Premeditated Murder (18 page)

It was obvious that each and every one of the memos was a compilation of blackmail material. All read like government-issue supermarket tabloids. Five judges on the list were closeted gay men, two were closeted lesbians. An even dozen were recovering alcoholics. Five were cheating on their spouses. One judge had gotten a mistress pregnant and had secretly paid for an abortion. Another had an abusive husband. The wives of two nominees had attempted suicide. The brother of one judge was suspected of being involved in Internet child porn. Over a dozen children of the judges were victims and/or perpetrators of alcohol and drug abuse and violent crimes.

And the list went on and on. It was appalling.

“You know that there was a memo in here on Judge Stanton? The one who committed suicide?”

“I had no idea,” Veronica said, again without a flicker of emotion. “Of course, I didn't expect anything like these memos were on the computer or CDs that I gave you, but that is simply water over the dam.” Unlike Veronica, Sammy looked like she might burst into tears at the drop of a hat. “I knew when Jim entered public life that our lives might get difficult, so if this leads to some kind of an investigation, I'll be prepared. As for myself, naturally all I can do is deny any knowledge of wrongdoing. When Jim was President, he always kept his work separate from his family life.” She stood up to go, and Matt and Sammy stood as well. “I can only hope that whatever happens, the truth about this comes out. I think that's always best, don't you?” She fixed him with another stare as she extended her hand.

She made it sound so simple.

But of course, she was right.

Orlando, Florida

“DADDY, ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FIREWORKS?”

Zack looked down at his son and smiled. He had probably spent more time smiling these past few days than any time he could remember, with the possible exception of that week in Germany when he first met Wendy. She would have loved that Justin was teasing Zack. Father and son had seen fireworks every night of their vacation, but Justin knew very well that after they got some ice cream they were leaving Disney World right away, heading to their hotel to pack, and then going directly to the airport. Zack already loved Justin more than he thought was possible, and now here the kid was, not even in kindergarten, and already developing a sense of humor. Zack knew several people who had managed to graduate from law school without one.

He scooped Justin up into his arms and spoke into the little boy's neck, tickling him. “You are kidding me, right?” he said as Justin giggled and squirmed. “I think you love fireworks just a little bit too much!” He pulled back and rested his forehead on Justin's forehead as Justin hugged him around the neck. “Are you ready for some ice cream?” Zack whispered, barely audible above the din of the crowded street.

“Yes, I am,” Justin whispered back.

Zack put him down and held his hand as they walked toward the ice-cream vendor. Angry Dad had never taken vacations with his children. Every winter after Christmas, he and Mom would go away for a couple of weeks and hire someone to stay at home with Zack and his brother and sister. Then, during the summer, he and Mom would go away again, while the kids were at summer camp.

It was all part of the spectacular parental training that Zack made a daily effort to forget.

A few minutes later, he and Justin reached the child who was working as a vendor—when had the world gotten so young?—and ordered a couple of cones. The song coming over the loudspeaker was “When You Wish Upon a Star.” Justin loved that song. Zack forked over enough money to buy about a week's worth of groceries, took the cones, and then turned to hand one to Justin.

But Justin was gone.

Right in the middle of Disney World. One moment, he and Zack were hand in hand, standing in line, and the next moment, he was gone.

Zack looked out into the crowd of vacationers surging down the biggest street in the park. Justin was nowhere. The loudspeakers began to blare “It's a Small World.” A wave of nausea passed through Zack. He had to be here. To Zack's right, a very tall man with a backpack was bouncing a crying little girl on his shoulders. Justin was standing right here five seconds ago. To Zack's left, a swarm of people surrounded Cinderella, who was looking down the street and exchanging a wave with Goofy. Across the street, a little dark-haired boy was on the opposite sidewalk. He turned and looked right toward Zack. It wasn't Justin.

Every inch of Zack was covered in a damp layer of sweat. His right hand was sticky. He looked down and saw that he had crushed the cone he was holding in that hand, and the ice cream was all over his fingers. He dropped it into the garbage pail. How did this happen? How did this happen? What was he going to do? “Justin!” he called out, terrified. “Justin!” How did this happen?

“Daddy! Daddy! Look! I'm holding Cinderella's hand! Come here!” Zack whipped around to see Justin's beaming face next to Cinderella. The beautiful young woman in the beautiful blue gown and the long white gloves looked down to see where Justin was pointing, and then looked up at Zack with her beautiful smile and waved.

And Zack nearly lost it, right there, smack in the middle of Main Street, U.S.A.

THIRTEEN

Dear Kev—

     It seems funny, but this is the first letter that I've ever written to you where I wasn't crying right at the beginning of it. I'm sure I'll start soon, but the doctor says it's important for me to remember the things about you that make me happy and proud, not only the things that make me sad and angry.

     I'm sure you know this, but I'm not sad and angry at you. I'm so proud of you. You were such a good person. Here come the tears. I'm going to stop now. I'll write again soon.

Love, Daddy

(Letter #20 from Calvin Thompkins to deceased son, Kevin)

Baby Killer, Too????

Accused mass murderer Calvin Thompkins will appear in Hampshire County Superior Court tomorrow morning for a pretrial hearing before Judge Harold Baumgartner. Although the reported purpose for the hearing is to set a date for trial, reports in other news media have fueled speculation that District Attorney Francis X. O'Neill intends to use the hearing to present a motion seeking permission to exhume the body of one of the alleged victims in the case to determine if she was pregnant at the time of her death. The speculation apparently arose when it was learned that the autopsy of one of the female victims of the shooting, Marianne Duhamel, did not make mention of the victim's reproductive organs or system. In a typical autopsy, such organs would be examined, and the report would reveal whether the victim was pregnant when she died.

