Stuart Kaminsky - Retribution

“So this is some kind of vendetta,” said Lonsberg. “Your wife gets killed in a hit-and-run and so does mine. You blame me and you want me to pay.”

“Not for my wife’s death. Maybe a little of that too,” I said. “I have some sick ideas. I see a shrink. Do you?”

“So Brad wanted to kill Adele to keep from being charged with statutory rape?” Laura said.

“I think your brother loves his son,” I said. “Just a guess. The way he feels your father doesn’t and never has loved either one of you. You told Adele that,” I said, looking at Laura. “Whatever your father has to leave, Brad wants to go to his Connie and your girls. He doesn’t want any of it to go to Adele’s child and his. That part I figured out, but so did Adele.”

“You are out of your mind,” Brad said.

The voices of the children told us they were heading back to the house. Brad looked toward the window. Jefferson woke up and looked toward the window.

“I know that,” I said. “I told you. I see a therapist twice a week.”

“You need one,” said Lonsberg.

“That’s why I go,” I said. “But that doesn’t make me wrong. The police might find that nine-millimeter you used in your house. Simple ballistics. You didn’t throw it away after killing Corsello and shooting at me. You still need it for Adele.”

“They can look,” he said and headed for the door.

His father stepped in front of him.

“He’s right,” Conrad Lonsberg said. “I believe him. I knew she was pregnant. She told me. I told her to work it out with you. I didn’t think you’d kill people. I…”

“You’re an amazing man,” Laura said to her father, holding back tears and flashing anger. “You know so much about people who don’t exist and nothing about those closest to you who do.”

“Genetics or environment,” Lonsberg said. “Possibly a combination. Like most talent. I don’t know where it came from, haven’t spent much time trying to figure it out. So, what do we do now?”

Conrad Lonsberg was looking at me.

“You agree not to disown your grandchild and Brad goes to the police and confesses,” I said. “He says he did it to get back the manuscripts. He thought Merrymen had taken them, that Merrymen had a grudge against him. He protects Adele and your grandchild.”

“And the world finds out my manuscripts have been stolen,” said Lonsberg. “I’ll be a prisoner in my house. Or I’ll have to move again. B. Traven.”

No one asked him who B. Traven was.

“I agree,” he said. “She’s destroying my family and the manuscripts not only to get back at my son, but to get to me for not protecting her, not standing by her.”

“That’s something else she told me,” I said.

“Then maybe she’s right,” Conrad Lonsberg said.

The voices of the children were right outside the door now.

“Brad?” asked Laura.

Brad Lonsberg shook his head in agreement. He had only one thing going for him, his love of his son.

“Your grandson is sixteen,” I said to Lonsberg. “What month was he born?”

Lonsberg knew where I was going but he answered.

“June,” he said.

“Adele is four months younger than Brad’s son,” I said.

“Let’s just go,” Brad said. “Now.”

“Who tells Connie?” asked Laura.

“Dad,” said Brad with some satisfaction. “He explains it all to him. I’ll talk to him later. Tell him the truth about Conrad Lonsberg. Tell him the whole truth including what you know and didn’t do.”

Brad Lonsberg brushed past his father. I nodded to Ames as the children came through the door each holding a big shell, but none was better than the one Jefferson had given me.

“Where you goin’?” asked the lanky boy who looked strikingly like his grandfather.

“Your grandfather will explain,” Brad said. “I’ll talk to you later. You can go home with Aunt Laura tonight.”

“You won’t be home?” asked the boy.

“Ask your grandfather.”

“I’ve-got the biggest shell,” the boy said, holding it out to his father.

Brad Lonsberg took it and said, “This is the most beautiful shell I’ve ever seen.”

Then he looked at his father and went out the door. I followed, barely looking at the two little girls. I would have liked two little girls, a son, a life. I didn’t look back at Laura or Conrad Lonsberg.

Ames and I accompanied Brad Lonsberg to the police station where he told the woman at the desk that he wanted to see Detective Viviase and that he wanted a lawyer. The young woman, short-haired, serious, in full uniform, told Brad Lonsberg that Viviase was off and wouldn’t be back till morning.

I suggested that she call him and tell him that the murderer of Bernard Corsello and Michael Merrymen was there to give a statement.

“The dog,” Ames reminded me.

“He killed a dog too,” I said.

“Dog?” she asked, looking at the odd trio in front of the desk.

“Merrymen’s dog,” I said. “Just tell Viviase.”

“And who are you?” she asked.

“Just describe me,” I said. “He’ll know.”

“I’m making a flat statement,” Brad Lonsberg said. “Just that I killed them. No why. Nothing more. Then I call a lawyer.”

“Suit yourself,” I said.

“If you get free,” Ames said, “I’ll shoot you dead on the street.”

“He’s fond of Adele,” I said.

Lonsberg sat quietly, his leg in obvious pain, while the young woman called Viviase. Ames and I walked out. I drove Ames back to the Texas. The late crowd was there and the voices inside were soft.

“Want to take a trip with me?” I asked.

“You need me?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Probably not.”

“When?”

“Probably tomorrow and the next day,” I said.

“What time you want me ready?” he asked.

“Early, around seven.”

“That’s not early,” he said.

“It is for me. Do you want to know where we’re going?”

“Makes no matter,” he said.

He walked into the Texas and I pulled away.

The phone was ringing when I entered my office. It was eleven on the dot.

I told Adele what had happened and asked, “What now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. ‘I don’t want his money. I don’t want my baby to have any of his money.”

“Then you’re going to destroy the rest of the manuscripts even though we made a deal?”

“Deals are made to break,” she said. “My father taught me that among other things.”

“If your father taught it,” I said, “it must be wrong.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Read tomorrow’s Herald-Tribune” I said. “And meet me somewhere with the manuscripts in two days.”

“Why not tomorrow?” she asked.

“I have to go to a town near Macon,” I said.

“I’ll call you on Monday,” she said. “Tell you where to meet me. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Ask.”

“Will you call Flo and Sally before they read it in the paper?”

“I’ll call them,” I said.

“Thanks,” Adele said and hung up the phone.

Before I called Flo and Sally I tracked down Rubin at the Herald-Tribune. He was there finishing a story for the next day.

“Rubin,” I said. “Recognize my voice?”

“Sure,” he said.

“I’m not giving you permission to tape,” I said, hearing an odd click on the line.

“Okay.”

“Go over to the police station right now,” I said. “Drop what you’re doing. I have a feeling the murderer of a man named Corsello and another named Merrymen just turned himself in.”

“That’s not my story,” he said.

“Find out the name of the killer,” I said. “It’s your story.”