Life Sentences (30 page)

Though his voice maintained that therapeutic quality Celeste so admired, she wanted rapid-fire answers, not consoling. “Detective Patterson, please explain all the wretched details. Don’t be afraid of adding to my pain. I’m prepared for the worst.” Or at least she hoped she was.

He walked to the coffee pot and poured himself another cup. He leaned against the counter and faced Celeste. His eyes turned deep blue. “When the officer saw Tommy and Jane, he decided not to draw his gun in the crowded complex. He called for backup while keeping the couple in sight.” Patterson sipped his coffee.

Too anxious to wait for him, Celeste asked, “Whathappened? Why weren’t they arrested?”

“According to what the officer reported he couldn’t catch up to them and they sped away in a small sports car.” Patterson put his cup down and headed for the front door. He stopped part way. “In case you’re wondering,” he said, “the officer didn’t get the license plate number, either.”

Celeste was glued in place. Her limbs were so heavy they felt as though they had been cast in concrete. “How can those two be so close and get away?”

“It’s a judgment call every police officer makes at least once in his career. He couldn’t jeopardize the safety of all those shoppers.”

“I know, I know, but … they were so close.” Celeste brandished the dish rag like a flag. “Besides, why did they come back?”

“We won’t know that until they’re arrested. Some speculate they want to get caught. That Johnson is on a planned self-destruction course.”

“You know.” Celeste stacked dishes in the sink. “Except for those blurred pictures in the newspaper, I don’t even know what Tommy Johnson and Jane Carson look like, let alone who they really are and how they think.”

“How much would you like to know?” Patterson asked as he returned to his seat at the breakfast bar.

“Everything.” Celeste swiped a wisp of errant hair.

“Carson is a small, attractive woman; some would call her pleasingly plump,” Patterson began. “You already knowshe is, or rather was a nurse, so she’s educated. Johnson, on the other hand, is an aberration like Wilbanks.”

“What do you mean?” Celeste asked and sat next to the detective, her voice quivering with the memory of Wilbanks’ cockiness the day she visited Hawk Haven.

“As hard as it is to believe, women adore both of them.”

Celeste clearly saw Chad’s visiting card listing all those women’s names as though it were before her. If she thought hard enough, she probably could recall most of the names.

“There are differences, though. Wilbanks is handsome, educated, and clean cut.” Patterson’s eyes narrowed as though trying to picture the two scoundrels. “Johnson is a high school dropout, has a lengthy juvenile record, wears his shaggy hair long, and sports a Fu Manchu mustache and a heart-and-dagger tattoo.”

Celeste crinkled her nose as though she smelled a container of spoiled milk. “Not exactly the most desirable bachelor.” Celeste tried to imagine Tommy’s visiting card.

Patterson snickered. “There’s more. Do you want to hear it?”

Celeste nodded. “It may sound odd, but the more I know about Jane and Tommy the more real they are. Maybe then I’ll be able to handle them with less emotion and more intelligence when you find them and bring them back.”

“I understand,” Patterson said in a healing, less police tone again. Celeste chuckled and he asked, “What?”

“Nothing important. You just sound like my therapist, if I had one.”

“I guess I’m glad you want to know all you can because it helps with grief. Besides, I did major in psychology in college.”

Celeste lifted the plate of scones. “Have another?” He would make a perfect counselor if he could stay away from the more conventional police clip. Patterson raised his right hand like a traffic cop and patted his taut, well-exercised stomach with his other hand. “Thanks, but no.”

Celeste put the plate down, “Please, go on then.”

“Let’s see. This isn’t Johnson’s first affair, escape, or murder. He absconded once when he was nineteen, just before he was to be sentenced on a burglary charge. He eventually was arrested for assault and sentenced to prison.”

How much had Patterson memorized about these characters? He recited as though he were reading from a police report.

“Johnson served only three years and was paroled.” Patterson stopped and checked Celeste’s expression to ensure she was still listening. Celeste nodded encouragement.

“While on parole,” he said, “Johnson skipped the state with another married woman, Agnes Trudeau, after killing his crime partner, Denny Richards. Richards once described Johnson as a gun freak. The two were high on LSD and fooling around with guns in a remote, wooded area in Lapeer County when Johnson killed Richards.”