     Thompkins, a 39-year-old African American male, is accused of gunning down Duhamel along with brothers Marc and Mitchell Nathenson, Rudolf Lange, John Bercher, and Helene Ghazi, all residents of Northampton. The six were students at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and were home on January 14 when Thompkins allegedly shot his way into their apartment, taking the lives of all inside.

     Legal experts say that if prosecutors can show that there is probable cause to believe that Thompkins's alleged shooting spree also killed a fetus, he could face additional charges.

     The latest poll results show that nearly 90% of Boston-area residents believe Thompkins is guilty.

     Thompkins could receive the death penalty if convicted.

(
Boston Post,
April 20, page 1)

April 21—Detroit, Michigan

AS LENA WAITED ON HOLD, SHE TUCKED THE phone between her shoulder and ear and used both hands to pick up a pile of magazines that kept her from sitting on the couch the way she liked. When she finally got seated, she decided that it really was time to pick up her apartment. Right after she found something to write with so she could take notes on the phone call that would break the LeClerq case wide open.

Or slam it shut forever.

Lena liked to think that hard work was all it took to be a good investigative reporter. But she was starting to think that luck might have something to do with it.

Becca and Lena had been going crazy trying to find out where in Los Angeles or Las Vegas Officer Halsey's father lived. Lena had been going through every directory of either city she could find, calling every Halsey listed, and Becca had hacked into enough personnel records to get her at least ten years in prison, but neither of them had found what they needed.

And then fate reached out to them through Becca's employee mailbox. Apparently, the City of Detroit had switched insurance carriers, and everyone needed to fill out a new benefits form. On page two, Becca noticed that they asked for the names and addresses of her parents. She figured that if she could find one of Halsey's old benefits forms, she'd be able to give Lena the address.

Two days ago, she did better. Not only did she find Halsey's old forms—she found out that he didn't write down his parents' address, because he listed them as deceased.

So now Lena had evidence that after investigating a crime, Halsey falsified his report and then went into hiding when she'd tried to confront him about it. Add to that the doctored 911 transcript, and Lena felt like it was time to contact someone with some authority in the police department and try to figure out what was behind all of this. A quick check with Becca identified Halsey's former supervisor as Sergeant Theo Kanteros, and Lena immediately put a call in to him.

The good news was that Sergeant Kanteros was a lot easier to reach than Officer Halsey. The bad news was that he had no idea what Lena was talking about.

So she spent about ten minutes telling him everything she knew—leaving out the part about how she wouldn't know anything if Becca hadn't been feeding her information—and Kanteros told her he'd call back.

The next day came and went with no call, and so Lena decided to call him.

“Yeah, Ms. Takamura?”

Lena was puzzled. Yesterday, by the end of the phone conversation, it was all “Lena” this and “Lena” that. Now the sergeant had a funny tone to his voice.

“Uh, yes, Sergeant, this is Lena Takamura. How are you?”

“Yeah, Ms. Takamura. I checked into that matter we discussed yesterday, and I'm sorry that I have to decline any comment. And I think it would be best for everyone involved if we let it go at that.”

“But, Sergeant—”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Takamura,” he interrupted firmly. “I'm going to say again that for reasons I can't go into, it would be best for everyone involved—everyone—if we let this entire thing drop, okay?”

“But—”

“Good-bye.” And he hung up.

Northampton, Massachusetts

A STRANGE FEELING PASSED THROUGH CAL Thompkins as he sat down at the table next to Terry and Zack. A bad dream had disturbed his sleep last night. He and Zack were standing side by side in a courtroom. Kevin was the judge. Zack was speaking to Cal, but there was so much noise in the room that Cal couldn't hear what he was saying. Then Kevin shot a gun into the air to quiet everyone down, and Zack leaned over and whispered into Cal's ear, “It's over.”

But now Cal felt more than just tired. He felt weak, drained, and actually a little bit hungry, but there was something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The courtroom was packed, mostly with reporters. Cal hadn't seen so many pads and pens since college. There were microphones everywhere, and three large cameras had been set up in strategic places in the courtroom. One was aimed at the judge's chair, one was set to film the lawyers, and a third was aimed at the witness stand. When they spoke in the holding cell earlier that morning, Zack had told him that there would be no witnesses testifying today. Terry had jumped in to say that the third camera was yet another example of how the people who were reporting on this case had their heads up their asses.

Cal had only recently come to the surface after spending weeks in an emotional collapse. The psychiatrists said that when he finally allowed himself to feel his loss, his grief had been too much for him to handle. And although now his first thoughts in the morning and his last thoughts at night were still of the faces of his wife and little boy, somehow, other thoughts had begun to occupy his mind during the day. Cal still wasn't sure whether he was comfortable with that.

Somebody shouted, “Court! All rise!” and the entire courtroom got quiet all at once. Everybody stood up. For a second, it felt like Sunday service just before the pastor said the final prayer. Then the old, overweight judge sat down in his chair, and everyone else sat down. The judge and the lawyers started talking about the trial date. Cal took the legal pad that Zack had given to him and started to write.

Dear Kev—

    I'm in court for another pretrial conference. I felt a little uncomfortable today when I walked into the courtroom. I don't know why. Usually, these pretrial things don't mean anything to me.