Life Sentences (33 page)

W
HEN
C
ELESTE COMPLETED A
quick search of the courtroom for vacant seats, she spotted Jim Patterson, stern-facedand in a three-piece navy suit. He looked more like the conservative Detective his profession dictated than the caring young friend he had become. When he saw Celeste, Jim smiled and signaled to her with a thumbs-up.

Celeste raised her hand to acknowledge his positive gesture and continued her perusal of the area. She recognized Maryann Wilbanks from Pilar’s photograph. She sat in the third row next to Jane’s husband. “Do you think they came together?” Celeste asked Max after she pointed them out.

“I’d be surprised,” Max whispered, his breath teasing Celeste’s ear. “Probably it’s just a coincidence that they sat together.”

“Umm,” she answered. Maryann’s posture was straight and proud, while Emmet Carson seemed folded like a used up rag doll. “What about Jane Carson?” Celeste asked. “She’s not here.”

“No. She’s still in custody.”

When Max leaned close to Celeste, he smelled clean, fresh, not heavily perfumed with the latest cologne. A man’s man. Without detection Celeste sniffed his delightful scent and remembered how difficult it was to pick an outfit for that occasion, one that would appeal to Max and yet be appropriate for her position in the court’s view.

“Oh, yes, I forgot.” Max’s words suspended her silly thoughts. “Jane’s being charged with conspiracy to obtain money under false pretense.” Max shared that decision asthough the criminal justice system had triumphed.

“Whatever that means,” Celeste countered. “She only suffers for a few years in prison, while Pilar becomes part of the dirt she’s buried in.” She was unable to hide her bitterness. Celeste was positive Jane was as much a part of Pilar’s death as Tommy.

Max patted Celeste’s knee as though they were an old married couple. The action seemed both familiar and comforting, and one she hoped would go on for a long time.

Celeste placed her hand on his and asked, “How can such a cold-blooded killer, an animal like Tommy Johnson who shows no remorse for any of his actions, take the entire blame for Pilar’s murder? How can he protect Jane when he’s always put himself first?”

Max opened his mouth to answer just as the court bailiff yelled, “Hear ye, hear ye. All rise. The Honorable Judge Joseph Lawry presiding.” Everyone in the gallery stood as a shockingly young man in a black robe, swept through the chamber’s door. He climbed the stairs, exposing a hint of cowboy boots under his robe, and sat at the high podium.

“Court is now in session,” the bailiff concluded. When Judge Lawry was seated, everyone else sat as well. One person took her time lowering herself to the bench. It was Lorrie. She sat in front of Maryann Wilbanks.

The door to the left of the judge’s bench opened. The heads of those in the audience turned as though a part of a synchronized routine. An armed deputy sheriff wearinga familiar brown uniform walked through the opening. Tommy Johnson, dressed in street clothes for court, and two more deputies were close behind. Johnson, legs tightly bound in chains, an unusual security measure granted to the sheriff, shuffled across the floor to a seat beside his attorney, Lincoln McPhearson. Several onlookers shifted on the wooden pew-like benches when Tommy Johnson nodded at Celeste. The heart-and-dagger tattoo boldly displayed on his right arm mocked the observers. His Charles Manson eyes were like the dark caves in ice flows. Even more menacing were Tommy’s enormous eyebrows that fluttered like bat wings with each facial movement. Celeste refused to let them intimidate her. She never flinched or looked away from his scowl.

Johnson turned his attention to the judge.

Seated beside each other, McPhearson’s preppie, just-graduated-from-Harvard-Law appearance, was a stark contrast to Johnson’s unkept shagginess. As Celeste tried to imagine how a woman of any caliber could fall for Tommy, Max told her, “Agnes Trudeau, Johnson’s former girlfriend and victim, is in the second row.”

Celeste searched for who it might be. Her quest instead temporarily ended in brief delight at how few reporters were present. There were only the main local networks as noted by the logos displayed on their notepads and cameras. Still, there were enough to get the job done in time for the evening news.

While happy about the lack of reporters, Celeste shuddered when she discovered that the room was mostly filled with women of all ages. Who were they? Relatives? Girlfriends? The curious? Maryann Wilbanks was among them, but why? Though heavy makeup adorned her face, she still looked as young as she did in Pilar’s photo. Marcus came to mind when she thought of Maryann and how much Chad’s manipulative behavior reminded Celeste of him.

