Twisted Justice (15 page)

“We've spoken. Good to finally meet you,” Carl said. “Why don't we all go on inside?”

“I'm on my way out,” said Greg, “but Laura, remember, no talk about your case.”

The Whelans nodded in unison.

“And that warning extends to you, Mr. Nelson. Laura is not to discuss anything. It could jeopardize her defense. She's stated that she didn't kill Kim Connor, that she's innocent, and that should be good enough for you.”

Everybody looked at Steve, but nobody said a word.

The next morning Greg got out of bed and tiptoed to Celeste's walk-in closet to rummage on his side for a suit, dress shirt, and tie. Last night they'd had a late dinner, and this morning he hoped she'd sleep late before her flight to Atlanta. As partner in an exclusive interior design firm specializing in luxury hotels, she was about to begin an assignment at a new skyscraper hotel. That might be for the best, since the Nelson case threatened to be all consuming. Greg always slept better in his own place anyway, a sprawling clapboard beach house right on the Gulf of Mexico, in Palm Harbor. Its casual décor — or lack of it, as Celeste liked to quip — relaxed him, the sound of the surf and ocean breezes lulling him to sleep. Its wraparound porch and creaky plank floors made him feel more at ease than her Carrollwood Lake townhouse in Tampa, filled with so many expensive artifacts he always feared he'd break something. But either place was lonely without Celeste, Greg decided, dressing as quietly as he could.

As for the Nelson case, his associates had spent yesterday gathering the basic facts on the crime scene from the police, unfortunately corroborating Sandra Mulloy's statement about Laura's being the only prints on the gun. That was about all Greg himself knew, aside from the sketchy information he got from the police once they'd questioned Steve and inspected his gun collection. At this point, it was clearly convenient for the state and the police to have made such a sensational arrest, which meant it fell to the defense to find
convincing evidence to create enough reasonable doubt to successfully defend Laura. If she didn't kill Kim Connor, and Greg believed she did not — it was his job to find out who did. Today his legal team would meet Laura and start to pursue all avenues of her defense.

Greg founded Klingman Law Associates nearly five years after he graduated from Notre Dame Law School. That was twelve years ago, and the firm seemed solid at a staff of ten, including paralegals and secretaries. He prided himself on keeping the firm small, yet dynamic, and so far had held back from promoting either of his other two attorneys to full partner, reluctant to give up full control. But soon, in order to keep them, he knew he would have to.

His right-hand man was Rob Wilson, a thirty-eight-year-old Yale Law grad who had been with him now for three years and was well liked by both staff and clients — especially female clients. Still single, with dark hair untouched by strands of gray and a physique that proved his passion for pick-up sports, Rob had maintained a boyish style that Greg had initially found disarming. Although he was a brilliant strategist, Greg worried that Rob lacked actual street experience, so in this investigation Rob would manage the face-to-face encounters with the police, Judge Potter, and the D.A.'s office. He would also be responsible for tracking the crime scene, the autopsy, and any witness reports.

Greg's right-hand woman was Carrie Diamond, a talented attorney out of the University of Miami Law School who'd been with the firm for nine years. Carrie usually handled lower-profile cases, those that left her more time for her husband, Don, an insurance agent, and their congenitally deaf eleven-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. Carrie's strengths included her professional judgment, her knowledge of case law, and maturity beyond her thirty-seven years. She was attractive with dark brown shoulder-length hair usually pulled back behind her ears, dark violet eyes, and a sincere smile. Even though Carrie made no pretense about her family taking priority over the firm, Greg felt she'd be invaluable to this
case. He sensed that Carrie and Laura were alike — both professional women and mothers, both smart and assertive — and predicted that a kind of synergy would develop between them, which would only help the case. And if, God forbid, it ever came to court, Carrie always exerted a positive effect on juries with her grounded demeanor, which would play well in contrast to Sandra Mulloy's flamboyance.

Finally, and most important to Laura's team, was Chuck Dimer. If Laura didn't kill Kim Connor, they needed the best private investigator in the Tampa Bay area to find out who did, and that meant Chuck. It was a good thing Laura had that mysterious pot of money, because Chuck's fees were legend, but so was his scorecard of success.