Though Celeste wanted more than anything to hearwhat Patterson was saying, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to Pilar. How could she have been involved with such creatures? Of course Pilar was a warm person always ready to lend a hand to anyone. But them?

Patterson released enough air from his mouth that Celeste expected to see him deflate like an emptying balloon. He must have realized her mind had wandered. When she reconnected with him, Patterson resumed his story telling. While he talked, Celeste visualized a B-movie. She laid her head on her arm. Patterson’s recounting of Johnson’s gruesome past paraded before Celeste as though it were all happening to her.

A
FEW MONTHS AFTER
he murdered Denny Richards, Johnson told Agnes that he believed the coast was clear for them to go back to Detroit. He wasn’t aware that both the FBI and Detroit Police were keeping surveillance, anticipating his return. Johnson dropped Agnes off at her trailer in Hazel Park and headed out on an expedition to scope the area for potential jobs; illegal, of course.

As a man often on the look-out for new women, he picked up Agnes’ fifteen-year-old niece, Candy. She, like Tommy, had many brushes with the criminal justice system and was always braced for an adventure, as she put it, “to get me outta the house and away from this boring life.”

Johnson was sure Candy was ready for the ultimate hustle. He was positive she’d do anything he wanted. Shelater admitted she’d have followed him anywhere.

Their brief relationship ended when the two were tooling the streets of Detroit and an FBI agent spotted the couple. The agent pursued them. But Johnson wasn’t prepared to give himself up. He tried to run down the agent.

Backup had been called when the agent first saw Tommy and Candy. The attempted vehicle assault was witnessed by the Detroit Police who apprehended Johnson. When the two were searched Candy was carrying a .357 magnum. She was turned over to the juvenile authorities and Tommy was booked at the county jail.

Having no solid evidence to charge Johnson with Richard’s murder, he only got twelve months for the escape. Carolyn Williams, Candy’s mother and Agnes’ sister, had enough of that culprit and his constant ability to get less punishment than he deserved. So she went to the police. Mrs. Williams reported, “It’s terrible that my sister Agnes had to be stalked by that animal, Tommy, but he’s gotten too close to my own front door this time.”

After that she chronicled events that should only be read in a Steven King novel. “Tommy Johnson told me himself he killed that Richards guy,” Mrs. Williams reported to the investigating detective. “He didn’t want to be arrested and planned to flee the state. But the clincher was, he insisted Agnes go with him.”

Since Agnes had broken up with him, Carolyn Williams reported, Tommy had to devise a means to persuade her torun off with him. It wasn’t romantic. He dragged Agnes from Mrs. Williams’ house where she had sought refuge and took Agnes back to her own trailer.

Patterson’s narrative created confusing and outrageous images that swirled in Celeste’s mind like leaves in a dark, disturbed pool. Hypnotized, Celeste lifted her head and actually believed she was with Tommy and Agnes. Like the voyeur Marcus had accused her of being, she saw every move they made. Every touch was realistic. Suddenly Celeste became an eyewitness.

T
OMMY DRAGGED
A
GNES ACROSS
the trailer pressing the gun barrel to her head with one hand while his other encircled her neck. She kicked and screamed, “Let go of me. Help,” she yelled. “Someone help me.” Her pleas went unanswered. No one in the park interfered in what appeared to be a normal domestic quarrel.

Tommy shoved her to the bathroom floor and kicked her in the stomach. She gasped for air like a fish thrown into a boat’s lazarette. The pleasure of the cool linoleum against her cheek lasted only seconds. Tommy ripped her clothes away, leaving her naked on the floor. She reached for the toilet. Before she was able to lift herself, Tommy grabbed a fistful of hair. He pulled her to her feet. Blood gurgled from her mouth, down her chin and onto a bare breast.

“Just kill me and get it over,” she begged. Every labored word was like a thorn piercing her throat.

“I just might do that,” Tommy chuckled. “If you don’t do what I want.”

She wanted to sleep.

As Tommy manipulated her body like a rag, he stood her on a stool. Within minutes Tommy looped one end of a belt around her neck and the other around the fixed shower curtain bar. She needed to fight, but she was so weighted, she couldn’t move.

Tommy rummaged through a vanity drawer and found nail clippers. His victim calmed a little, thinking he was going to trim his nails as he convinced her to … to what? Be his steady girl again?

