William Bernhardt - Cruel Justice

A gunshot whistled through the room. It missed, but it still attracted Mitch’s attention. “Wha—”

“Drop the weapon!” the voice from the living room commanded.

“ No! ” The knife began to plummet.

Another gunshot rang out. This time the bullet caught Mitch in the chest. He fell backward, toppling off Christina and onto the floor.

Mike ran into the room, his gun clutched in both hands. Ben entered just a step behind.

“Christina!” Ben ran to her side. “Oh, my God! Are you …?”

Christina turned her head minutely to one side. “No.” Her lower lip was cracked and bleeding. “I’ll be all right. Get the kids.”

“The kids! Where—”

“ Lieutenant Morelli! ” Abie came scrambling down from the roof as best he could with the baby carefully clutched in his arms. “I knew you’d come! I knew you’d save us!”

“ Abie! ”

The boy ran to Mike and almost threw his arms around him, before he remembered the baby. He held Joey up for Mike.

“Oh, gee, I don’t—oh, what the hell.” Mike took the crying bundle into his arms, and Abie wrapped himself around Mike’s legs.

“I knew you’d come,” Abie repeated, gasping and sobbing. “I knew you would.”

“Well …” Mike’s expression was torn between embarrassment and relief. “Sorry I didn’t make it sooner.” He patted the boy on the head, then snuggled Joey close against his face.

Ben gazed at this heartwarming tableau, then exchanged a meaningful look with Christina.

With the two faces pressed together like that, it was impossible to miss the resemblance.

FIVE

The Father’s Face

77

BEN STARED OUT HIS bedroom window, gazing at the illuminated Tulsa skyline. In the few years he’d lived here, he’d learned to love this place. What a crazy town. Culture and cowboys, hoedowns and Holy Rollers. He loved it all. Even the North Side. An acquired taste, perhaps. But at the moment he felt so good, he could appreciate anything.

Christina had mended nicely, and Joni’s boyfriend, Booker, was recovering. He was going to have a stiff shoulder for a while, but he’d pull through. Best of all, Leeman Hayes was free, truly free, for the first time in ten years.

Ben was straightening the bow tie on his rented tuxedo when his mother poked her head through the still-smashed bedroom door. “I heard a car pull up outside.” Joey was cradled in her arms. She had shown up just a few hours after all the excitement. Turned out she hadn’t gone home—she’d just gone shopping. Thought she’d teach him a little lesson in mother appreciation, Ben suspected. Just as well she wasn’t here, given what had transpired that day.

“It’s probably Christina,” Mrs. Kincaid said.

Ben groaned.

“Now, Benjamin. That’s not very seemly.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not going to the annual banquet of the Tulsa Past Lives Society.”

“If you didn’t want to go, why did you agree?”

“I didn’t. Jones was the one she suckered into it.”

“So why are you going?”

“Well, when Jones agreed to look after Joey that first day, he said I’d owe him a big favor.”

“And?”

“This is it.”

“Well, I for one am glad you’re going out with her.”

“Mo -ther, I think you’ve still got the wrong idea.”

Mrs. Kincaid strolled back to the living room, smiling all the way.

There was a knock on the front door. To his surprise, Ben found not Christina, but Ernie Hayes. With Leeman.

“I hope we’re not botherin’ you,” Ernie said. “I’da called, only I didn’t know your number.”

“That’s all right,” Ben said. “Is anything wrong?”

“Land sakes, no. Everything’s fine. Thanks to you. I cain’t thank you enough for taking my son’s case.”

“Well,” Ben said, “you had a lot to do with that decision.”

A sly grin played on Ernie’s face. “Why, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Uh-huh. Can I get you—”

“Oh, no. We jus’ come by for a minute. It was all my Leeman’s idea.” He pushed Leeman forward.

Leeman extended his arms. He was holding a record album. “You,” he said.

“Me? You mean … for me?” Ben took the well-worn album and examined it. Beethoven’s Fifth. Hans Schmidt-Isserstedt and the Vienna Philharmonic. 1966.

“Oh, no,” Ben said. “I can’t accept it.”

Leeman pressed the album back into Ben’s hands. “ You. ”

“But—it’s so rare. You’ll never be able to replace it. It’s a one-of-a-kind.”

Leeman smiled, side to side, ear to ear. It was the happiest Ben had ever seen him. “You … too,” he said.

Ben felt a distinct itching in his eyes. “Well … thank you. Thank you very much.”

Leeman nodded, then he and his father turned to go.

Ben returned to his bedroom and put away the album. On second thought—why not? He put the album on his turntable. He might squeeze in the first movement before he had to leave.

A few minutes later his mother was back in the doorway.

“Your date is here.”

“Mo -ther !” He walked into the living room. “I told you already—”

Ben stopped short. And gaped.

Christina was standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing a black strapless gown with a beaded bodice and hem, long white gloves, and a strand of luminous pearls. Her shoes matched, her earrings matched—even her purse matched. Her long hair was elegantly swirled above her head.

“Christina,” he said breathlessly. “You’re … beautiful.”

She batted her eyes. “Thought you’d never notice.”

“But—your clothes!”

Christina nodded. “Your mother and I finally went shopping.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her velvet gown. “She has such savoir-vivre. You should let her dress you, Ben. She’s the greatest. Did my hair and face, too. Like my makeup?”

Ben scrutinized her radiant face. The bruises were barely visible. “Well, gee.” Ben took Christina’s arm. “I guess we’ll be going, Mother.”

“Of course you will.” Mrs. Kincaid held the door open for them. “You children have fun. But don’t be out late. And don’t drink too much. And stay away from strangers.”

When Ben returned to his apartment that night, he found his mother packing her suitcase, hanging bag, and makeup kit.

“You’re leaving?”

She meticulously folded a dress and laid it in the hanging bag. “I … assumed you would want me to.”

“Oh.”

“During the trial, you needed someone to help. But now I’m sure I’d just be in the way.”

“Oh.” Ben helped her zip the well-stuffed bag closed.

“Are they going to arrest that man? Rutherford? The father?”

“I’m sure they will. Hard not to, after he confessed on the record.”

“What about his country-club friends? They must have known.”

“Possibly. Pearson must’ve suspected. After all, he secured the adoption and he saw Maria Alvarez at the club. But he kept quiet all those years. And Bentley figured it out. That was why he searched Mitch’s locker and took the incriminating red baseball cap. Hell with the victims—he just wanted to protect the club. And its members.”

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Kincaid rearranged what looked like an infinite supply of cosmetics. “They always protect their own.”

“That’s why Mitch was hired in the first place. He told me he got his job as manager shortly after the murder. They needed someone to handle the police and the media. Someone to cover up the dirt.”

“And covering up the first crime bred the next.”