Marcus. He wasn’t there. The last time they spoke he said, “There’s no reason to be in court. I’m not a witness and I’m not a voyeur. Besides, the whole thing was over when Johnson took a plea.” Though still not sure Tommy didn’t have something up his sleeve, Celeste didn’t argue with Marcus. Now, she was relieved Marcus wouldn’t be a part of that morning’s events.

Sensing that Celeste didn’t know which woman was Agnes Trudeau, Max said, “She’s the third one in. The slender brunette.”

“Is she here to watch Tommy Johnson get his just desserts or to mourn for him?” Celeste asked.

“God forbid, I hope it’s to see the man hang.” Max spoke louder than expected, causing those seated near them to adjust their positions as they glanced at him with disapproval.

Johnson and McPhearson stood in response to Judge Lawry’s request. “Do you understand, Mr. Johnson, the plea of guilty to murder in the first degree and its consequences?”

“Yeah, Your Honor, I do,” Johnson said almost as a challenge.

“To be sure, Mr. Johnson, tell me in your own words before I pronounce the sentence.”

Johnson surveyed the audience as though they adored him. Did he know more about that congregation than Celeste?

“I’m waiting, Mr. Johnson,” the judge said.

“F
IRST
I
’D LIKE THE
court to know I want to be extradited to Colorado and executed for murdering that backpacker.”

Whispers rumbled through the room. Judge Lawry pounded his gavel. “That has nothing to do with the sentencing today.”

“I’ve got the right to state my piece, and I demand to be extradited,” he screamed. Johnson’s face crinkled into a thousand angry lines. He looked much older than thirty-two. Mr. McPhearson snatched Johnson’s forearm to calm him. Johnson wrenched his arm away as two deputies moved closer to their table.

How could Tommy Johnson think he had rights? Maybe Michigan should send him to Colorado. No. No. What’s one more death going to prove to anyone? Celeste would rather he’d waste away in a cell and be tortured by knowing what he was missing on the other side of the gun towers and razor ribbon.

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor shouted as he rose.

“Yes, Mr. Oliver.” The judge answered in a gravelly, annoyed voice.

“We’ve been over the issue of extradition several times with the defendant. He knows our position.”

“You’re afraid I’ll escape,” Johnson screamed back as he moved toward Oliver. “I just don’t want to rot in jail. I’d rather die.” The deputies approached and posted themselves on either side of Johnson. The onlookers heaved and leaned like one huge wave away from the front of the room.

Judge Lawry banged his gavel again. “No more of these outbursts,” he ordered. No one would challenge that voice. “There will be no extradition to Colorado, Mr. Johnson.”

Mr. Oliver returned to his chair and tapped his pen against a legal sized folder on the table in front of him. Judge Lawry frowned at the sound. The prosecutor stopped and faced Johnson to hear the rest of his story.

“Now, get on with your version of the charges and plea, Mr. Johnson,” the judge ordered. “You’re trying my patience.”

“Yes, your honor. After I jumped the fence … ”

“Excuse me,” the judge interrupted, “please be more specific.”

“Okay. After I escaped, I stayed at the Super 8 out on the highway and called Mrs. Carson. She met me there that night and we left for Florida in her Ford the next morning. We went to my father’s house in Fort Meyers. We stayed there for two days, then went to Miami where I bought the Smith and Wesson automatic I used to kill Doctor Brookstone.”

Tears streamed down Celeste’s face as Tommy Johnsonrecited his tale. He might have simply been the court reporter reading it from Tommy’s deposition. Celeste had practically memorized it herself when she obtained a copy. Hearing it in his own surprisingly articulate and distant voice pierced her heart. She absorbed every painful word like a sponge.

Johnson paused and stared at Celeste. Her breath stopped as if he crushed her throat.

Celeste reached for her breast. The sound of Tommy’s nail clipper snapped over and over in her head. She placed both hands over her ears until the snipping went away.

As though he waited for Celeste to pay attention, Tommy didn’t resume his scenario until she lowered her hands and focused on him. “After we got the gun and ammo,” Johnson continued, “Mrs. Carson and I went back to Michigan, kidnapped her kids, and went to Ann Arbor.”

Celeste recalled the detectives’ log and clearly pictured Tommy and his father at the gun shop. A loud sobbing drew her attention away from that imagined scene. Celeste searched each row for the moaner. Emmet Carson laid his head on his arm which rested on the bench in front of him. His shoulders heaved in tormented grief.

