Due Justice (6 page)

“I'm not sure, Dr. Aymes, I haven't been in banking for quite some time. But speaking of banking, Willa,” he said as he turned smoothly to me, “I promised Bill Sheffield you'd speak with him briefly. Would you excuse us, Dr. Aymes?”

I couldn't think of a quick reason to refuse and found myself propelled. “See you soon,” I said, and meant it.

George mumbled “What a most disagreeable woman. How preposterous.”

He can be as stuffy as my father sometimes. I was still smiling. Marilee had provided more laughter than I'd felt since Carly ambushed me.

We joined Bill Sheffield, a local stock broker, and his wife just as the rest of his group were moving away. They discussed the status of investments and the Dow Jones; I listened with half an ear while my mind wandered.

I heard Bill suggest that George consider stock in medical products companies.

“The breast implant mess has devalued the stock of a number of companies that are otherwise very sound, George. I have no doubt this crisis will blow over and those stocks will increase again. You can buy MedPro, for example, at $3.00 a share right now. It's a local company and I think it's going to turn around. It went public at $7.00 and it'll definitely go higher.”

“I'm investing in technologies right now. Last week I bought DataTech and it's up fifteen points already,” George responded, the first volley in a lengthy set.

I tried to pay attention, but Carly's employer was not mentioned again and my mind wandered.

Ten minutes later, both Mary Sheffield and I were long past any ability to feign interest. She opened a conversation about the next Junior League Show House, which I found only slightly more interesting than watching paint dry.

Spied a more interesting conversation near the Sunset Bar. Again, I escaped.

Chief Hathaway and Frank Bennett were doubtless talking shop. I approached, slightly obscured behind a passing waiter.

“How long will it take to make a positive I.D.?” Frank asked Chief Hathaway.

Ben replied, “The body's in bad shape. Finger prints are impossible. Searching medical and dental records will take a while. Too long, maybe.”

“Are you sure it's the tourist, at least?”

“In fact, we're pretty sure it's not.”

Frank saw me lurking, invited me to join them, and caught me up. “Sorry for discussing business at a party, Willa. But I was asking Ben about the victim we discussed earlier. I've got to have something to report at eleven besides Elizabeth Taylor's no-show.”

I said, “You're kidding, right? You're not going to say that.”

Ben ignored our nonsense, looked thoughtful for a few seconds and instructed Frank. “There's no point to upsetting everyone until we get a little more information.”

Frank acquiesced. “Can I quote you that it's not the tourist, at least?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you give me something on the missing Dr. Morgan, at least?” Frank never gives up.

Ben asked, “Isn't he here, Willa? I saw his name on the guest list and Peter told me he'd checked in. I marked that case closed.”

Relief flooded through me in palpable waves.

Morgan wasn't dead after all.

Carly was ok.

I was okay.

I told them the truth. “I've never met Michael Morgan. But if Peter said he's here, I'm sure he is.”

Just then two waiters walked by ringing chimes to signal that dinner was served; I was grateful for the excuse to move on.

By the time everyone was seated for dinner, I was ready to call it a night.

Kate was seated at the senator's table, as were George and I. Elizabeth Taylor's place remained empty—a no show, as Frank said. The meal passed uneventfully.

The senator gave a short speech thanking everyone for their contribution to AIDS research and reminding them of the work ahead. Privately, the senator was campaigning. I heard him tell Kate that it was a critical time for foreign policy and free trade, and the party needed him on the Foreign Relations Committee for another term.

Elections were several months away, but early money is like yeast: its necessary to raise the dough to get elected. From the looks of the crowded room, I guessed he'd made the same pitch to all of them and several thousand packages of yeast would be contributed to his campaign in the next few days.

There was no question that the Republican candidate posed a serious threat to Warwick's reelection, but I wondered whether the campaign contributions made to Warwick's campaign would really support free trade or just his ego.

The party ended and everyone gone by midnight.

Left George to close up, trudged upstairs for bed.

Called Carly again to tell her the good news: that Dr. Morgan had been here tonight, alive and in person.

Still no answer; I didn't leave another message.

George and I usually like to dissect these events and rehash the various conversations. But tonight, I collapsed into deep slumber long before he came upstairs.

Even though I consume mystery novels like candy, I was new to the investigator game. I had learned what I needed to know about Dr. Morgan without having to inquire. No one acted guilty, whatever that means.

So I missed my best opportunity to investigate everyone who had a reason to kill Michael Morgan.

In the long run, it would have saved me a lot of pain if I'd figured that out.

But ignorance is bliss. I had the last sound sleep I would have for a while.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tampa, Florida

Thursday 9:10 a.m.

January 7, 1999

ON THURSDAY MORNING, WE slept late and had the after party chat over breakfast and coffee that we didn't have the night before. We shared laughter and outrage and he gloated a while before we kissed and left for work.

I didn't tell him about Carly just yet. George thinks I have a blind spot where Carly's concerned. He calls it my Mighty Mouse Routine. I'm always saving the day for her, he says, and he views it as an unnecessary extravagance. He thinks Carly is old enough to take care of herself.

That's not the only thing he's wrong about.

The good news about Dr. Morgan would resolve Carly's issues and then I'd give George the whole story without having to argue about how I'd handled her this time.

That was the plan.

For about thirty minutes after I reached my desk, it seemed the plan would work.

