Justice for All Page 8

  “Yeah. With your body language. So give, girlfriend.”

  What could she say? Callie wondered. Oh, I think he could possibly be a serial killer. That would pretty much cover her suspicions, but without a shred of evidence, Mikki would only laugh off her friend’s fears. Besides, Callie couldn’t go around accusing people she barely knew of murder.

  “He was standing off by himself when I saw him at Mary’s party,” Callie said. “He looked very bored, so I’m not sure how much fun he’ll be.” An honest answer and fair to everybody.

  “Those fancy social galas can be a real drag.” Mikki sounded sympathetic. “Not that I get invited to as many of them as you do. My middle-class background shows up at those things like a flashing neon sign in a cathedral.”

  “You exaggerate.”

  “Only a little. Besides, I tend to stand around and look bored occasionally myself—unless, of course, there’s a sandy-haired hunk around. I’d like to cut our visit to the center short today if that’s okay with you. I have to go home and peruse my closet for something stunning to wear now that you’ve whet my appetite for my blind date.”

  So much for that approach. Callie leaned back, tried to concentrate on Jerry Hawkins and ended up with Max Zirinsky’s image imposing itself on her thoughts.

  She was drawn to him, but it was difficult to know just how much of that attraction was the smouldering remains of that long-ago night when she’d been so needy and disillusioned. She’d changed a lot in eight years. So had Max.

  Yet there was still something between them, at least on her part. Maybe not the sizzle Mikki talked about, but at the very least an undercurrent of sensual tension. At the most—well, that remained to be seen. She’d never been good at reading men. Her marriage to Tony was proof of that.

  But no matter how Max felt about her as a woman, as of this afternoon, she and Max were a “thing,” as Mikki liked to say. She wondered if they’d fool anyone with the charade, especially the Avenger—whoever he was.

  Callie hoped he’d be in attendance at the garden party—just not as Mikki’s date.

  CORTINA AND HER NEWBORN son met Mikki and Callie almost the second they stepped through the wide double doors of the Keller Center. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Cortina asked, glowing as she tugged back the blanket so they could see the infant.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” Mikki agreed.

  “Dr. Jackson checked him out again this morning. She said he’s perfect. I know his lungs are. And his pooping skills.”

  “That’s all important,” Callie said, touching her finger to one of the tiny hands.

  “And he must have gained ten ounces since I saw him last week,” Mikki said. “What did you decide to name him?”

  “Tommy—after my oldest brother.”

  Callie leaned over to get a closer look. The baby yawned, stretching his little mouth to the limits. “Are we keeping you awake, you precious thing?” she cooed.

  “Nothing keeps him awake for long,” Cortina said. “Would you like to hold him?”

  “I’d love to.” Callie opened her arms for the infant, her breath quickening as it always did when she held a baby in her arms. Careful to support the neck and head, she rocked him gently against her breasts.

  The infant’s hair was dark and curly and his eyes were the shade of a rich café au lait. He stretched and punched his plump little fists into the air. So precious. So warm and cuddly.

  “Do you have somewhere to go when you leave here?” Callie asked the new mother.

  “I have a job and an apartment.” Cortina beamed. “I know it won’t be easy as a single parent, but Tommy and I are going to make it just fine.”

  “Sounds as if you have everything under control,” Mikki said.

  “I’m getting there, thanks to all of you. Three months ago I was unemployed, there were complications with the pregnancy and I was homeless.”

  “Glad to know the system works sometimes,” Mikki said.

  Cortina was definitely one of the Keller Center’s success stories. She hadn’t eaten in almost two days when she was found sleeping on the steps of a church and brought to the center.

  She’d moved to Los Angeles from a rural town in Mississippi with little cash and dreams of making it big in the film industry. Instead she’d met and fallen for the wrong guy. He’d disappeared the minute he’d found out she was pregnant.

  Then when she’d developed complications with the pregnancy and couldn’t stand on her feet long hours, she’d lost her job as a waitress. It was a story repeated many times at the Keller Center with slight variations.

  Tommy started to whimper.

  “He’s probably hungry,” Cortina said, reaching for her son. “It’s about the only time he fusses.”

  Callie’s arms felt incredibly empty once she’d returned the squirming neonate to his mother. She’d come to grips with the fact that the tumor and resulting hysterectomy left her unable to have children of her own, but at moments like this…

  “Nice to see some of these women get a second chance,” Mikki said as Cortina walked away. “Now for the day’s challenge, Gail Lodestrum. I’m glad you’re the one who has to deal with her.”

  Gail was most definitely a challenge, Callie thought as her friend headed off in the opposite direction. Gail was scared and depressed and totally overwhelmed with the prospect of giving birth to twins. If anyone in her family had supported her, it would have made things a lot easier for Gail. But no one had. And the teenager refused to name or contact the twins’ father, so it was impossible to know if he was willing to help financially or emotionally.

  Callie made her way to Gail’s room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. “It’s me, Dr. Baker. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Finally the door eased open. Gail’s eyes were red and swollen, and the white T-shirt stretched over her bulging belly was smeared with tears and mascara.