Tommy increased his volume to be heard over Mr. Carson. “We got a trailer there and I called Doctor Brookstone. She agreed to meet me at a nearby restaurant that night. Jane drove me to the restaurant. She waited in the car while I met with the Doc. That’s when we madeplans for the Doc to get me $25,000 to help get her boyfriend get out of jail. I convinced her that it would be set up by a lawyer. We made arrangements to meet at the bank when she got the money.” Johnson smiled at the prosecutor. “The Doc had already tried to get a lawyer to help her, but she couldn’t find one. I told her I knew a guy that could do it.” He laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe Pilar was so gullible. “But it was a scam.” He shrugged.

Celeste’s hands tightened around the wooden seat as though she was about to propel herself over the bench in front. Max’s eyes were red, moist. Would she be able to listen to the rest of Johnson’s impassive rendition of the events, especially if he was as explicit in person as he was at his deposition? Marcus was probably smart to stay away. Celeste and the others in the courtroom were the captive listeners Tommy had hoped for. Their presence seemed to improve his horrid performance.

Celeste wished she could see inside Maryann Willbanks’ head. She wished she could see Jane’s face, too. What went through their minds?

Max loosened Celeste’s grip from the bench and held her hand as though he knew she would need his support for the next part of the story. The outline of her hand dampened the oak.

Tommy drank some water and cleared his throat like someone giving a commencement speech. He presented a step-by-step account that appeared rehearsed. “Mrs. Carsondrove me to the bank parking lot the following morning where I met Doc Brookstone. After I made sure she had the money, I got in the Doc’s car and told her to drive to an office in Southfield. Mrs. Carson and her kids followed us. When we got on I-696, Brookstone panicked at the site of a police car flashing its lights and pulled off the road. She refused to go any further or cooperate, so I shot her.” He shrugged again. “Twice. In the head.”

“You animal, you maniac!” someone shrieked.

Celeste collapsed onto Max, weeping. Max circled his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. “Ssshh,” he said as the judge slammed his gavel so hard a vibration traveled the floor and through Celeste’s feet. Celeste watched Maryann hurdle over a bench toward Johnson. Two deputies subdued her. She was forced from the courtroom kicking and wailing, “Ya don’t deserve to live, ya bastard.” Her handbag crashed to the floor scattering its contents, including a bottle of pills. Another deputy sheriff gathered Maryann’s belongings and followed her.

Tommy Johnson laughed, mouth wide open, so sure of himself.

The reporters penned notes at a furious pace as cameras taped the dramatic scene.

Maryann’s tears painted her makeup into a grotesque mask. As Chad’s mother was dragged from the area, guilt overwhelmed Celeste. She should have been the one to curse Johnson. Yet, Maryann’s outburst seemed irrational. Wasshe more angry because her son would remain in prison, or because her wealthy daughter-in-law-to-be was dead? Had she thought there could be money in that scheme for her?

Judge Lawry rapped his gavel several times and ordered in a loud and distinct voice, “Any other outbursts and I will clear this courtroom.” He scowled at Tommy. “Now get on with it, Mr. Johnson.”

Tommy, still smiling, answered, “Yes, sir, Your Honor. I didn’t mean to kill her, but the Doc lunged at me.”

He didn’t miss a beat. Nothing seemed to ruffle Tommy Johnson.

“I had wrapped her beautiful hair around my hand,” Johnson said, and demonstrated by holding an arm in the air and motioning a hand around it, “when she tried to jump out of the car right after she pulled off the road.” He glowered at Celeste. “My hold stopped her from getting too far, but it didn’t stop the gun from going off. It was already cocked, ya see. When she made a sound after that, I shot her again. I couldn’t do nothin’ else then, could I?”

“Oh, my God,” Celeste gasped. The judge glared, but didn’t say anything.

Johnson snickered. His mouth twitched in nervous eagerness. He enjoyed that whole episode. Would he also drool with pleasure at creating misery for so many?

“I took the Doctor’s hanky and wiped the door handle,” Johnson continued as if his evil tale were an ordinary event. “Then I got out of the car and threw the keys ontothe expressway.”

The courtroom was silent except for the sounds of disturbed breathing. Johnson was still for several moments while he stared at the judge. After what seemed like hours, the judge finally asked, “Is that it?”