Twisted Justice Part 27

Tuesday morning at six, Greg's phone rang. He grabbed the receiver groggily. "Celeste?"

"Sorry to wake you so early," Chuck's voice boomed. "I'm at Tampa airport. Got a flight to Chicago, and a charter to Traverse City. Also got the Nelson flight information. Northwest Airlines. Leaves Detroit at eight tonight for San Francisco. Then they change planes to Fairbanks on Air Alaska. I debated as to whether to fly straight to Detroit, but I'd rather follow them all the way from Traverse City. I want them in my sights. I figure if I don't catch them there, I'll take the charter on to Detroit, be there in plenty of time before that flight takes off."

Greg stifled a yawn. "Sounds good, Chuck. I got a flight out of Philly to Detroit at ten."

"And Laura? She coming with you?"

"I don't know," Greg said with a sigh. "I booked it, but as of last night she didn't think she could leave her son at the hospital."

"Guess I can understand that. But it'd really help our end if she were there herself to convince the kids to head back with us. Avoid an abduction scene."

"I know, Chuck. I'll try to convince her to do just that."

"Got it. So if I can't reach you and need an immediate call, who's our point person?"

"Carrie's in the office all day. Timing is tight. All this has to happen in only one day."

"Realistically, boss, it doesn't look good. Ha.s.sles over jurisdiction with a twelve-hour window? What if it doesn't work? Want me to grab the boys and worry about the consequences later?"

Greg paused. "That's a 'maybe,' Chuck. I told Laura we'd move heaven and earth to stop Steve from leaving Michigan with her sons, but I'd like to do it legally."

After Greg hung up, he went for a long run to clear his head. Once showered and dressed, he called his Tampa office. His first question was whether Celeste had tried to reach him.

"No, Mr. Klingman," Betty Harmon answered, "no calls since last week." When he then asked to speak with Carrie, she said, "Ms. Diamond isn't back yet. She did come in early, before I even got in at seven thirty. But then she left after she got that call."

"Call? Did she say where she was going? We've got a lot going on today." He filled her in on the Nelson situation.

"I see. No, Carrie didn't say where she was going. She got a call about five after eight from no one I recognized. A Spanish accent, I think. He didn't give a name, but he said he was an old client. I'm sorry, I should have insisted on a name before I put the call through."

"Just try her at her house," Greg directed. "I'll hold."

"Come on, Carrie, I need you at 100 percent today," he mumbled as he waited for Betty to get back on the line.

"There's no answer at her house," Betty reported. "I also tried her husband's office, but he's not there either and hasn't called in. Not yet anyway. He has appointments, so he's expected."

"s.h.i.+t. Well, get in touch with somebody in Chuck Dimer's office and have them check out Carrie and Don's home. Nothing heroic or drastic, Betty. Just make sure everything's okay there."

"Will do, Mr. Klingman. And well, it's probably nothing, but -"

"Go on, Betty," he urged. "I've got a lot to do before I leave for the airport."

"Well, it's just that Mrs. Diamond left in such a hurry after that call. She seemed upset."

"Did she say anything about Elizabeth?"

"No, but she literally ran out after she hung up the phone."

"How long was she on the phone?"

"Just a few minutes, I'd say. You know, this is just not like her."

Greg checked his watch. It was eight twenty when he left his luggage with the bellman at the Sheraton and headed over to CHOP. He had to talk to Laura before leaving for Detroit. It was important that she understood not only what they'd be doing in the Michigan and Florida courts, but particularly what Chuck would be doing in Detroit, if Laura did not accompany Greg to Detroit. If the boys came voluntarily with Chuck that was one thing, but the question was whether or not Laura wanted Chuck to take them forcibly if they protested and wanted to stay with their dad. They didn't know Chuck from Adam, and at age fourteen and eleven, they were likely to resist physical force.

As he approached the surgical ICU, Greg encountered a cl.u.s.ter of white coats exiting through the swinging doors, young doctors in discussion as they headed toward the elevator across the hall. One of them held back and called to Greg, "Sorry, you can't go in there."

Greg ignored the comment and kept going until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to face Tim Robinson.

"Ah Tim, I'm glad it's you. I need to see Laura. It's important."

"Sorry, the ICU is for immediate family only," Tim replied.

