpenter and
won't be working for some time. I intend to see that his family is compensated for any mistakes that were made.”

“I am truly sorry about the Ruiz family, but there's nothing I can do. Now goodbye, Mr. Sanders.”

Laura made a mental note to call Cliff Casey, Tampa City Hospital CEO, on Monday to pass along Sanders's threat of a liability suit in case he was not already aware of it. Maybe this weekend Roxanne would come over with the little boy. With a stab, however, Laura realized that none of her own children would be home. They'd be off visiting Steve in that dingy, cramped apartment he'd borrowed.

She sat down and ate half the peach cobbler while thinking about Roxanne. Was she developing a personal relationship with Louis Ruiz? On the day after the accident, his five-year-old, Jose, had been discharged from the hospital to the Hillsborough County Children's Home. When Roxanne found out, she pleaded with the county to let her take the child to her own home. It was the least she could do, she told Laura, for such an unfortunate man who'd just lost his wife and both daughters. The other two boys would recover, but only after extensive hospital stays and huge medical bills.

The next Thursday, Steve sat crouched behind his cluttered desk in his office at the TV station. Posters of media spots filled the room's walls, a series of candid shots of Kim Connor and himself. Such an attractive pair, everyone said. So why had everything fallen apart?

Tomorrow would be exactly two weeks since Laura walked in on him and Kim. She was jealous and angry. But this was going on too long. Staying in that cramped downstairs apartment in Old Hyde Park, courtesy of a reporter friend on assignment, was getting old. When the kids were there, they had nothing to do since all their friends and toys were at home on Davis Island. Tomorrow he'd surprise Laura with a box of Godiva chocolates and convince her that enough was enough. Then he'd be back home in his own bed with his own big screen TV, stereo system, walk-in closet full of clothes and, hopefully soon, with his wife.

But if not, there may be another option. Truth be told for the first couple of days after Laura kicked him out, he'd fantasized about Kim. About how they'd fallen into each other's arms, how soft her breasts felt against his chest, the velvety touch of her skin, the fragrance of her hair, the fullness of her lips. He'd never imagined that passion could be so hot and intense. Then he'd wondered dreamily how long Kim had had such a strong sexual attraction to him. About how blind he'd been not to recognize it sooner. Would they become lovers and leave Tampa together so Kim could get away from that abusive guy? If so, how would he deal with Laura
and the kids? Lots of guys were divorced and still got to see their kids. But deep down Steve knew he didn't want a divorce. And he couldn't give up his kids. He wanted to see them every day, not on some rotation schedule.

But Steve's fantasy and resultant dilemma dissipated the following Monday when Kim made it unmistakably clear that she had no intention of seeing him outside the studio. Her excuse: that night she'd been distraught, too upset to think. It had just happened, she told him, and it would not happen again. If her boyfriend, Frank Santiago, ever found out, they'd both be dead. Santiago was dangerous — the worst kind of dangerous — “in-the-mob” dangerous.

Steve had questioned whether Kim really knew what she wanted, but he could tell she was truly frightened by her gangster boyfriend. And what implication did that have for her threat to leave Tampa? He couldn't get a straight answer. She'd been avoiding him all week, and now she was due any minute. He needed to talk to her about why George had wanted to see him and refused to say why. Something was going on behind his back, he knew it.

Steve also knew he should be concentrating on his news stories: Menachem Begin's upcoming visit to the U.S., the imminent marriage of Princess Caroline of Monaco to Philippe Junot, what to do about swine flu vaccine. Inconsequential stories compared to his pressing personal problems. He'd begun to sweat despite the air conditioner running at full blast when Kim breezed through the open door of their shared suite.

“Hi there,” she said, already reaching into her trim briefcase to pull out her briefing notes. Kim always showed up prepared.

As Steve looked up, she didn't even glance his way, but headed to her desk. As usual her desk was clear of any clutter or personal mementos. There was only a small clock encased in pink marble and an ornate box of multicolored woods for her pens. “Hey, yourself.”

Steve rose from behind his matching desk of light oak, crowded with papers and strewn with office supplies fighting for space among the haphazardly placed pictures of his kids. He
stepped across the room and closed the door behind her. “So what does George want to see me about?” He walked over and tried to place a hand on her shoulder. “And don't tell me you don't know.”

“Whoa, back off.” Kim shrugged him away. “What's your problem, anyway?”

“What's my problem? Maybe you can tell me.”

“Come on,” she said, “why don't you calm down so we can discuss this.”

“George called last night to tell me he wants to see me first thing. Look at me, Kim, and tell me you don't know something.”

“Shit. I wanted to tell you firsthand, from me, but I couldn't call you at home, obviously.”

Steve shook his head. “Don't tell me you've gone back to that creep? After what he did to you?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm getting out of it my own way. Frankie's a very dangerous man. I keep telling you that.”

“So I get kicked out of my house, and you go back to that…that mobster. That's what's dangerous.”

“I'm not going back to him. Last night I handed in my resignation because I took that job in Atlanta. Bigger market, more money. No Frankie.”

“You're taking the job? But Kimmie, you can't just leave,” Steve stammered. “We're a team. Professionally, I mean.”

Steve followed Kim's gaze as she glanced out the window of their office, just in time to see George Granger approaching.

