Murder in the Air (40 page)

I don't like having this kind of power over two men I profess to love. The fact is, I may make a decision only to find that the man I choose no longer wants me. I guess that's a risk I have to take. Please don't hate me, Justin. And please try to understand that the last few weeks have been agony. I can't go on like this. None of us can. I may be handling this badly, but I see no other way.

Until Thursday,
Kay

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. At first I was dazed. I walked around the apartment in a fog. How could this have happened? I'd been so careful to make sure Kay understood the kind of man Bud Manderbach really was. Then I got out the bourbon. I started drinking. The more I
drank, the angrier I got. She was a traitor. She'd betrayed me when I needed her most. She'd single-handedly ruined my career and at the same time allowed a guilty man to go free. You think you have a temper, Mom, well, you should see mine when I get started.

I threw plates at the wall. I broke the glass candlestick holder she bought me. I kicked furniture over. And then I went in the bedroom, took her picture off my nightstand, and threw it in the trash. I was sure Kay was just trying to soften the blow. By stealing those negatives, she'd sent me a clear message, one I'd be a fool to ignore. She was just like the rest of the women Manderbach dated, except she was more subtle. A classier act. In the end she saw that great big house of his and she sold out.

That's when the doorbell rang. I remember weaving through the mess to answer it. I was sure it would be Kay coming to apologize, to beg my forgiveness. Manderbach had confused her with his double-talk, but she'd come through for me in the end. She hadn't destroyed the negatives. How could she? She was wearing my ring. We belonged together. Nothing would separate us now.

I was as high as a kite. That doesn't excuse what happened next, but it does explain my mood. When I drew back the door, I found Mitzi standing outside. I don't know why, but I invited her in, even offered her a drink. Maybe it was because she looked so pretty in her new red dress. I hadn't seen her for over a month. She explained that she'd come to drop off my Christmas present. She couldn't return it because she'd had it monogrammed. I invited her to sit down. I'm sure she thought the place was a mess. All the broken glass. The tables upended. But she acted like there was nothing wrong.

We sat and talked. I think I cried. I know I kept drinking. It's all such a blur. I must have told her about Kay
—
that I hated her. That she'd betrayed me. I think I said we were finished. Mitzi stayed much too long. I know she was hoping for a reconciliation. I gave her cause to think that it was possible
—
though if I hadn't been drunk and feeling so sorry for
myself, I wouldn't have acted so foolishly. I just kept thinking about what Kay said. That she was in love with two men. Well, if she could love two men, why couldn't I love two women? Except I didn't
. I
was in love with Kay
—
only Kay. It was an awful night, Mom. Things got way out of hand. I'd like to forget it—I'm sure Mitzi would, too. I hope she has.

The next morning, I had a terrible hangover, but I thought if I could just get through the day, by tomorrow, I'd know Kay's decision. Then I'd deal with it
—
whatever it was. In the cold light of day, it seemed inconceivable to me that Kay would pick Bud Manderbach over what we had together. I had to hold that thought. I had to believe in the woman I loved. And so I made some coffee, took a shower, and spent the rest of the day at work.

I'll finish the story tomorrow, Mom. The truth is, even though the memories are painful, I've been holding on to this retelling knowing that as long as I kept Kay alive in my letters, she would remain alive in my heart. Sometimes my worst fear is that I'll forget her, that time will dull and diminish my love, when nothing else on earth could.

Until tomorrow,
Justin

31

“This is Bram Baldric, and we have a very special guest with us today—Minnesota's own Raymond Lawless, criminal defense attorney extraordinaire.” Bram adjusted his microphone, then smiled at the handsome, silver-haired man sitting
opposite him. “Ray, we'll go back to our callers in a minute. But first, does it surprise you that the Kay Collins murder case, as well as the current investigation into the disappearance and possible death of Wish Greveen, have both blown up as huge stories—both locally and nationally?”

“Surprise me?” Ray gave a sarcastic chuckle. “It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. This is just the kind of story the national tabloids love. It's got everything—murder, mystery, betrayal, love, revenge, even, it would appear, an old love triangle.” He paused for a second to collect his thoughts. “It seems to me that in the wake of the O. J. Simpson trial, people in this country are hungry for new—real-life—legal drama. What's happening in Minnesota simply provides the media with more grist for the mill. Back in the Fifties, Kay Collins's murder wasn't reported outside the state. Today, however, due to our insatiable desire to entertain ourselves with other people's tragedies, this case will no doubt be made into a national
cause celebre.
I'll even make a prediction. In the next few months Bud Manderbach will become the focus of a media feeding frenzy. Whether he's guilty or innocent, he'll be tried and sentenced in the court of public opinion.”

“You make it all sound pretty ominous.”

“It is. I've always felt that if you ruin a man's reputation, you can destroy his life.”

“Do you think there's enough evidence against Mr. Manderbach to bring him to trial?”

Ray sat forward, folding his hands in front of him. “That's tricky. At this point I'd have to say it looks doubtful. Hennepin County simply isn't going to waste its time and money on a trial if it doesn't have at least a fifty-fifty chance of winning.”

“That's the cutoff point? Fifty percent?”

“Generally, yes. As I was preparing last night for my appearance on your show, it occurred to me that in one highly ironic sense, this current case parallels the Collins murder. Justin Bloom was never brought to trial for the death of his girlfriend, and yet in everyone's mind, he was responsible. It's common knowledge—but is it the truth?
Mr. Bloom wasn't able to put his case before a jury of his peers, so the only side of the story we've ever heard is what was written in the newspapers—and that was essentially the testimony of one man. A police officer named Arn O'Dell.”