The two men faced each other, the younger draped in a freshly starched white coat with a stereoscope dangling from his neck; the other, seven years older, clad in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit embellished with an expensive silk tie in rich reds and golds.

Glancing at his watch, Greg was the first to breech the silence.

"I really do need to see Laura now."

"I understand. But meantime, you'll have to wait in the visitors' lounge."

"But I've got to catch a plane."

Greg watched Tim start to walk away, intending to step through the ICU doors as soon as the meddlesome doctors were far enough down the hall.

Then Tim turned back. "Okay," he said with a shrug. "I'll go back in and ask Laura to come out."

"If you insist. It seems like such a waste of time."

Tim shrugged. "Rules are rules. It's not like I made 'em."

The last pa.s.senger to board, Greg had to take the one remaining seat toward the rear of the plane in the center. He was still fuming about Tim forcing him to wait for Laura. But Greg remained dutifully in the visitors' lounge until Laura appeared about ten minutes later. It was no easy task, but he'd finally convinced her to fly to Detroit. After some effort, he then managed to book her on a three o'clock flight out of Philly with a return flight at nine fifteen with the promise that she'd be back at her son's side by day's end.

Amid all those logistics, there'd been no time to try Celeste at her job site in Atlanta again. There'd been no answer at her townhouse when he tried her just before he checked out of the Sheraton either. Claiming to be Mr. Marin, he'd tried the Peachtree Plaza in Atlanta once more, and he learned that Ms. Marin had requested that they hold her suite over the weekend for an antic.i.p.ated return on Monday, which had not occurred. They'd requested notice should she need to postpone her arrival, because they needed the room, but received none and as a result they'd packed and stored her things. This was so unlike the Celeste he knew, so meticulous about planning, about showing up on schedule, and he was determined to track her down today.

As Greg made his way down the aisle, he paid no attention to the mustached, overweight man in the watch-plaid s.h.i.+rt and thick black sungla.s.ses, sitting comfortably by the window in first cla.s.s, sipping a vodka and tonic. If he'd looked closely enough, he might have noticed that the man was wearing flesh-colored surgical gloves as the flight attendant started her spiel: "Welcome to the new pa.s.sengers boarding in Philadelphia. We're continuing our flight to Detroit for those pa.s.sengers who boarded in Tampa -"

The plane landed in Detroit at noon, right on schedule. Carrying a phony ID, Frank Santiago was the first to disembark and he headed directly for the nearest men's room carrying a tan canvas overnight bag. He'd checked no luggage, and once behind the bathroom stall door, he removed the plaid s.h.i.+rt and the bulky padding stuffed beneath his vest to create a pot belly. Underneath this extraneous bulk, he wore a light blue pullover s.h.i.+rt that fit neatly over pressed khakis. Next, he yanked off the moustache, replacing it with a trim beard that covered most of his lower face. He changed from the heavy black to wire-rimmed sungla.s.ses. Ten minutes later, he emerged, a trim, neat Hispanic traveler heading out of the men's room with his hand luggage to the parking deck across from the terminal.

There, as he knew it would be thanks to Manny's contact, was a black Ford Fairlane with Michigan plates. Glancing around to make sure he hadn't been followed, he approached the car and deftly slid his hand beneath the driver's side rear b.u.mper. The keys were there. He opened the car door and using the smaller key unlocked the glove compartment. With a satisfied grunt he removed the weapon, a forty-caliber semiautomatic equipped with a silencer, and slid it into his overnight bag. So far everything was working according to plan, but the tricky part lay ahead. He had to isolate Nelson between the time he arrived at the terminal and the time the flight took off for San Francisco. He'd count on the confusion he himself would cause to allow enough time for a clean escape. Then he'd drive to Chicago, lose himself in the crowd, and board a flight to Orlando. From there he'd have an easy drive back to Tampa.

Manny should have taken out the kid by now, which meant Frank would be free and clear. Mother of G.o.d, why did it have to be a f.u.c.king kid? Without the kid and Nelson, there was no way they could pin Kim's murder on him, and eventually, Carlos would ease up. Frank still could not believe Kim was dead. And what the f.u.c.k had she seen in that Nelson p.r.i.c.k with all those brats of his anyway? She had told him that she did not want kids. Had she lied about that too? Lousy timing. He had showed too late at the station that night, he coulda tailed 'em to Nelson's and handled them both at the p.r.i.c.k's place. But f.u.c.k it, he was here now, ready to take Nelson down.

