Life Sentences (34 page)

“No. I tucked the gun in my pants, walked back to Mrs. Carson and got in her car. I told her to get the hell outta there. We drove to Knoxville, ditched the car, and flew to Florida. We stayed on the run ‘til Sacramento. The rest’s history.” He cocked his head to one side. “The only thing Mrs. Carson’s guilty of is stickin’ by an escapee. She had nothin’ to do with the murders.” Tommy plopped down. His face beamed like a triumphant athlete’s.

“Is that all you have to say now before I sentence you, Mr. Johnson?” the judge asked.

Tommy stood back up. “No, Your Honor. I’d like to see Mrs. Carson one more time before I leave the courthouse. It’ll probably be my last time.”

Emmet Carson stood and yelled, “Please don’t let him. She’s my wife. Not his.”

The judge motioned a deputy sheriff to remove Mr. Carson. He left without a problem, his shoulders slumped forward. He looked beaten and old.

Once the doors were closed behind Emmet Carson, Judge Lawry explained, “It is my understanding that your attorney and the prosecutor’s office have arranged the meeting between you and Jane Carson right after your sentencing. You will meet with her in the courthouse holding tank.”

“Max, how can they let them do that?” Celeste tugged at his jacket sleeve. “They’re not married. Johnson didn’t let Pilar meet with me one last time, did he? Why should …?”

Judge Lawry directed Johnson to remain standing. Before stating the sentence, the judge blasted Johnson. “Your behavior has not only been grievous, but despicable and defies any human explanation. You show no remorse. In fact, you seem to get great joy from murdering a defenseless human being.”

Tommy Johnson’s expression was as blank as a black hole.

Judge Lawry adjusted his glasses. “The court is satisfied that you have met the terms of the plea agreement. On the sole count of Murder in the First Degree I hereby sentence you, Thomas Allen Johnson, to life in prison without the possibility of parole.”

Several women wept. Women who clearly understood what Tommy Johnson could do. Celeste sank against Max. Tommy didn’t even flinch.

Johnson jutted his chin forward, a slight grin surfaced when he was led from the courtroom. When the door to the inner chamber hallway opened, Celeste glimpsed Jane Carson in an orange jump suit being escorted by a deputy sheriff. Tommy’s face brightened.

Celeste smiled queerly. A vivid image appeared in her mind’s eye. She witnessed Jane still wearing an orangejumpsuit standing by Tommy’s grave.

Max nudged Celeste. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem to be elsewhere.”

“I’m fine. Just fine,” Celeste answered, feeling sure Tommy would soon be dead. Perhaps at the hands of another inmate.

When Tommy Johnson could no longer be seen, the spectators shambled from the courtroom. Several conversations buzzed like wasps zeroing in on their prey. Celeste and Max were among those to leave last, hoping they’d miss any further commotion and a confrontation with the press.

Maryann Wilbanks snatched Celeste’s arm when she entered the hall outside the courtroom. She whispered, “I am so sorry.”

Celeste barely caught a glimpse of Lorrie rushing by and out of sight. Why was she so elusive?

Jim Patterson smiled. Cameras flashed and blurred Celeste’s vision. Reporters swarmed around her. Their words jumbled. Everything was black.

C
ELESTE’S BODY CRUMPLED ON
the marble floor outside the courtroom was flaunted across the TV on the six o’clock news. A curious crowd including Maryann surrounded her. Celeste was amazed when one brazen reporter stuck a microphone in her face and said, “Mrs. Brookstone …” The rest of his statement or question was muffled by the shouts from other journalists circling like vultures about to pounce on their helpless victim.

Max shoved the reporter aside and lifted her from the cold tile. With careful, strong warmth, he secured his arm around Celeste’s waist. Taking note of Max’s confident command, the voyeurs parted like the Red Sea.

Max walked Celeste to their car as reporters, photographers, and the curious followed behind like a carnival parade. Questions were hurled as the couple made their way through the throng:

“Mrs. Brookstone, how do you feel about Johnson’s sentence?”