One of the greatest things about my job is no obnoxious phone calls. George, Kate, and select family can reach me on a private line. Otherwise, my secretary takes messages and my judicial clerks talk to the callers. It's one of the many advantages of being a federal judge. A state court judge is elected; they have to talk to everybody.

The point is, Carly could have returned my calls on my private line, my cell, or my home phone, but she hadn't. I'd heard nothing from her since yesterday. Not an unusual occurrence. But just now, damned inconsiderate. And worrisome.

My secretary brought in the message slips for calls I received through regular channels. I flipped through them quickly: CJ at 7:45 a.m.
Ha! As if.
In addition to making my own hours, my lifetime appointment means it's not necessary to kowtow to a little guy who thinks he's the boss. Gleefully, I crumpled it and tossed it into the trash can.
She scores!

Four more slips. A reminder of my hair appointment, Kate, President of the Women's Bar Association, and, at the bottom of the pile, Carly.

She'd called yesterday. Before she appeared at Minaret.

For some reason, I felt a bit better knowing she'd tried to reach me first. Seemed not so desperate, maybe.

Asked my secretary to schedule an appointment with the chair of the Women's Bar Association, confirm my hair appointment, and make a date for late lunch with Kate.

Studied yesterday's pink slip reflecting Carly's call. No further clues revealed themselves. Wondered aloud,
“What's going on with you, little sis?”

Remembered the last time we'd met before yesterday afternoon. We'd argued then, too. The issues were not dissimilar.

While I was still in private practice, I volunteered my time to teach a law school course. Despite her two brothers and me all being lawyers, Carly decided to go to law school. Or maybe it was because we were lawyers. Anyway, Carly threw caution to the wind and took my class four years ago.

Even if she hadn't been my “little sister,” I'd have thought she was one of those rare students who understood the subject and demonstrated desire to excel.

She became a colleague that year and I found myself working with her to make sure she understood the basics of cross examination, jury selection and evidence.

After she graduated, my personal relationship with Carly, always strained, finally achieved an uneasy truce: Carly began to look on me as an available, if not overly desirable, mentor. For a time. Too briefly.

She joined the prosecutor's office; called now and then from with a particular question or issue. An almost easy peace descended.

Abruptly, she was asked to resign.

She wouldn't tell me why. Following unsuccessful attempts to find out, culminating in one really nasty screaming match, I got the message that it was none of my business.

She asked me to write a recommendation when she applied for a house counsel position with a small medical device manufacturer a few weeks later.

That's one thing about Carly; no matter how offensive she's been to me, she continues to act as if she has some sort of God-given right to keep coming back for more favors.

Of course, I gave her what she wanted.

Maybe because of what she thought of as her disgraceful termination, and maybe because she was still jealous of my relationship with her mother, until yesterday, I hadn't heard from her in over a year, when she was in trouble again.

Maybe George is right. Maybe our relationship is seriously co-dependent. I need to rescue her as much as she needs the help.

Knowing that doesn't change it.

My thoughts started to wander down the well-trodden path of my feelings for Kate, who had been my mother's best friend and like a mother to me since Mom died when I was sixteen.

I jerked myself back to the present.

No point in going over that ground again.

Wherever my relationship with Kate's daughter had gone wrong, rehashing history wasn't going to change it. The only reason to relive history is to avoid making the same mistakes. Otherwise, you're just wallowing in the past—an indulgence I know from experience won't get me anywhere.

If I had back all the hours I've spent trying to figure out how to make Carly stop acting like a spoiled child, I'd be at least three years younger.

I picked up the phone and dialed Carly's office number.

“Good morning, MedPro,” the receptionist answered the phone. I asked for Carly Austin and was put through to her office. Carly picked up on the first ring.

“Carly, its Willa.”

“Judge Carson! I'm so pleased you called me back.”

“Did you think I wouldn't?”

Some hesitation. Then, cryptically, “I'd like to see you for an hour or so. Would it be possible for me to meet you somewhere?”

I felt the frown lines between my eyebrows, and consciously tried to relax them. I remembered Dr. Aymes's comments on age lines. No point in getting needles punched in your face before you have to.

Carly sounded cheerful, almost normal. Not the nervous, timid woman who sat across the table from me yesterday. She'd always been confident and self-assured. Even when she was fired by the prosecutor's office, she hadn't seemed cowed. Yesterday, she did. Now, she didn't.

Confused, I wanted to strangle her and put us both out of my misery. “Look, about Dr.—”

She jumped in. “Let's talk when I see you, shall we? How about your office? Maybe three o'clock? Thanks.”

My protest fell into empty space.

Annoyed, I dialed Frank Bennett. If they'd identified the body, I could put Carly's mind to rest this afternoon and bow out completely. He answered after the first ring.

“Frank, Willa Carson here.”

“Willa! How nice to hear from you. What's up?” Frank has a nose for news, obviously. I'd never called him before. The direct approach wasn't always best.

We talked about the fund-raiser, Senator Warwick, and George's disappointment that Elizabeth Taylor no-showed last night. Frank was covering the Warwick campaign, and asked if I knew when the senator would be in town again.

Finally, I worked into the real reason for my call.

“Frank, since our talk last night about that body they pulled out of Tampa Bay, I've been curious about something, and I haven't seen anything on your newscasts about it.”