"Count your minutes, pretty TV boy," he mumbled. Soon he'd go back inside the terminal to watch the departure monitors. Last time he checked, the Northwest flight from Detroit to San Francisco was still listed as on time.

The head nurse of CHOP's ICU ignored the rules and allowed Laura to remain at her son's bedside as the critical care team buzzed about checking his vital signs, adjusting his IVs, monitoring his EKG, checking his urine flow, and examining the wound beneath the bulky gauze bandage that covered staples running nearly the full length of his torso. Other than the huge dressing over the incision, Patrick lay naked and still. The many times Laura had tended to such children, she'd never even come close to realizing the helpless agony of their mothers. Dr. Kamen told her that they planned to keep Patrick sedated long enough to stabilize the cardiac rhythm now displayed on the green fluorescent screen at the head of the small bed. Kamen had told Laura that the priority in this crucial postop period was to minimize the risk of fatal arrhythmias, and she listened intently for every blip on the monitor, praying for the normal sinus rhythm to continue.

As the team moved on, Laura's mind drifted to Wendy Ruiz, the child she had lost only six and a half weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime. At least the Ruiz mother had died and didn't have to suffer through the death of her child. Laura could think of no worse horror for a parent. It must be unendurable, she thought, looking down at her son who lived because of the skill of his surgeons. But what about Wendy's father? He must be so devastated and - she had let him down, hadn't she? Wasn't there something about a lawsuit? Her mind was fuzzy and she pushed these thoughts away. If she'd lost Patrick, she didn't know what she'd do.

"Okay, Greg, I made it to Traverse City about noon," Chuck reported after Greg picked up the phone in Detroit. "It's called Cherry Airport, for G.o.d's sake. Anyway, Nelson had already left for Detroit when I showed up at his father's place. His father? Not a happy man. Wouldn't give me any information, but a neighbor said his son left in a wagon crammed with duffel bags, one of those conversion numbers. Had a Budget logo. I'll have someone check it out. Left about an hour ago. Right now, let's see, it's almost one. I held the charter from Chicago in case I missed Nelson here, so I'm heading back to Cherry now. Should arrive in Detroit about two thirty. You name the place."

"Law offices of Youngman, Polk, and Allen. They're in Wayne. It's close to the airport so you'll get here about three. By then we'll have a better idea if the legal system is going to help us out."

"Got it. Too bad I couldn't get here an hour earlier. I'd rather grab the kids in a less public place than an airport, but at least we know where he's heading, flight number and all. So, is Laura with you?"

"I convinced her to take a three o'clock. It'll be tight, but we'll make it work."

"Got it. So what's going on with Carrie? Still AWOL?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Betty at your place filled in Tracy at mine, so I got a guy checking on her p.r.o.nto. Haven't heard back, but that's my next call right after we get off the line," said Chuck. "As for the condo on Amelia, I've got a contract guy on surveillance - a bodyguard, really. That security slash concierge service they've got there won't let anybody unauthorized up."

"Tell me about it. I forgot my keys once -"

"I think one guy on the inside is enough," Chuck went on.

"Talked to the Palmers a few minutes ago. Everything's fine down there except the girls can't understand why they can't go down to the beach."

"Carrie's being missing still bothers me," Greg mused.

"Well, she can't be there, right? She doesn't know the location. Not from our conversation anyway -"

"And not from mine either. Except that it's on Amelia Island."

"Lot of condos on Amelia Island. It's a big golf resort. Right?"

"But she does know it belongs to Celeste."

"Still. Yeah," Chuck ventured, "how is Celeste about us using her condo again?"

"Uh," Greg said sheepishly, "I haven't told her yet."

"What?"

"I'll handle it with her," Greg said quickly. He didn't want to tell Chuck that she'd refused to answer her phone all weekend. Chuck was a real fan of Celeste's and had often warned Greg to "tie the knot" before she got away. "She's in Atlanta finis.h.i.+ng a big design project. I'll let her know. Don't worry about it."

Chuck grunted. "Yeah. Sure wish they'd find El Creepo Santiago and soon. Put him away so the Palmers can go home. And Carrie's kid. You know how she is about that kid. We're not going to be able to keep her away from Elizabeth for long."

"So call me when you land in Detroit."

"Oh Greg, one more thing. Forgot to tell you this morning.

