Twisted Justice Part 2

They found Louis Ruiz in a semiprivate room on the orthopedic floor. The door to the room was open and the other bed vacant. As Laura and Roxanne approached, the man lay silent, staring straight ahead, not even noticing them. His longish black hair had been combed neatly back, accentuating the pallor of his skin. Both legs were elevated and wrapped in pneumatic cuffs below the knee to minimize the chance of blood clots. Bulky dressings covered both hips and thighs, and a trapeze-like contraption hung over his chest.

"Mr. Ruiz," Roxanne began softly, "this is Dr. Nelson. Remember I told you she'd be in first thing this morning." Her voice broke as he turned his sad, intensely black eyes to her. "Laura, this is Wendy's father."

"Mr. Ruiz, I am so sorry." Laura faltered. "About your wife and your baby."

"Thank you," he said weakly. "But-?"

"Last night we operated on your daughter Wendy. She had serious injuries."

"How is she? Can I see her?" He struggled to sit up. "Her mother, the baby - I have to tell her."

Roxanne reached for his free hand, the one unenc.u.mbered by the intravenous needle. "Please don't try to move."

Laura held onto the bed railing and spoke quickly. "She...Wendy...had a fracture in her neck and a big piece of gla.s.s in her chest, piercing the big artery leaving the heart. Mr. Ruiz, she didn't make it. She died on the operating table. I'm so sorry."

Laura paused. Experience told her to expect any reaction from violent outcry to stony silence. She watched Ruiz's dark eyes search Roxanne's as if she could defy this report, yet only tears flowed as Roxanne grasped his hand.

"I want you to know that we did everything possible for Wendy, Mr. Ruiz. Her injuries were just too severe. Again, I'm so sorry." Laura looked to him for a response, but there was none. She chose not to tell him that even if Wendy had lived, she would have been a paraplegic.

After a few moments, Roxanne broke the silence. "You've got rounds, Dr. Nelson. I'll stay here for a while."

Laura left quietly and completed her patient rounds before heading home at nine o'clock to face her own life. As she approached the parking lot exit, she heard her name.

"Dr. Nelson!"

Laura turned, s.h.i.+fting her bag on her shoulder as a middleaged man with thick wire-rimmed gla.s.ses trotted toward her. He was tall and lanky with tufts of gray hair sticking up behind a severely receding hairline. "May I have a word with you?"

She a.s.sumed he was a relative of one of her patients. "Do I know you?"

"I'd like to talk to you about the Ruiz family," he drawled, sounding distinctly native Floridian.

"Are you a reporter?" she asked, careful to remain civil. Though her husband was a newscaster and depended on these reporters in the field, Laura disliked them intensely.

"Ah, no," he said. "I saw you coming out of Ruiz's room and I know you operated on one of the kids and that the kid died on the table."

"Who are you?" He surely didn't look like a close relative.

"I'm a personal injury lawyer," he said. "Representing the interests of Mr. Ruiz. Wrongful death, that sort of thing."

"There's nothing I can do to help you."

"Here's my card," he said, holding it out. "Sam Sanders. Give me a call if you change your mind."

But Laura just turned away, leaving him with his hand outstretched.

CHAPTER THREE.

Laura was nibbling a crumb cake at the round table in the sunny breakfast room when her husband came down at nine thirty. Warm sun pouring in the windows abated her s.h.i.+vers, but she wished it could warm her heart. This room had always been her haven, where she spent most of the time with the kids over breakfast and dinner, homework sessions, doing puzzles, playing board games. The decor was bright with yellow and white patterned wallpaper, light oak cupboards and floors, and stark white appliances. The room had never failed to cheer her, but as of today, she knew things would be different. While her coffee went cold, Laura waited for Steve. She'd pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail and wore dark prescription gla.s.ses over red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

Steve plodded down the stairs, tousled in his green corduroy robe and baggy gray sweatpants. His hair had been forgotten and he hadn't shaved. He yawned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Coffee, Laura? You okay?"

"Yes." She squeezed her eyes shut. "We need to talk, Steve."

"Okay. Where are the kids?" He glanced around the silent kitchen. "I barely slept last night."

"I asked Marcy to take them to Mom's," she answered. "I'll pick them up tomorrow."

"Mike has baseball practice," Steve said.

Laura almost screamed. Here was Steve sitting here like nothing had happened. Just a Sat.u.r.day morning, sharing a casual cup of coffee. She wanted to lash out, to bite him, hit him, hurt him, but she had warned herself to keep it together. To say what she had to say, to forego yelling and screaming. Her problem: she didn't know what she was going to say. She didn't know which direction to take. Her life and the lives of her kids hung in the balance.

"This is more important than baseball practice. This is about what we're going to do with our lives." Try as she might she couldn't keep the rage out of her voice. "You should have worried about Little League before you totally screwed up all our lives."