“Honey, you're up already?” Celeste peeked out from beneath the ivory satin sheet.

“I've got to go in early.” Greg bent over his fiancée and kissed her on the forehead.

She smiled sleepily. “I love that gray suit.” She reached over and stroked the herringbone-patterned fabric she'd had imported from Hong Kong.

“And I love you.” He smiled back.

“I love you too,” she murmured, “Listen, call me later at the office. Maybe lunch before I leave for the airport?”

“Absolutely,” he said, knowing full well he'd never be able to spare the time. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

“That's about all we know,” Greg concluded, looking at the serious faces assembled around the polished oval table in his well-appointed conference room. “I can tell you that my first impression was to plead her. I mean, finding the gun right there, but I've done a one-eighty. I don't believe Laura Nelson killed Kim Connor. Once you meet her, I think you'll agree. Anyway, it's our job to get her off.”

The walnut paneled room was lined with shelves of bound legal texts interspersed with assorted artifacts that Celeste had chosen to make the place feel more comforting, less intimidating. He got up to pour himself another cup of coffee as the others scribbled on notepads.

“What happened Sunday night is still hot Wednesday morning,” Chuck Dimer whistled, glancing at the
Tampa Tribune
featuring a picture of Laura leaving the jail with Greg.

Chuck was six foot six, with the bulky build of a linebacker, a physique that served him well in his line of work. He had deep blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair that he wore in a flattop crew cut, a tough guy façade he enhanced by dressing mostly in black — pants, shirts, loafers. Chuck owned and operated Dimer Investigations, a highly respected firm in the Tampa Bay area with an extensive network across the country and even beyond it. He'd been one year ahead of Greg at Notre Dame Law and had joined the FBI after graduation, staying with the bureau for ten years before coming back to Tampa to care for his aging mother about a decade ago.

“The celebrity aspect will keep this one in the papers for a while.”

“You're not kidding,” Carrie said. “Her own husband goes on television and all but convicts her.” She got up and selected a cranberry muffin from a platter of baked goods after refilling her coffee cup. “I can't imagine Don doing that.”

“Soon to be ex-husband, don't forget,” added Rob. “Just vindictive, or does he really think she did it?”

“Could be vindictive, but I think it's ego,” Greg mused. “He was a big TV guy, lost his job, and now he's trying to pump up his own self-image. After talking to him, I think he may really believe that she did it to get him back. It's like the guy's arrogance is clouding his grasp of reality. ‘A crime of passion,' he keeps repeating like some kind of a mantra. Laura absolutely denies she wanted him back.”

“I wouldn't want a jerk like that either,” Carrie said with a frown. “Those poor kids.”

“Dr. Nelson is here,” announced an officious female voice over the intercom.

“Okay, Betty, please show her in,” said Greg. To the group before him he said, “Let's get to work.”

Betty Harmon, a buxom woman with a square face surrounded by a halo of white wavy hair and large round glasses, ushered Laura into the conference room. Flashing a smile, Greg's longtime secretary was assuring Laura that Klingman Law Associates had assembled an excellent contingent of lawyers. Rob Wilson rose as he offered her the remaining empty chair.

Greg could only stare. Laura looked so different. So wholesome, so “California.” Shoulder-length blonde hair now clean and shining instead of tied in that scraggly ponytail. Her complexion was clear of blotchy patches, and he suspected that she wore makeup, though it was not obvious except for the tinge of eye shadow and mascara that highlighted her now luminous green eyes. Gone were the glasses that made her look so bookish. With tailored gray slacks and a simple white shirt open at the collar, she seemed a different woman from the one he'd left last night in wrinkled shorts and tee shirt. Right, he could finally see her as a professional. Quite a beautiful professional in fact.

“Everyone, this is Dr. Laura Nelson.” Greg made formal introductions. Betty Harmon, prim and proper as usual in a black linen suit and frilly white blouse, poured coffee into a blue porcelain cup for Laura before closing the door behind her.

