Nick of Time (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

W
hen Ben Maestri's wife opened the front door, Carter wondered whether he should have brought a doctor instead of a cop. She looked to be about seventy years old, and a grayness around her eyes spoke of some imminent health problem. She cracked the door and peered out at her visitors, her hands poised to slam it shut in an instant. She said nothing.

Deputy Sweet did the talking. “Hello,” she said, her tone light. “Is this the Maestri home?”

The woman glared.

Carter gave it a try. “We're looking for Ben Maestri, owner of the Quik Mart on Shore Road.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked. The question was leveled at Carter.

Carter produced a business card from the pocket of his suit coat. “I'm Carter Janssen. I'm a lawyer from upstate New York, and I was wondering if Mr. Maestri might have a moment to speak with me.”

“Us,” Darla corrected. “Speak with us.”

The woman regarded them both with a look that hovered between contempt and fear. Then she closed the door.

“Well, that was friendly,” Carter said to Darla.

Darla arched her eyebrows. “Do you suppose she's going to get Ben, or was that our signal to leave?”

Carter took a few steps back to the edge of the porch and craned his neck to catch a peek into a window. Behind them, the rain continued to pour.

They waited a full minute before knocking again. This time, Ben answered. He glared.

Carter decided to go first, extending his hand. “I'm Carter Janssen,” he said. “I'm—”

“I know who you are,” the man said. He displayed Carter's card, holding it like a cigarette between his first and second fingers. He squinted at Darla. “Deputy. What do you want?”

“Can we come in?” Carter asked.

“No.”

The bluntness of the answer caught Carter off guard. “It'll only be for a few minutes,” Darla said.

“Just say what you need to say from there.”

Carter scowled. The attitude confused him. A wild thought shot through his brain, and he let it fly. “Are you frightened, Mr. Maestri?”

The question drew a startled glance from Darla, but she didn't say anything.

“Your clock is ticking, folks. Unless you want to talk to the door, you'd best get on with it.”

“We're getting soaked,” Carter said.

“And you won't get any dryer standing there.”

In the car, they'd agreed in deference to his personal stake in this that Carter could take the lead in the questioning. He began, “I know you've had a very difficult day, sir. It's a terrible thing that you went through, and if there were any way for me to—”

“I know everything I need to know about myself, Mr. Janssen. Try talking about
you
.”

Carter cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Well, sir, you seem to think that my daughter was involved in that unpleasantness this afternoon.”

“Oh, really?” the man said. “Is that what you call murder up in New York City? Unpleasantness?”

“It's New York State, sir—”

“I don't give a goddamn what it is, state, city, or country. Murder is murder. And if your daughter was one of them that killed Chas, then I'm probably gonna feel sorry for you one day. It'd be a shame to have a girl on death row.”

“My daughter didn't kill that boy,” Carter said. “That's what I want to talk to you about.”

“I already told them everything I know.” He glared at Darla. “And Deputy, I don't much appreciate you bringin' him here. This is not the day for social chats.”

Carter started to speak, but Darla placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “There's nothing social about this, Ben. You're upset and I understand that. But I've got a murder to investigate, and Mr. Janssen has some pertinent questions to ask.”

Ben shifted his glare to Carter. “Say what's on your mind.”

“You didn't see the shooting, is that correct?” Carter asked.

“Never said I did. But I sure as hell saw the kids who did it.” He gingerly touched his bruised eye. “Got the trophy to show for it.”

“But you never saw them
shoot,
” Carter pressed.

Ben's eyes narrowed. If he were a younger man, it was a look that would have spelled impending violence. “You
are
a lawyer, ain't ya? Always huntin' for the technicality. Well, let me put it this way for you: if I wake up tomorrow morning and the ground is dry, I'll assume that it stopped raining even if I never saw it stop.”

“It's an important distinction, Ben,” Darla added. “Mr. Janssen has a theory that someone else did the shooting, then fled before you stepped out from the back. From what you told me earlier, I don't see a way to tell him that he's necessarily wrong.”

“But the sheriff said that that boy was a murderer,” Ben said. His faith in his own assumptions appeared to be weakening.

“He is,” Darla said. “But from another state. Michigan. That doesn't necessarily mean he's our man for this.”

“My daughter's never hurt a soul in her life,” Carter added. “I think that what you saw—I mean what you
really saw
—were actually two witnesses to the crime whom you caught in the act of trying to help.”

Ben started to close the door again. “I'm calling the sheriff,” he said. “I want to talk to Frank Hines himself on this.”

“He thinks you're senile.” Carter stopped the closing door with a few inches left in its arc. “You know for a fact that you loaded the security recorders, yet he says that you're just too old to remember.”

Ben allowed the door to open again, his expression more wary than ever. “What's y'all's game, anyway?”

“I have no game, sir. What I have is a crisis. I'm trying to save my daughter from a murder charge, and you're the only person in the world who can help me.”

“What makes you think I want to?”

“Because the law requires it,” Darla said. “We don't get many murders around here, Ben. You don't want to be on the wrong side of this one. At the end of the day, we all want the same thing—justice.” Carter cast her a grateful glance, but she didn't acknowledge it.

Ben scoffed and tossed a thumb at Carter. “He don't give a whit about justice. All he wants is to protect his baby girl. I heard what he had to say in the shop this afternoon.”

“Of course I want to protect her,” Carter said, “but only because I know she's innocent. That means there's a real killer out on the streets somewhere who needs to be arrested.”

Ben looked to Darla for confirmation.

“It's complicated, okay, Ben? It's just really very complicated. Now, are you going to let us in or not?”

* * *

“I'm not supposed to be talking to you,” Ben said as he led them inside. “Either one of you.”