"Whoa!" Bleary eyed, Steve slumped into the closest chair. "Honey, last night was a big mistake that will never happen again. I already told you. You're too important to me, you and the kids."

Laura burst into fresh tears and pounded her fists on the oak table. "I just can't believe it."

Steve jumped to his feet and began pacing. "Honey, I'm so sorry, beyond sorry. What else can I say?"

"I don't know what you can say," she cried, starting to sound hysterical. Then out of nowhere she felt a jolt from somewhere inside her so powerful that her body stiffened. She said, "All I know is that our marriage is over." Then Laura's hands flew to her mouth as she processed the finality of what she'd just blurted. Until the words issued from her mouth, she hadn't been sure of what she wanted.

"What? You can't be serious - we have five kids. Last night was just a stupid mistake."

Laura grimaced. Shaken, but strangely resolved, she shook her head. "Maybe, Steve, but what's done is done. We can't pretend it never happened."

"For G.o.d's sake, Laura, we've been married for fifteen years. I'm so sorry, I really am." He pulled out the chair next to hers, sat down, and reached for her hand, which she jerked away.

"The truth is," she sniffled, "we haven't been happy since I don't know when. We've both been working so hard and, you have to admit, we've both changed."

"So what? We're still the same underneath it. We still love each other."

"Really?" Laura's voice broke. "If that was true you wouldn't be with -"

"Laura, last night was the first -" he finally backed off as she continued to inch farther away from his touch - "and the last."

Laura blinked back more tears. "Don't deny it. Things between us haven't been good -"

"Nothing we can't work out, Laura. You work such crazy hours, and I've been under tremendous pressure at the station."

Laura shook her head and averted her eyes. "After last night, it doesn't matter what you say."

Steve raked his hands through his hair. "Hey, c'mon. You need me. You're so attached to your career, you couldn't handle the kids alone. Besides, I'm there for them, and they need me. Especially Patrick."

"Do they now? And don't use Patrick as a p.a.w.n. He's fine and you know it." Laura cupped her hands over her face, telling herself to ease up, to keep this horrible conversation as civil as possible.

Steve leaned closer and put his arm around her. "Please, let's not let one mistake ruin everything for us. Think of the kids. They need a mom, and I've been a great dad. Everyone knows that."

Laura hesitated before pus.h.i.+ng him away. "No. Let's just talk about how we're going to do this. Now. Today. I want you to move out. Find a place. Stay in a motel. A separation." She paused, s.h.i.+vering again, not so much from anger as fear. This was her life she was discarding. And Steve was a good father. The kids would miss him terribly. Should she reconsider?

"Look," he said quietly, "if it'll make you happy, I'll stay somewhere else for a couple of days. I can understand why you're p.i.s.sed. G.o.d, if I ever found you with someone, I don't know -" His voice trailed off. "You don't have to worry about Kim either, she's leaving Tampa."

Laura winced. "Stop. As long as you're not here, you can be with whomever you want."

Steve smiled ruefully. "Laura, c'mon. Just cut me a little slack. A mistake. I swear."

"No."

"Okay, okay. I'll give you some time. Just don't tell the kids? Say I'm on business. Will you do that?"

"I'm not going to tell them I caught you with Kim in their own house, that's all I know right now."

"I don't think leaving is a good idea. I know we can work things out."

Laura shook her head. "After what happened last night, we can do two things," she improvised as a renewed wave of hurt reinforced her resolve. "Choice one. I go to George Granger and tell him about you and Kim. You know how he feels about me. No way he'll keep you on at the station."

Steve's face swelled with anger. "You'd try to get me fired? You know he's already on me about the ratings."

"I'll call him today, right now. I don't want to, but -"

"You wouldn't do that!"

"Or, choice number two. You just leave. It's the sensible thing to do. We'll figure out the best way to tell the kids. The best way for them, not for you," she continued, sadness softening her voice.

"Laura, please. I'm asking for another chance. Kim doesn't mean anything to me. It'll never happen again. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You're right," she said slowly, "it will never happen again - to me."

Kim Connor opened her eyes, glanced at the clock on her bedside table and groaned. Ten-f.u.c.king in the morning. She squeezed her eyes shut and yanked up the covers, but the doorbell chime did not stop.

"f.u.c.k." She crawled out of bed, grabbing a paisley silk bathrobe on her way to the door. Peering through the peephole, she sighed in recognition and unhooked the chain.

"Carmen? You okay?" Kim reached for her friend's hand. "Come in, honey."

"I'm okay. Sorry I'm so early, but man, he did a number on you."

Kim reached up and touched her face. "Must look awful. I'm still half asleep."

