Life Sentences (31 page)

Detective Patterson sat beside Celeste. “I’m telling youeverything I know because this information will be in the papers in due time.” His voice was tranquilizing. He rested a hand on her arm. “I’d rather you hear all this from me than some obscure, prying reporter.”

“I know,” Celeste could hardly whisper the words. The room was so quiet she heard the engines of a passing freighter on the lake. She lifted to a sitting position. She and Detective Patterson remained seated side by side for a long time without speaking. What else could they say? Exhaustion crept into every muscle. Even Celeste’s brain seemed too tired to go on.

Patterson finally said, “At any rate, because the FBI found Johnson’s prints at that Bluff motel, the positive identification reports, and another victim, the hiker, Southfield Police are willing to work with the TV people.” Patterson considered Celeste for several moments. “You’ll be interviewed also. Do you still want to do this?”

“Of course.” Celeste jumped up. She was woozy and steadied herself against the couch’s arm before Patterson noticed. “It’s more than Pilar now.” She flailed her arms. “Who knows where those two evil beings will stop?”

S
EVERAL DAYS LATER
, D
ETECTIVE
Patterson appeared at Celeste’s condo. After she hung up his trench coat, she announced, “If you’re going to be a regular visitor, I think I should know your first name.” She had barely seen his full name on the ID he flashed at her the first day they met.

“Jim, well, James,” he smiled, “after my dad.” He proudly explained that he and his father both graduated from the University of Illinois. Jim even joined his father’s fraternity.

Celeste pictured the two of them on the fifty-yard-line cheering their beloved Illini. “Coffee?” she asked, and lifted the pot from the counter

“Please,” he said. “And if you have any of those scones, I’d take one of them, too.” His grin indicated his anticipation of the tasty treat.

Celeste laughed heartily. It was a good feeling after so many weeks of grief. “The truth comes out. It’s not my good looks, it’s my cooking you’re after.”

“It’s both,” the beguiling Jim said. Celeste imaginedhis father saying the same thing to his mother. A pang of jealousy struck her.

Celeste placed the plate of scones and coffee in front of Jim. She stood opposite him on the other side of the bar and sensed he came with news about Tommy and Jane. “What does bring you here, Detective Patterson?”

“Jim, call me Jim.”

“Yes, of course.”

Jim laid a large manila envelope on the counter. “I want you to see this before you watch “America’s Most Wanted” or hear it in the news.”

Cautiously, Celeste opened the envelope and extracted the contents. A similar scene with Max marched across her memory. Today’s envelope though, held formal paperwork, a police log. Investigators made abbreviated written entries for each lead in their quest to find Pilar’s killer or killers.

“Read it,” Jim urged. “You may know most of this, but sometimes the day-to-day events in black and white strike harder at us than a verbal report. Those often sound like stories rather than the real thing. This,” he pointed at the packet, “is the real thing.”

When Celeste started her review of the material, Jim softly added, “If you have any questions as you go along, just ask.” Then he bit into the fresh scone.

Celeste put the papers down and drank some cold coffee. “I’m not sure I can read any more of this. It’s so emotionless. It’s such a casual narrative about the purchase of the gun that killed my daughter.”

“It’s a part of the police file. No sentiment should be shown.” Jim’s voice was barely audible. “Even if we feel it.” He paused. “It will be worse hearing this on TV. But it’s going to get even harder at the trial. Hearing a detective, even me, presenting a detached accounting of evidence can be heart wrenching.”

Celeste fingered the pages. “I know, but it’s so tough.” She bit her lower lip to stop its tremor. “I just want all this to go away.”

Jim’s face softened so that there was hardly a line visible. “The more you hear or read these facts, the more prepared you will be for the trial and TV. It’s just like the day you wanted to hear all about Tommy and Jane.” He lifted oneeyebrow, indicating she had to do that.

Celeste was comforted for the moment that Jim, like Max, had become as obsessed by Pilar’s murder as if she were a wife and daughter of their own. Marcus had hardly shown interest in the case. Celeste picked up the report and resumed reading.

Reading those cold words made Celeste queasy. Wilbanks asked about nothing else, except how much of his inheritance would be gone. It confirmed that all he wanted from Pilar was money. Celeste paced the living room while she read the rest. She hoped movement would ease the hate boiling inside her.

Celeste stared at the report and asked, “Does Tommy Johnson have a mother?”

“That’s an odd question,” Jim answered, sounding surprised by the query.

“This report,” she held the papers out toward him, “says nothing about his mother, only his father, who seems to be an accomplice. So, I’m curious.”

Jim tilted his head to the side. He looked sympathetic when he said, “From what we can gather, Tommy’s mother left him and his father when Tommy was around five-years-old. No one has heard from, or seen her since.”

Celeste fought back tears. “I’ll never understand a mother who could do that. But then, how do you explain a father like Hal Johnson who helps his son commit crimes, even murder?”

“It’s hard to comprehend,” Jim agreed. “Maybe he’s scared, too.”

Celeste shook her head as she continued. The papers she held felt heavier.

Cleo’s face flashed across Celeste’s mind. Why hadn’t she tried to stop Pilar? What good was it for Cleo to tell Celeste about her concerns the day of Pilar’s funeral or talk to the police after Pilar died? She wiped the moisture from her eyes so she could see the paper and went on.