Bram desperately wanted to comment, but knew it was pointless.

“And yet,” continued Ray, “everyone knows there are two sides to every story. Sometimes more. When it comes to Bud Manderbach and his current difficulties, it may turn out to be the same kind of situation. His reputation could very easily be damaged beyond repair, even though he may never be convicted—or even tried—for a crime.”

“That
is
ironic,” said Bram. The phone banks were jammed with calls. Lights were flashing on his console, but he resisted the urge to go to his listeners, and instead asked one more question. “You said a second ago that there wasn't enough evidence against Bud Manderbach to bring him to trial. I assume you mean that since Mr. Greveen's body hasn't been found, nobody can say for sure that he's dead, and therefore, no one can be tried for his murder.”

Ray made a steeple of his fingers, then shifted his gaze to the people inside the glass control room. He seemed amused by their rapt attention. “In law, as you might expect, it's not quite that straightforward. If you want to convict a man of homicide in Minnesota, by statute you have to prove two things. First, you have to show beyond a reasonable doubt that the person allegedly murdered is indeed dead. You're right, normally a body is found, so it's not a problem. But if the body can't be located—and understand that this is rare— you may still be able to bring your case if you can prove through circumstantial and presumptive evidence that an individual is truly dead.”

“Is that difficult?”

“Very difficult.”

“What's the second point you have to prove?”

“Well, very simply, you have to prove that the person you have alleged to be the murderer did the crime. And let me add
that each of these needs to be proved independently. That's an important point, especially in a case like this. In other words, you can't just say that Pete wanted Jack dead. Since Jack is missing, he therefore must be dead, and Pete must have murdered him. You can't use one to prove the other.”

“What about the blood evidence?”

“You mean the blood found at Bud Manderbach's house? Yes, that does indicate a fight, at the very least. We'll have to wait for DNA results, but we already know that preliminary tests strongly suggest the blood belonged to Wish Greveen. And yet, as of this moment, there's still not enough evidence to prove that Mr. Greveen is dead. That's why the police are looking so hard for the body.”

Bram loosened his tie. “Tell me, counselor, if Bud Man-derbach wanted to retain you as his lawyer, would you take the job?”

Raymond's eyes creased with humor. “Of course I'd take it. I'd be a fool not to. But according to my sources, Mr. Manderbach has already approached two other attorneys— each of national prominence. I'm sure he'll be well represented. I would add, however, that the job I'd really like is no longer available.”

“And that would be—”

“I'd like to defend Justin Bloom.”

Bram laughed. “You're right. That would be difficult since the man's been dead for many years.”

“I hear some people think he's still alive,”

“Some people think Elvis is still alive, Ray.”

“You have a point. I just wish that Justin Bloom had been brought to trial. I think he'd be a free man today if he hadn't left the country. By the way, speaking of the Collins murder, I was sorry to hear that the
Dallas Lane, Private Eye
series had been canceled.”

“We're on hiatus, Ray. We're not dead yet.”

“My wife and I listened with great interest. Any chance it will be back on the air soon? I'd like to hear the end of the story.”

Bram sighed. “Management types are currently looking
for another writer, although I've also heard a rumor that Mr. Manderbach is threatening a lawsuit if we go ahead with the final two episodes.” Glancing at the time, he continued, “We've got room for a couple of calls before we go to the news. Vern from Brooklyn Center, you're on.”

“Bram?”

“Yes, Vern. Do you have a question for Raymond Lawless?”

“No, but I got one for you. Did I hear you say that Elvis was dead? It's a lie, you know. There's a pamphlet put out by one of the state militias—I forget which one—telling how they hid him in a poultry barn for years. He was real sick from all the drugs he was force-fed in Las Vegas. The government wants us to think he's dead because he was such a strong leader for those of us who still consider ourselves proud, white Americans. I would've followed him anywhere, Bram, even to the gates of hell.”

“Have a nice trip, Vern. Bye.”

An hour later Bram shuffled into his office, exhausted from an afternoon of nonstop talking. Some days the program took more out of him. Since Sophie was seated behind the desk, he dropped into a chair on the other side. Raking a hand through his hair, he said, “It must be the moon.”

“Excuse me?” She looked up from a stack of papers.

“Did you listen to the program?”

“Some of it.”

“Didn't you think there were an awful lot of weird calls today?”

She shrugged, then smiled. “You look pretty sexy when you muss your hair up like that.”

“Maybe I should muss your hair up.”

“Nope. Can't.”

“Why not?”

“We have theatre tickets tonight.”

“Theatre? When did we get those?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

It now struck him that Sophie hadn't been waiting for him
like this in months. She'd been so busy, she never came to the station anymore. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“My afternoon meeting was canceled. Too many people are out with the flu, so we rescheduled for next week. Since I had some free time on my hands, I thought I'd drop by.”

“You mean, it wasn't my intense animal magnetism that drew you?”

“Well, that, too, of course.”

“Of course.” He crossed his legs. If he were a truly kind man, he'd be happy with his good fortune and let the subject drop. “Are you telling me you didn't have any other hotel business that required your immediate attention? Sophie, this is dangerous! If you're not at the Maxfield every minute, the walls might collapse.”

“Very funny. No, I thought we should have some fun tonight. It's a great play. I guarantee you'll love it.”

“Right.” He sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“You don't sound thrilled.”

“I am, but I'm beat.”

“Christopher Plummer will pep you up.”

“A relaxing dinner preceded by a couple of martinis would pep me up more.”

The phone interrupted them.

“Since it's your office,” said Sophie, pressing line one, “I assume it's for you.” She handed him the receiver.