"Hey, you're gorgeous no matter what. Go fix yourself up and I'll make coffee."

Carmen Williams was the only friend that Kim Connor had - girlfriend, that is. They'd met in a club in Ybor City, Tampa's historic Cuban enclave, ten years earlier. Both twenty-two. Both heavy into cocaine. No money, loaded with debt, they'd resorted to prost.i.tution to support their pricey habit. Not really professional wh.o.r.es, just selling s.e.x when desperate for a hit. Each was Hispanic on their mother's side, and a mix of European on their father's. Kim's Hispanic genetics dominated with her dark hair, olive complexion, and coal black eyes. She was small boned, hot-tempered, and provocatively s.e.xy. Carmen's skin was lighter, her eyes a tawny hazel, her heavier build characteristic of her father's family. Her long, auburn hair was her best feature, and when she bothered with makeup, which was rarely, she could look genuinely glamorous. Unlike Kim, Carmen had never recovered from her addiction.

Soon after they met, the pair of friends was literally taken off the street by Father Sean Darby, a young priest a.s.signed to Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Ybor City. He had campaigned hard with Catholic Social Services for a drug rehab program in his parish, doc.u.menting the rise of drug-related crimes in the neighborhood. One scorching summer night, Kim and Carmen, stoned on c.o.ke and liquor and looking for their next fix, stumbled into Father Darby and offered s.e.x for cash. The priest, clad in street clothes, simply ushered them into his storefront rehab center. Kim began to recover, and the politically astute priest used his connections to get her a scholars.h.i.+p at the University of Florida, where she excelled in her communications major. Carmen, however, could never beat her cocaine habit and still lived from job to job out on the fringe.

Today, Carmen looked clear eyed and perky. She wore a halter top with matching slacks in bronze and black patterns and her hair was arranged in a trendy French braid secured with a black ribbon. As Kim splashed water on her face, tenderly fingering the deepening bruise around her eye and cheek, she wondered why her friend had come over so early. Impromptu visits like this usually meant Carmen needed something - money, usually - but Carmen also knew that Kim often slept until noon after her late TV gigs. Something was wrong, she knew it.

"Here, sweetie." Carmen handed Kim a mug of black coffee. "As usual, you don't have milk or cream, so I'm having mine, ugh, black too."

"Sorry. Can't risk the calories." Kim yawned as they settled at the table in her small alcove of a kitchen. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Honey, we need to talk. Where were you last night?"

"What do you mean? I was on the news, in front of all of Tampa Bay."

"No, I mean after," Carmen persisted.

Kim frowned. "Why?"

"Frankie called looking for you."

"s.h.i.+t, no." Coffee leapt from her cup as Kim lurched forward. "What time? What did you tell him?"

"I didn't know what to tell him. It was two thirty, and I'd just walked into my place. At first I thought maybe you came over, that you two'd had another fight after what he already did to you the night before. But what could I say? I said I didn't know where you were."

"Uh-oh," Kim exhaled.

"He was p.i.s.sed. I mean freakin' uptight."

"He was supposed to be in Miami."

"Said he stopped off at the station to say good-bye first. How sorry he was, flowers and all. Some flunky kid at Channel Eight said he thought he saw you go off with Steve Nelson. G.o.d, Kimmie, tell me that's not true."

"He...he knew I was with Steve?"

"d.a.m.n," Carmen leaned forward, her eyes wide. "You were?"

"I didn't plan it. I mean, I had to tell him about maybe leaving Tampa for that Atlanta job. After the other night with Frankie though," she paused and touched her face, "I just lost it. Plus, you know how Steve always makes me feel safe - so b.u.t.toned up and all. The truth is I always did want to do him and last night it just happened. Dios mio, if Frankie finds that out -"

Carmen put down her coffee cup on the table. "All Frankie knows is that some kid maybe sees you going off with Steve, honey. He doesn't know the rest. G.o.d, I can't believe -"

"Neither can I," Kim cut in. "That's not even the worst of it. His wife walked in on us."

"You're f.u.c.king kidding."

"I wish. Talk about being p.i.s.sed. She's harmless, but Frankie-"

"What's gonna happen? To Steve, I mean. He's got all those kids, right?"

"I don't know. I've got my own problems." Kim got up and started to pace back and forth in her small kitchen. "s.h.i.+t, if Frankie went to the station first, he probably came here after. What am I going to do?"

Carmen tried to smile. "You're the only friend I've ever had, honey, and as much as I hate to say this, you'd better get out of Tampa. Take that Atlanta job. After the other night, Frankie's gonna keep beatin' the s.h.i.+t out of you whether he finds out about last night or not. What you told me about him wanting kids and you don't. That's a blow to his macho ego and that f.u.c.king guy's in love with you. You told him your career is more important to you than he is? He can't handle that."