Detective Lopez had my office track me down - as in, urgently. So I call him. He wants to talk to Steve in the worst way. I figure that's good, so I let him in on Steve's plan to take off tonight."

"Got his attention, hmm?"

"Completely."

"Any details?"

"Nada. Gotta go, boss. My plane's takin' off."

Until now, Greg had avoided calling Celeste at the Atlanta design firm. He suspected that she'd waited for him Friday night after flying through that torrential storm in some tiny plane. Once she'd gotten over that trauma - she hated flying, even in large planes in good weather - he imagined she'd refused to answer her phone when she realized he'd stood her up and then gone back to her job on Monday as planned. Or maybe she was so mad she'd spent the weekend elsewhere, but Celeste was not the moody type and certainly not given to histrionics. Actively avoiding him for four days now was out of character. He'd inquired about her earlier today with his secretary, yet Betty Harmon said she hadn't spoken to Celeste since last week. But why hadn't Celeste checked back into the Peachtree? Greg was truly worried now, and the reality of needing to let her know that he'd co-opted her condo, without her permission, pressed. That's all he could tell her, he realized as he dialed the phone, he couldn't even tell her who was staying there.

"May I please speak to Celeste Marin," he asked politely as the receptionist answered in a sugary drawl. "She's a consultant designer out of Tampa, Florida."

"One moment, sir."

A male voice came on the line. "You're calling for Celeste Marin?"

"Yes. This is Greg Klingman. Is she available?"

"I'm afraid not. Can I take a message?"

"Well, yes. Will you tell her I need to talk to her? Tell her it's urgent. To call my office and have my secretary put her through to me."

"I'm not sure when she'll be able to return the call," the unidentified voice hesitated. "Can I help you?"

"Do you know where I can reach her? I'm her fiance. It's very important."

"Oh, Mr. Klingman, I didn't realize. I'm Larry Foster. I'm responsible for the project she's doing here. In fact, maybe you can help me. Celeste left in the early afternoon last Friday. She said she'd be back Monday morning, but so far, no show. No phone call. No Celeste. We're at a critical design phase here and -"

"She hasn't even called?" Greg checked his watch. It was one twenty-five. "Celeste is always so fastidious about keeping her commitments."

"I checked with her hotel," said Larry. "She never checked out, but she's not there either. This is just not like Celeste. She knows the pressure we're under."

"No, this isn't like her at all," Greg muttered. "Let me give you my temporary phone number here in Michigan, and my office phone in Tampa. Please call me immediately if you hear from her. Okay?"

"Fine. And if you talk to her first, please tell her to get in touch."

"Where the h.e.l.l is she?" Greg said aloud as he hung up the phone. Sure, she had a right to be p.i.s.sed off at him, but to blow off her job? Where the h.e.l.l could she be anyway? She could be hurt, ill, any number of things could have happened. A woman, traveling alone. G.o.d, why had he let this go on this long? Immediately, he thought of Chuck. Even though he was still in transit, Tracy, his a.s.sistant, should be able to handle this.

"Mr. Dimer's office," the cheery voice announced. "Tracy Epstein speaking."

"Tracy, Greg Klingman here. Listen, I just talked to your boss. He's on his way to Detroit and I plan to meet him there, but in the meantime, something else has come up."

"Of course, Mr. Klingman. How can I be of help?"

"I'd like you to arrange for one of your agents to check out someone very special to me. Discreetly, of course, but immediately. Urgently, really. It may be nothing, but I just want to make sure. She's not where she's supposed to be."

Greg gave Tracy the necessary information on Celeste, omitting the part that he'd stood her up over the weekend. While not a licensed P.I. herself, Tracy coordinated the office activities of Dimer Investigations and a.s.signed the most appropriate agent to each client.

"No problem, Mr. Klingman, I'll take care of it."

"I appreciate it. Celeste, being my fiancee, well, I don't want this to look like I'm spying on her."

"I understand. But, Mr. Klingman, while I have you. I know how closely you and Chuck are working on the Nelson case. I got a call a few minutes ago. Let's see. It came in at one twenty. A woman named Carmen Williams. Said she had Chuck's business card, that he had questioned her about Kim Connor and Steve Nelson a couple of times. She was a friend of the Connor woman." Tracy hesitated. "I promised to keep the call confidential, but she sounded pretty scared."

"Go on," Greg urged.