“Laura,” Greg began, “we've got a lot to do. Not only do we have to find who really killed Kim Connor, we also have to focus on your defense. Since we'll be pursuing several paths in parallel, we'll need your absolute cooperation on all fronts. Right now, Rob is digging into the police work. He'll be working with the D.A. and law enforcement. You and I and Carrie and Chuck, will explore everything that you know about Connor. That's our first priority, okay?”

“Of course. I don't think I have much to tell you about her though,” Laura said. “Steve would know more. One thing Steve did say was that she had a boyfriend who beat her up.”

“Right,” Greg said.

“There's a good start,” Chuck nodded. “Wonder what the cops know about this guy?”

“We'll find out soon,” said Rob. “It'll be tops on my list.”

“There is something else before we go on,” Laura said. “I need to know where I stand with the hospital. Have you spoken with the CEO, Cliff Casey, at all? I have cases, a surgical schedule. Not only will my patients be waiting, it's my week for emergency back-up.”

The members of the legal team exchanged glances. Laura had obviously not been informed that her hospital privileges would be suspended until the case was cleared up.

Greg shook his head. “No, I haven't heard from him.”

“Chances are they've put you on leave pending resolution of the charges you're facing,” Rob ventured.

“Perhaps, but I'm three lung resections behind, two for cancer and one for TB, plus whatever comes in through the ER today. I need to verify that everything's being handled.”

Greg looked at Carrie, who stood up. “Dr. Nelson, let's go to my office right now and call the hospital to see how they want to handle this. It's Cliff Casey we need to speak with, right?”

Laura nodded, also standing. “He'll be upset. There's really no one else qualified to do these difficult thoracic procedures.”

Laura followed Carrie into her cherry-paneled office and sat across from the desk as Carrie dialed the phone. When she identified herself as Laura's attorney, Cliff Casey picked up immediately. After they exchanged greetings, Cliff asked how Laura was.

“She's fine. She's right here as a matter of fact —”

“As well as all over the newspapers and television,” he interrupted. “You can appreciate the scandal for the hospital. I've always admired and supported Dr. Nelson, but now —”

“Dr. Nelson would like to be assured at this time that her schedule has been reassigned —”

“That's been taken care of, of course, Ms. Diamond,” he said quickly. “If and when this murder charge is cleared up, we'll have
to reconsider Dr. Nelson's contribution to the hospital. As you can imagine, we can be seriously discredited by such an ordeal.”

“I understand,” Carrie went on in a calm, complacent tone. “And we as her defense team need her undivided attention, so we appreciate anything you can do to lighten Dr. Nelson's responsibilities.”

“Did you hear what I said? That's been done already. Tell Laura not to even step a foot into the hospital until this is cleared up.”

“Of course, that's our intention, to clear it up. Right now, I'll let her know that the hospital is behind her, and that you'll arrange for her receivables to be sent promptly to her.”

“Agreed. One more thing, Ms. Diamond,” Cliff added, “tell Laura that any discussions with plaintiff attorneys are off-limits while she's officially suspended from staff privileges.”

“Meaning?” Carrie asked.

“Just tell Laura to stay out of the Ruiz case. I know she's been talking to Sam Sanders, that son of a bitch ambulance chaser. He's got no ethics — just a goddamned predator. Tell her to stay out of it.”

Laura was holding a framed picture of Carrie and a dark-haired girl in a frilly white dress when Carrie hung up the phone. “Your daughter?”

“Yes, Elizabeth. It was her First Communion.”

“She has your eyes,” Laura said, putting down the picture. “How old is she?”

“She just turned eleven.”

“I've got ten-year-old twin girls,” said Laura, checking her watch distractedly. “I promised them I'd be home mid-afternoon.”

“Then let's get to work. About the hospital, all your surgical cases have been reassigned, so you don't have to worry. Until this is over, your hospital privileges are suspended. It's procedure. Mr. Casey will facilitate your receivables promptly so that you don't even have to go in.”

“I see,” Laura said sadly. “Well, thank you.”

As they walked toward the conference room, Carrie almost brought up the Ruiz case warning, but one look at Laura's anguished face stopped her.