Darla recoiled. “Says who?” Once inside, she removed her Smokey the Bear hat and dangled it by her side. Water dripped onto the floor.

Ben's tone made it seem obvious. “Sheriff Hines. He doesn't want you or anyone else messing up my memory. I already told him everything I know, and he said that he doesn't want me to get confused.”

Darla scowled. “He mentioned me by name?”

“Not you. Him.” Another thumb at Carter. “Once he heard you were a lawyer
and
the murderer's father, he predicted you'd come.”

Carter braced at the continued use of the
m
word. “She's not a murderer,” he said again, trying to push from his mind the number of times he'd heard the parents of ruthless killers utter the same words.

Ben led the way into the living room, where everything was slipcovered and doilied. The gloom of the day, filtered through heavy blinds, bathed everything in the sepia tones of an old photograph. He gestured to the woman on the couch, whom Carter recognized as the initial gatekeeper. “I believe you've already met my wife, Carol,” he said.

Carter smiled. “Hello again.”

Carol's frown didn't loosen a bit. “You're crazy inviting him in here like this,” she growled. It was as if Darla wasn't even there. “Sheriff told you not to, but you do it anyway, you're likely to end up in jail yourself.” For a lady who looked like everybody's grandmother, with her hair tied into a tight bun and an apron tucked up under her ample breasts, Carol Maestri had a tough edge.

Ben gestured to the chairs. “I ain't never been much for following orders,” he said. “Have a seat. You've got the floor.”

Carter stalled by clearing his throat. The moment of truth had arrived. In order to get Ben Maestri's cooperation, Carter was going to have to confess to a blizzard of felonies. For starters, there was misprision of a felony—the fallout from his conversation with Nicki—followed by accessory after the fact to murder. God only knew what an aggressive North Carolina prosecutor could dream up to go along with them. Even if he stayed out of jail, he'd probably never be permitted to practice law again.

Actually, that particular prospect didn't seem so bad.

Carol Maestri used the brief silence as her own invitation to speak. “Chas Delphin was a good boy,” she said. “Fifteen years old, lives just down the road a bit. I used to babysit for him years ago, and every holiday, he used to come by just to say hello.”

Ben looked uncomfortable. “Carol, sweetheart, I don't think you need to—”

“I do so need to,” she snapped. “I want this fellow to know what a terrible thing has happened. I want him to know why his pain don't mean nothing to me. Chas was a good boy, Mr. Janssen. He wanted to be a writer. Science fiction. He knew more about nothin' than any ten boys his age, and now he won't never become anything because somebody wanted the money in his till.” As she spoke, Carol's lip started to quiver, but her eyes stayed dry. “It hurts to live in a world where that sort of thing can happen.”

Carter hadn't prepared himself for this. Through all the machinations of trying to get Nicki back home, he'd never allowed himself to think about the boy who was killed—about the parents who would suffer the unspeakable agony his death. Hearing her talk about Chas's dreams to be a writer, he thought about the millions of words that would never be written, the stories that would never be told, all because some asshole with a gun took his life with a simple flick of a finger on a trigger. Carol was right. It did hurt to live in such a world.

“Mrs. Maestri,” he said softly. “You might not believe it, but you and I are on the exact same side of this issue.”

Carol scoffed and looked away. “Innocent people don't run away, Mr. Janssen.”

Carter told Nicki's story one more time. When he was finished, no one said anything as they grappled with the dilemma faced by a desperate young lady.

“So, you've spoken to your daughter,” Ben said.

Carter couldn't deny it. “The details she gave me were vivid. The kids bet everything that the video would prove their story. Without it, they're stuck.”

Something transpired between Carol and Ben that Carter caught only because he was wired into such things. It was a shared glance, and a shift of position. They seemed to be waiting for the other to speak first. “What is it?” Carter asked.

Ben seemed to be sifting through the images in his mind. “When I heard the shot, I knew right away that it was a robbery. And I think I knew that Chas had to be dead.” His voice caught in his throat, and Carol reached over and tapped his hand. “I didn't do anything. I cracked the door just a little and peeked out. Isn't that terrible? A boy not even old enough to shave is shot in my store, and I don't have the guts to step out without peeking.”

Darla took a breath to console the old man, but Carter stopped her with a brief twitch of his hand. Ben had tapped into his emotional memory, and Carter didn't want anything to break his train of thought.

As if reading each other's thoughts, Ben and Carol clasped hands. “I just stood there, watching, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I mean, my God, they'd just killed my clerk. I'd have been a fool to rush out into something like that.”

Carter said nothing, silently urging the old man to continue.

“At first, all I saw was the boy. Your boy. Your daughter's boy. He was by the front door, looking out, anxious to get going, I think, because he was looking for something outside. Then I saw him look toward the counter, and that's when I first saw the girl, your daughter.” Ben raised the fist of his free hand to his forehead.

“No, that's not right, either,” he corrected himself. “I guess I couldn't really see her. Not all of her anyway, because that view is blocked from the door.”

“Could you hear what they were saying?”

“No, sir, I couldn't. My hearing ain't all that it used to be. I mean, I probably could have if I'd really concentrated on it, but I was just too blamed scared to pay attention. Then I remembered the security monitor. I remembered that if I wanted to see what was going on out there, all I had to do was look into the TV screen.”

“Why didn't you do that before?”

“Never thought of it. I just heard the sound of that shot, and I went right to the door. When I did get to looking at that screen, that's when I saw them both with Chas. Your boy was nervous as a cat. He couldn't get out of there fast enough.”

“What was Nicki doing?”

Ben seemed to age five years as his mind replayed whatever he was looking at. His eyes grew red as he shot a look to his wife.