“What do you think about Jane Carson getting off?”

“Where’s your husband? Why isn’t he here?”

Fortunately, the sheriff’s deputies kept the frenzied mass at a distance. The deputies, guns holstered, but armed with night sticks, formed a gauntlet that slithered like a snake from the pressure of those standing behind the uniformed line. The sight reminded Celeste of the riot scenes from foreign countries she had watched many times portrayed on CNN. She and Max threaded their way through the wave to safety.

C
ELESTE RAISED THE
TV remote control and aimed it at the camera’s closing sweep of the crowd which pictured the wide-open mouths of shouting onlookers. The camera man focused on his final view of Max helping Celeste into their waiting car.

“Not exactly the portrait I wish everyone to remember me by.” Celeste turned off the news with a quick, angry motion.

Max handed Celeste a glass of wine. “Don’t worry. In a few days some other lurid event will take over the headlines and satisfy the news room hunger.”

Celeste curled her legs under her and nestled into the couch. “Half of me never wants Pilar’s murder and all the characters that had a part in it forgotten, while the other half wants to get over it so I can move forward. Yet, it will never be over, will it? I mean, Pilar will always be here.” Celeste placed her hand over her heart.

“It’ll take a while,” Max sat beside her and laid hishand on her thigh. A wide-awake thrill sparked deep in her chest.

Celeste forced the welcomed sensation from her. She reluctantly left the coziness of the couch and peered out the window. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She was determined not to be one of those grieving people who gave into sexual desires as a way to feel normal, as a way to feel anything other than numb. The inevitable response to Max’s suggestive touch had to wait a little while longer.

To help ward off that delicious desire, Celeste slid the curtain aside and gazed at the waves lapping Lake St. Claire’s shoreline, barely visible in the fading light. “Do you think Tommy Johnson will ever get out of prison?” she asked. A vivid image of his grave again flashed into her head.

“Not this time.” Max poured another glass of wine and freshened Celeste’s. “He’ll die in his cell, and hopefully at Ionia Super Max, as a lonely, forgotten man.”

“By the way the courtroom was filled with women, I doubt Tommy will be without female comfort,” Celeste sighed. “There’s no way Jane Carson can visit him, is there?”

“I should say not.” Max handed her the wine. The liquid swirled like a small red pool. Celeste held the glass in both hands until the spinning stopped.

“In fact,” Max affirmed, “I suspect Jane Carson will hunt for a new thrill once she’s paroled, although I do believe her life is going to be rather empty from now on. Especially since she lost custody of her children.”

“Good.” Celeste lifted her glass in a toast and drank. “It would break my heart if either Tommy Johnson or Jane Carson had any pleasures in the rest of their lives. And those poor children need a chance to have something better than being on the lam.”

“There’s some other positive news,” Max announced. His cheerful voice was just what Celeste needed right then.

“And what is that?”

“It looks like the corrections department can seize half of Chad’s inheritance that Pilar left him.” Max’s chest actually puffed out, taking great pleasure in revealing that lovely treat.

“Well, well. At least Chad won’t get it all and Tommy Johnson gets no more.” Celeste lifted her glass again in recognition. “A small miracle, but gratifying. Yet, I feel as though my family had to pay dearly to keep the two scoundrels off the street.”

They finished their drinks in an easy quiet. Celeste set her empty glass down with a tad of caution. “Though it’s early,” she faced Max, “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed. You’re welcome to stay. I’ll prepare the couch.”

“Good idea. I’m too tired to drive, and we both could use a good night’s sleep.”

SLAYER SENTENCED TO LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE

Max showed Celeste the headline from the morning
Free Press
that he retrieved from the box. “This should be the last of it.” He eyed the coffee pot as it gurgled and spit out its last drip. The fresh brew filled the air with a sharp, inviting scent.

Charmed by his out-of-control morning hair and unshaven sleepy face, Celeste wanted to brush her fingers through his locks. Later, that would happen. Later. Instead she sighed, “I sure hope so.”