He opened and positioned the clippers to prepare for the task. He turned to his victim, eyes round, dark, huge. He circled in front and said, “I’m ready. Are you?”

No time to answer. The room filled with an insane wail like an angry wild cat or coyotes on a chase. Blood dripped from her breast. The wailing came from her.

Tommy snipped pieces of skin off her body while he chanted, “She’ll go with me.”
Snip
. “She’ll not go with me.”
Snip
.

The victim squirmed with each slice and tried to free herself. Tommy laughed, head thrown back, showing yellow teeth and dark spaces edged in red gums. Then he stopped abruptly. “You better not move, darlin. You don’t want to hang yourself, now do ya?”

Though at that moment she believed hanging would bebetter than what he was doing, she begged for him to take her with him to Florida. It was the only way to stay alive.

“T
HREE MONTHS LATER
A
GNES
was found with Tommy when he was arrested at his father’s home in Fort Meyers.” Patterson’s hand lighting on Celeste’s shoulder brought her back to the present and out of that nightmare.

Celeste looked out the window at the last of the day’s sun rays bouncing across Lake St. Clair. “What?” she asked. “What did you say?”

“Mrs. Brookstone, have you been listening at all?” Patterson sounded a little irritated about having rambled on if she hadn’t listened.

“Of course.” Celeste placed a hand on her chest to suppress the remaining twinges. She searched for blood seeping through the blue silk. She turned to Patterson, elated that he and not Tommy was in the room. She seemed adrift as though she had just returned to earth after a near death experience. “Please go on. I’m listening,” Celeste assured Patterson. She had listened all too well to that incredible saga. Yet she couldn’t explain to him or herself what had happened. Patterson hesitated, rubbed his chin several times, and then resumed. “By the time Pilar met Tommy Johnson at Hawk Haven he was at the end of his sentences for escape and attempted murder.”

“It’s hard to believe he wasn’t charged with Richards’ murder,” Celeste said. She tried a sip of coffee. It refusedto stay down.

“The judge,” Detective Patterson’s hand dropped from her shoulder, “felt there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him because Agnes claimed she couldn’t recall what Johnson had told her about Denny Richards’ death. So the judge agreed to accept Johnson’s plea of attempted murder.”

“After what Johnson did to her, she protected him?” Celeste spat out. “How could she?” Anger tensed every muscle. “Johnson would have still been in jail and not on the loose.” Celeste had a hard time breathing, but added, “And Pilar would still be alive.”

Patterson ushered Celeste to the couch. “Don’t blame Agnes. She was scared. So were all his other so-called friends. One told Lapeer police that, and I quote, ‘Tommy goes crazy when he gets mad and you don’t know what he’s going to do. I know I don’t want him mad at me.’ End of quote.”

From what Pilar told Celeste about that nurse, she was a confident, not frightened woman. “What about Jane Carson? Was she scared, too?”

“She’s somewhat of a mystery. Best we can tell, she likes excitement. She’s like Candy.”

“If you’re trying to tell me she did all this because she was bored, it isn’t helping.” Celeste raised her hand to her mouth and then to her forehead. She massaged the hair line.

“No. But you did ask to know more about Jane Carsonand I’m doing my best.” Patterson sat next to Celeste. “We also discovered Tommy wasn’t her first prison affair. Mrs. Carson had already been reprimanded for over-familiarity with prisoners.”

“God.” Celeste pounded her fist into a sofa pillow. “How could they let her stay employed?”

Patterson shrugged. “She had a good attorney in the arbitration hearing, I guess.” He paused. “Despite her flaws though,” he stumbled over the words as he tried to find some redeeming quality in Carson, “she couldn’t shake her maternal duties. She must’ve convinced Johnson to help kidnap her children.”

Patterson stood and paced. He displayed a restless side to him Celeste hadn’t seen before. He tugged at the blinds’ cord, opening and closing them. Sunlight striped his face and caused flashes like a blinking neon sign. He turned to Celeste again. “Jane called her husband and said she was coming home if he would send her the money. Mr. Carson obliged and wired money to her in Florida. Instead of returning to him, she and Tommy used the funds to fly home and take the children.”

Innocent children in the hands of that mother. Celeste curled into a fetal position on the couch and gave into another episode of grief. She clutched a throw pillow to her chest and rocked back and forth moaning a chant, “It can’t be, it can’t be.”