“Here he comes. I gotta get changed. I'm sorry, Steve, I really am.”

As the door to the adjoining dressing room shut behind her, Steve steeled himself. The set look on George's face as he entered the office told him all he needed to know.

“Steve. So Kim's told you I see. I've been warning you about the ratings, and now with Kim leaving, we have no choice.”

“What do you mean, no choice? What about me?”

“Listen, Steve, this is tough on me too. You know how much I
like you personally. I so admire your wife and I realize that you have a family, but —”

“But what? Even if Kim leaves, I can still go on with another anchor.” Steve started to pace. This was his dream job. How could he go back to the anonymity of a desk job? Or worse yet, back to life as a social worker?

George coughed. “Listen, Steve. The decision went over my head. We're bringing in new talent from Memphis.”

“Please, George, you're not even going to give me a chance? I'll be good — great — with someone else.”

“There'll be a fair severance.” George was not deterred. “But they want you to clean out your desk tonight.”

“You're kidding, just like that? I'm not going on the air tonight? You're the goddamn producer and I'm just the scapegoat so you can save your own ass on the ratings. I can't believe you're doing this.”

Redness crept up George's neck. “I really am sorry, Steve. Will you need any help here?”

With a sweep of his arm, Steve sent the contents of his desk onto the floor.

Steve spent an hour roaming the Tampa streets. It was hot and humid and he had nowhere to go. An hour ago, he was a “star” in the Tampa area and now he was nothing. Had George found out about Kim and him? That ratings crap was bullshit. Was it Kim? Or was it Laura who told him? Could either of them be that vindictive? But Kim would have been too scared that her boyfriend would find out. So it must have been Laura.

Steve wandered into the Bayside Saloon and settled at the bar next to a graying man in a faded blue suit. He ordered a Scotch, neat. He knocked back the drink and indicated to the bartender to bring another.

“Hey, can't be all that bad,” the stranger said. “Let me buy you another and I'll have one myself.”

Steve grunted. The two men drank in brooding silence until Steve ordered his fourth Scotch.

His neighbor at the bar extended a look of condolence. “Female problem?”

“You can say that again,” Steve said slowly. “And worse.”

The man scrutinized him. “Hey, aren't you the TV news guy? You're the one on those billboards. Knew I recognized your voice.”

“Yeah, that was me. Till I got canned.”

The man nodded slowly. “Sucks, my friend, which I know 'cause it happened to me. Name's Roger Crossman, was a lawyer right here in Tampa. Know what it's like to get the boot.”

“Maybe I'll sue the bastards.”

“Might work,” Roger commiserated. “Wrongful dismissal.”

“It's really all her fault. Laura, my wife. Took my kids. It's her fault I lost my job.”

“You still married to her, buddy?”

“Damn right. Temporary glitch is all. Not only was I stupid enough to bring another woman back to my house, I was stupid enough to get caught.”

“Oh man, I've heard that before. So she hitting you up for child support?”

“Hell no. She makes the bucks. Big-shot surgeon.”

“Lemme give you some advice. I had it all, the job, the wife, the kids. Fuckin' pressure of it all landed me in some a those pricey dry-out spots, more like clubs. Didn't do shit.” He shook his head. “Wife married a local judge. Turned my kids against me. Haven't heard shit from them in five years.”

“Sorry, pal,” said Steve, feeling sorry for the poor drunk, but not in any way relating to him.

“So lemme tell you what's gonna happen, buddy. The wife, she'll divorce you. Forget her money, she'll go for custody and child support. You'll be paying plenty for a long time.”

Steve slammed his drink on the bar. “I can see her doing that just to spite me.”

“And she'll turn your own kids against you,” Roger slurred.
“Wife's got the kids and soon they don't want no part of their old man. Trust me. Any on' a my kids gave a damn about me, I wouldn't be sittin' here now.”

Steve was silent. He'd talk to Laura tomorrow. Tell her he was fired. For sure, he'd head back home. Concentrate on getting a new job. Forget this separation stuff. Whatever this guy was blabbering didn't apply to him. But as Steve finished his drink, he replayed Crossman's words over and over: “Got a joint bank account? Empty it. Got valuables? Take 'em. Don't end up like me.”

On Saturday morning Steve was late picking up the kids. He'd spent most of Friday at the Bayside Saloon again, deep in conversation with Roger Crossman. Though he'd promised to take the kids to Busch Gardens, a raging headache and queasy stomach made him irritable and impatient. All day the kids pestered him to go on roller coasters and water slides, and when he refused, they sulked. Patrick had clung to him constantly, but Mike and Kevin tended to wander off like maybe they distrusted him. The girls bothered him more than they normally did. Nicole was her usual outspoken self while Natalie mostly whined.

By late afternoon Steve felt better. He wanted to stay at the amusement park for dinner, but the kids just wanted to go to home and watch TV. Steve couldn't help but dwell on Crossman's warning. Maybe it was happening already. When he took the kids home he'd have a talk with Laura. She'd seemed a little more sympathetic this morning when he told her about losing his job. Of course, she acted like it was none of her doing. But it had to have been her, and now that she'd assuaged her jealous pride, maybe she'd just get over this.