  “Is something the matter?” Callie asked.

  “Everything.” Gail backed away, but stopped in front of the wall mirror above her dresser. She placed her hands under her extended belly and stared at her image. “Just look at me. I’m gross.”

  “You’re not gross. Some people say a woman never looks more beautiful than when she’s pregnant.”

  “Yeah, right.” Gail collapsed onto the edge of her mattress. “I’m tired of this place.”

  “There’s no reason why you have to stay cooped up inside. Why don’t we go out somewhere for a while. We could go to the library or the bookstore and choose something upbeat for you to read.”

  “There’s plenty of books around here already. Besides, I’d have to change clothes, and I don’t feel like it.”

  “Then let’s take a walk through the gardens. That would give you a change of scenery.”

  Gail shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. Whatever.”

  They went out the back exit and headed toward the narrow stone path that led to a small garden, lush with flowering shrubs and annuals and fed by a stone-dotted brook that originated somewhere in the nearby hillside.

  Gail walked slowly along the path, barely lifting her feet. “I don’t know why you come here when you don’t have to. I know I wouldn’t.”

  “Where would you rather be?” Callie asked.

  A butterfly fluttered by and Gail stopped to watch it light on the petals of a hibiscus. “I’d like to be at the beach, hanging out with my friends.”

  And she should have been, Callie thought. Instead she’d participated in unprotected sex long before she was ready for the kind of responsibility she was facing now. But she hadn’t done it alone. “Have you thought any more about telling the babies’ biological father about the pregnancy?”

  “I’ve thought about it, but all it would do is ruin his life, too. What’s the use of that?”

  “The babies are technically as much his as they are yours.”

  “Yeah, well, technically he’s not waddling around with a stomach the size of a watermelon. And he doesn’t have
to go to the bathroom every ten minutes or wear clothes that would fit a Sumo wrestler.”

  “Where does he think you are now?”

  “Who knows? Who cares? He’ll be off to college next month, dating girls who actually have a waist.”

  “You can get your figure back when the babies are born if you work on it.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Gail turned her head away, but not before Callie saw the glint of tears in her eyes. She slipped an arm around Gail’s shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, Gail. We all are sometimes.”

  “I’ll bet you’re not,” Gail whimpered, wiping her eyes on her shirttail and exposing her bulging belly.

  “Lots of times,” Callie assured her.

  “What could you be afraid of?”

  “Afraid I’ll make the wrong decision about a patient’s illness or treatment. Afraid I’ll fail a friend. And I think of you as a friend.”

  Gail sniffed and flicked the back of her hand across her eyes. “I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to my babies once they’re born. I don’t know how to take care of them. I don’t even know how to take care of me.”

  “You have choices. I’m sure the counselor has talked to you about that.”

  “We talked about adoption. But it seems such a copout.”

  “Not always. It’s a difficult situation, but sometimes it’s the best one for everybody, especially the babies.”

  “My babies need a mother who loves them. I used to have one of those. Now she won’t even talk to me. I don’t blame her. She wanted the perfect daughter. She got me.” Gail dropped to a white stone bench nestled beneath a leafy tree. “Do you have children, Dr. Baker?”

  “No.”

  “A husband?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad. You’d make a good mother. You listen when people talk. That’s important.”

  “Thanks.” At one time Callie had imagined herself happily married with children and a medical practice. It had seemed a given back when she’d first fallen in love with Tony. But life was as unpredictable as it was fragile.

  Still, she’d been lucky. She had her health and a career she loved. It wasn’t everything, but it wasn’t bad. She only wished she had answers for Gail, but the teenager would have to find those herself. So Callie just sat in the shade and listened to Gail talk about her fears for herself and her unborn babies.

  It wasn’t until Mikki and Callie were back in the car and headed toward Courage Bay that Callie’s thoughts returned to her pseudodate with Max Zirinsky. She felt a nervous energy at the prospect and wondered whether it was anticipation or caution that caused it. Either way, the afternoon should prove interesting.

  THE CRAVENS’ GARDEN PARTY might be the highlight of the summer social season, but Max would have preferred a beer, a hot dog and a Dodgers game. How anyone thought that wearing a shirt and tie outside on a day when the temperature was pushing ninety was beyond him.

  Not that the women had it so bad. While the men were sweltering in sports coats and dress shirts, the women were prancing about in sundresses with their arms and legs bared. And most of them wore wide-brimmed hats that gave them a little protection from the unrelenting late-afternoon sun.

  Callie was the most beautiful woman there. She wore a simple white dress that accentuated her tiny waist and slim hips, and drew stares wherever she went. There had been several pairs of raised eyebrows when she and Max had arrived together. He didn’t wonder at the reaction. Callie was gorgeous, wealthy and sophisticated. He was a cop who’d moved up the ranks, but still just your basic cop in every way that mattered.

  He caught sight of her now, standing by one of the many fountains scattered about the spacious lawn. She was chatting with Marjorie Craven. Callie saw him watching her and flashed him a dazzling smile that almost made him forget that he was having a miserable time.

  “Cocktail, sir?”