“You know, Celeste.” Max’s voice was like heated syrup. She wanted to swallow every sultry word. “That couch isn’t all that comfortable.” He chuckled. “You might think of using the second bedroom as a real guest room.”

Their eyes locked as Celeste handed him a cup of coffee. “It’ll take time.” She smiled. “But I’ll do that. Soon.” In the future Max would discover they wouldn’t need the second bedroom. But she also knew the shrine to Pilar would come down. Celeste held her cup in both hands, allowing the heat to warm them and watched the steam rise in tiny spirals.

“I
T’S BEEN EXACTLY TWO
years, Pilar,” Celeste told the marble headstone. She caressed the grass covering her grave. “I’ve planted your favorite flowers: princess daisies, pink tulips and one red rose bush. I had a tough time convincing the groundskeeper to ignore the bush. It’s against policy, you know.”

Celeste was at ease talking to the grave. She sensed Pilar heard every word. Celeste didn’t care if others did, too. More than any concern about eavesdroppers, she wanted to believe Pilar understood that she had finally restructured her future. She was moving in a positive and agreeable direction. “I only wish you were here to take this trip with me, Pilar.”

A car circling the area lured Celeste. She raised up from the ground and brushed the damp grass from her knees. With a hand she blocked the sun from her sight as she searched the driveway. “One more thing, Pilar,” Celeste said as she followed the motor’s hum which came closer. “My divorce from your father is final. It took such a long time, but I don’t have to deal with him any more. In the end he proved more than generous.”

The automobile flickered in and out of the sun like motion in a strobe light. “I’m sorry,” she continued her monologue before the driver got too near, “I hadn’t understood both our survivals depended on making that move.” She bent and smoothed the grass over Pilar’s grave one more time. “I’m also sorry my decision came too late for you.” One tear slipped from her eye.

The car stopped on the curve by Pilar’s grave site. Celeste laughed, wiped away the tear and waved. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Pilar.” Warmth enveloped Celeste, as if she were covered in a fleece throw. “I just might have another man in my life. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

A tanned Max sauntered toward Celeste. He wore khaki slacks and blue oxford shirt which was actually pressed. “I thought I’d find you here.” He kissed her cheek.

His fresh scent excited her, as always. They had been casually dating, which was the best way Celeste could describe their relationship. No sex. For the time, it was good conversation and a good ear when needed for each of them. Sex had been delayed more from her fear of inadequacy in that arena than her lack of craving.

Celeste beamed with genuine happiness, a long overdue sensation. “You’re just in time to celebrate my divorce decree with Pilar and me. I brought her favorite merlot and two glasses.”

Max wrinkled his forehead as though questioning her sanity. “No, Max,” Celeste answered. “The second glass is for you.” He was more handsome than when they first had met. Maybe familiarity brought that about. His hair was still unruly and graying more by the minute. He would never be Mr. America. Yet, he had the comfortable, wholesome, hardy good looks and steady disposition Celeste could easily get used to.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Max asked as he spread-out the University of Wisconsin stadium blanket Celeste brought.

They sat. Celeste handed Max a corkscrew and the wine bottle. “I’m a clairvoyant.”

What do they mean?

How far would someone go to sever … or protect them?

Julie Collins is stuck in a dead-end secretarial job with the Bear Butte County Sheriff’s office, and still grieving over the unsolved murder of her Lakota half-brother. Lack of public interest in finding his murderer, or the killer of several other transient Native American men, has left Julie with a bone-deep cynicism she counters with tequila, cigarettes, and dangerous men. The one bright spot in her mundane life is the time she spends working part-time as a PI with her childhood friend, Kevin Wells.

When the body of a sixteen-year old white girl is discovered in nearby Rapid Creek, Julie believes this victim will receive the attention others were denied. Then she learns Kevin has been hired, mysteriously, to find out where the murdered girl spent her last few days. Julie finds herself drawn into the case against her better judgment, and discovers not only the ugly reality of the young girl’s tragic life and brutal death, but ties to her and Kevin’s past that she is increasingly reluctant to revisit.