“All these people saw the two cars and no one stopped. Didn’t any of them suspect something was wrong?” Celeste quizzed.

“Like most drivers, they’re more curious than concerned. Their glance at the two cars led those we interviewed to believe there was no trouble.” Jim breathed deeply. “But even if they did have some suspicion, most people wouldn’t get involved, only after the fact. Like now.”

“Umm” Celeste silently cursed each one. The freeway witnesses still should have stopped. Was that an unfair conclusion? She didn’t care. Celeste quickly read the rest of the report. Recorded in the last portion, Officer Leonard whom she met at the prison, saw Jane driving in downtown Marquette with Tommy a few days after he had escaped. Just before that sighting the manager of the Super 8 confirmed Tommy Johnson was registered there on July 16.

Celeste wanted to know why they hadn’t reported the escapee. Tommy’s picture was plastered on local TV and in the newspapers. They were like the freeway observers. They didn’t want to get involved until they were forced.

The hotel employee also said Tommy was picked up the next day by an African-American woman and at least one child. For just a second Celeste’s heart went out to those children. She lowered the report to her side. How could Jane Carson claim she loved her children and then place them in such danger? How could a mother be that negligent?

“Is something the matter?” Patterson’s voice interrupted her reflection.

“No,” she shook her head. “I only have a few more entries to read.”

“Good.” Patterson circled his foot around the bar stool’s lower rung and finished the scone.

The last item Celeste read further implicated Tommy’s father. It stated that on July 29 Paula Neil of Western Gun Traders sold two .357 Magnum revolvers to Hal Johnson accompanied by a white male and an African-American female. Was it the gun that killed the Colorado hiker?

Celeste finished the entire police log and returned the tear dampened pages to Patterson. Seeing the whole case in a written report made the offenders even more real and despicable. The matter-of-fact way in which the report was stated also made it clear that most likely Pilar was only one of Chad and Tommy’s victims. How sad to think that there were probably more casualties in the world because of them.

Patterson lifted his brows after he replaced the packet into the envelope as if waiting for Celeste to make a comment. When none came, he said, “I repeat: Reading this is tough and brings up all the horrid facts, some you weren’t aware of, but …”

“But I did need to see them. I know. Especially, like you said, since I’ll have to confront these issues sooner or later in a less caring environment.”

“Yes, well…” Patterson shifted from one foot to the other like a very shy boy. It was the first time Celeste found the detective without words.

“I need some time to put all this into perspective,” Celeste announced. “It’s hard to believe that people can be so calculating and cruel.”

Patterson frowned and smiled at the same time. His mouth stretched to a grin but turned down at the corners. “Take care,” he then said. “If you need anything, especially before your TV interview, you know where to get me.”

“Yes, thank you. You have been very kind.” Celeste let him out the door and thought about Hal Johnson, Tommy’s father. What kind of man would aid Tommy as he did? Or as Jim suggested, was he too frightened of his own son to do anything else?

“Monster,” Celeste declared to Phoenix. “Tommy’s nothing but a monster.”

But what was Jane’s excuse? Love? Excitement? Or was she some kind of fiend, too?

M
AX AND
J
IM STOOD
in the doorway of Celeste’s condo. Both displayed sheepish grins.

“What on earth brings the two of you here on this of all days?” Celeste asked, hoping for good news. Standing together, Celeste realized how different they appeared. Jim’s tall, lean body towered over Max’s stout one. As pressed and intact as Jim’s clothing was, Max’ outfit was unkempt. In fact, he looked more like Columbo. The two men standing before her were as disparate as the characters in
The Odd Couple
.

Max looked at Jim who stared back at him and nodded. Max faced Celeste and said, “We want to be with you when that producer from the TV show interrogates you.”

Celeste chuckled. “You mean talks with me, don’t you?”

Max laughed. A hint of red showed on his cheeks. “Yes, of course,” he answered.

“Come on in and take a seat in the living room. The producer is due here any moment.” As soon as Celeste saidthat, she had another question. “How did you know when the producer was going to arrive anyway?”

Jim shrugged, “I’m a cop.”

Celeste motioned them to chairs. “Do you sense trouble with this group, Jim?”

“No,” he answered and sat on the edge of one chair, elbows resting against his knees and hands clasped. “I,” Jim raised his eyes at Max, “we, thought you might like a little support.”

Max slid into a wing-back chair near the fire place, as comfortable as if he had reclined there all his life. “Their questions can be tough,” he chimed in. “You’ll be forced to remember some emotional moments. These producers leave nothing to the imagination. It can be rather difficult for you on your own.”

Celeste handed each man a cup of coffee. She was now thankful Jim insisted she read that police log. She also was enchanted by Jim and Max’s need to protect her.

“Though I believe there is little left that can bring me to my knees,” Celeste said to both but focused on Patterson, “at least not the way the first news about Pilar did, Jim, I’m glad you’re both here.” She sat on the couch next to Phoenix and scratched his ears. He rubbed his whiskers against her fingers. “Besides, I can always use your support. It gives me the confidence that I’ve made the right decision to go forward with this TV show”

Before either responded, the door bell rang. “That mustbe the interrogator now,” Celeste teased.