  “You got a cold beer?” he asked the waiter who’d posed the question.

  “I’ll check and see if beer is available.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Max looked around, studying the guests, trying to imagine any one of them as the Avenger. His gaze settled on Leo Garapedian. The guy had been a hell of a chief of detectives before he turned in his badge in favor of a wedding ring. He was here with his wife today. Frankly, Max hadn’t expected the marriage or the retirement to last.

  But Leo appeared to have made the adjustment from detective to husband of a beautiful, wealthy socialite without a hitch. He was standing near the bar with Judge Craven, laughing at something the judge had said. Leo might not have the look of a cop anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think like one. No one had gotten more pissed off than Leo when someone he believed guilty got off on a technicality. Leo hadn’t been in City Hall when Lorna was shot, but at this point there was no hard evidence that she’d been shot by the Avenger.

  Then there was Henry Lalane, standing in a cluster of men, talking animatedly and waving his hands as if he were performing for a jury. He’d spoken to Max today, but the greeting had been extremely cool. And Henry had been present when Lorna Sinke was shot. So had Judge Craven.

  The judge left the bar and started walking toward Max, the jacket to his white linen suit swinging jauntily. In his mid-forties, Lawrence Craven was one of the youngest judges in the Courage Bay district. He was a couple of inches shorter than Max, no more than six feet tall, but his dignified manner and self-assured attitude gave him a very imposing presence.

  He waited until he was a foot away before speaking. “Quite a surprise seeing you here today, Chief Zirinsky.”

  “Surprised myself by coming.”

  “I didn’t realize you and Dr. Baker were close friends.”

  “Callie and I have known each other quite a while,” Max said.

  “I hope that’s why you’re here, and it’s not because you’re expecting trouble.”

  “Why would I be?”

  “These days we’re all a little nervous. My wife wanted to cancel the party altogether after Mary was murdered. She and Mary were very close friends. I refused. Canceling anything is letting the Avenger control our lives. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the worst thing we could do.”

  The judge raked his hands through his sleek black hair and straightened his tie, though they both looked impeccable to Max. “Do you have any leads?” he asked, his dark eyes so cold and piercing, the words felt like an accusation to Max.

  “Nothing I can talk about,” Max said.

  “I know the newspapers keep harping on the fact that this Avenger moves about the city with ease and knows everything that’s going on, but I don’t think he’s from around here. Or if he is, he hasn’t been living in the area long.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Something Mary said to me the day she was murdered.”

  The judge’s comment came as a surprise to Max. He’d talked to every person Mary had called on her home phone and cell phone that day. Judge Craven had not been on his list.

  “What time did she call you?”

  “She didn’t call. She showed up at my office just before noon. She wanted the name of a good private detective to investigate someone’s background. When I asked her who that someone was, she said if her suspicions were right, I’d know soon enough.”

  “And you think she was investigating the Avenger?”

  “Mary believed she was. And since she was murdered a few hours later, I’d say she was probably getting close to the truth. I can’t think of a guest at that party whose background we don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you report this before now?”

  “I did. I called your department the next morning. Someone took my statement and said they’d make certain it got to the right person. I kept expecting to hear from one of your detectives, but I never did.”

  Irritation burned in Max’s gut. He didn’t know who’d taken Craven’s statement, but if he found out, someone was going to get thei
r ass chewed out and good. “I didn’t get the message,” Max admitted. “What else did Mary say?”

  “That was pretty much it. I gave her the name of a P.I., but she was killed before she got in touch with him.” Craven waved and smiled at a woman near the dance floor, then turned back to Max. “I hope you find the guy soon,” he said. “Not only is the man growing more dangerous, but the killings are marring Courage Bay’s reputation. They’re like a slap in the face to our brave forefathers who founded the town.”

  They weren’t doing much for Judge Craven’s political career, either, Max thought with a touch of cynicism. The murders were drawing attention to the fact that Craven was the judge of record when two of the victims had walked. That was the only thing that kept Craven from being high on Max’s suspect list. The judge could have bent the law a little and kept them from walking. And bending the law was far less risky than murder for a man as bright and successful as Craven.

  They talked for a few more minutes, though not about the Avenger. When the judge walked away, Max went in search of Callie. He found her at the edge of the dance floor, sipping a drink the color of a sunset and swaying her hips to the music.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “May I have this dance?”

  Fortunately it was a slow one. Max was pretty sure he looked like a spastic frog when he tried those fast numbers where you never touched your partner. He took her hands and tried to maneuver the floor to the beat of the music while holding her a safe distance away.

  Only there was no safe distance, not with Callie’s hands linked with his and her perfume flooding his senses. Her nearness was more intoxicating than straight whiskey, and when she moved closer the hunger that built inside him was downright frightening.

  A make-believe date. But there was nothing make believe about Callie. She was all woman, soft, yielding, and with every sway of her body against his, his need for her jumped another notch higher.

  He willed his mind to concentrate on the weird shape of the singer’s mustache, or the ridiculous feathered hat of a woman dancing nearby, or the way the open tent was fastened to the stakes. Anything except the feel and fragrance of Callie.