Sullivan's Justice (33 page)

He removed his wallet and stared at a small snapshot of himself and Laurel. He’d kept it since they were in high school. She was perfect and they fit perfectly. He could smell the sun on her skin that day when he’d kissed her neck; then his senses were crushed by the aroma of salty water. No matter how far he ran, Laurel was inside, calling him to join her.

He ripped the picture in half and let the pieces fall to the ground. His life had been a failure. A strong gust of wind brushed past him. When he looked down, the picture was gone. He was insignificant. Just like the picture, he would soon be gone and forgotten.

Was he being fair? Taking his life would destroy Carolyn. “Shit, what am I doing?” he said, pulling out the gun and tossing it into the sand. Carolyn had been more than a sister. She’d been like a mother to him. She risked her life protecting society while he sold paintings to rich people. He thought of the silly woman who’d traded the Ferrari for some of his worst paintings.

Neil’s hands closed into fists. He lashed out into nothing-ness. “Why did you do this to me?” Suddenly he fell, as if God had opened up the sky and pushed him to the ground. He removed a pen and a small spiral binder from his wind-breaker, sobbing as he wrote.

He placed the paper and pen down, then stretched out on his back, staring up at the early evening stars. Reaching out, he retrieved the pistol. The sound of the waves would muffle the explosion. Beginning to accept death, he reminded himself that as soon as a person was born, he began to die. Maybe when you died, you finally began to live. Tonight would be his first step toward his new existence. His time was up. He raised the gun up to his temple and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

D
r. Michael Graham stepped out of the shower in his room at the Holiday Inn Express. He had tried all day to get in front of Hank Sawyer. A female detective kept telling him Sawyer was tied up and couldn’t speak to him. No one would tell him Jessica’s address. Another door had slammed in his face, reminding him that he was a convicted murderer, too dangerous to know where his daughter lived.

His clothes were folded neatly on the bed, a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans. He went over to the window with a partial ocean view. He’d been to California once when he was a child, but he’d forgotten how scenic it was, and what great weather it had. Pressing his hands against the glass, he couldn’t understand why the detective had flown him out. Sawyer said on the phone that Jessica was a possible suspect in these awful crimes.

When his brother had shown him the newspaper articles, he’d refused to believe it. All he could think of was seeing his daughter again and possibly having his license to practice medicine reinstated. On the airplane, his excitement grew. He remembered Jessica’s soft red hair, the fresh smell of her skin, the sound of her playful laughter, and his love for her as a father. Did she still love macaroni and cheese, Lego blocks, chocolate, and watching
I Love Lucy
? His anticipation was overshadowed by the alarming conversation he’d had with the homicide detective. Now he had a far more serious reason to see her.

He couldn’t understand how Jessica had gotten away with passing herself off as Melody Asher. He knew the Asher family. They’d lived close to them in upstate New York. Phillipa, his deceased wife, had inherited the house in Tuxedo Park, as well as several million in stocks and bonds. Unless she’d squandered it, Jessica should be an extremely wealthy young woman. But she would never have the kind of money the Ashers had.

The Ashers were one of the richest families in the country. Morton Asher had founded Asher Pharmaceutical Corporation in 1903. Unlike most major corporations, it was privately held. When Morton and Elizabeth Asher died, their fortune had fallen into the hands of their two sons, Raymond and Kendall. Kendall Asher was killed in Vietnam. Raymond married and gave birth to Melody. In a highly publicized traffic accident, Raymond, along with four other individuals, had been killed. Five years later, his wife, Blythe, had died of lung cancer. Melody had inherited somewhere close to fifty million dollars, and that was just the amount released to the public. On her eighteenth birthday, the heiress had disappeared.

Graham had to admit that the two girls resembled each other, at least when he’d last seen them. Phillipa thought their height was one of the reasons they had struck up a friendship. Jessica had been the tallest girl in her class, Melody only an inch shorter. Everyone made a fuss over Melody, though, and Jessica became jealous.

People in Tuxedo Park were ranked by their fortunes, not their personalities. The children mimicked their parents. It was uncouth to speak of money, but anyone with half a brain knew what it meant when a person announced that they’d never worked a day in their life—old money. Old money didn’t mix with new money.

The night of the shooting, Dr. Graham had feared Jessica would never speak again. The only thing she claimed to remember was her father telling her that he was at fault. During the trial, she testified that she’d never seen the gun before it went off in her father’s hands. Even the district attorney suspected that the killings may have been an accident. Because Graham had destroyed the murder weapon, and had also failed to notify the police as soon as the deaths had occurred, Jessica’s story appeared credible.

When he was first arrested, he’d thought the only way he could redeem himself was to accept whatever happened. He had to protect his daughter, all that was left of his family. Jessica had either buried the truth deep in her subconscious, or she had lied, terrified of what the police would do to her.

Jessica’s attitude toward her father changed almost before the gun stopped smoking. He saw it in her face as she looked at him in the courtroom. The police and prosecutors had coached her. Already she exhibited the steely resolve of a survivor.

In prison, Dr. Graham realized he’d made another serious mistake. He’d shown his daughter that it was okay to lie as long as she didn’t get caught. Jessica might never take responsibility for her actions. She lived in denial, while all around her things were going wrong. Many of the events that later occurred must have been directly related to that fateful night. The accusations against his brother had shocked him. Jessica had been blinded by her own mind. She not only told lies, she believed them.

Dr. Graham remembered the attention his daughter had received from the police investigators and the prosecution team during his trial. He pictured her in the witness-box, smiling at the female prosecutor.

His days living with men who committed horrendous acts of violence had taught him a great deal. He found that many of their problems had stemmed from their childhoods. What happened to his daughter was like a seed planted in fertilized soil. Add a little water and the plant might grow into a full-blown criminal.

The phone rang. He hoped it was the detective. Instead, it was a local reporter from the
Ventura Star
. He began firing off questions, “Is it true that you’ve been in jail for the past sixteen years?”

“Do you know where my daughter lives?” Graham said. “No one will tell me.”

This wasn’t the first call he’d received. He didn’t understand how the press knew where to find him.

“Yeah,” the reporter said. “Hello, are you there, Dr. Graham?”

Could he be foolish enough to believe a scrambling reporter’s claim? What other option did he have? His pulse rate escalated. “Yes, I’m here. Where is she?”

“Not so quick, pal. Information doesn’t come for free. Fortunately, you have something that I need.”

Dr. Graham started to hang up, then listened as the man continued speaking.

“Give me an exclusive on the story of you and your daughter’s reunion and I’ll personally drive you to her home. How does that grab you?”

“Deal.”

Less than twenty minutes later, the reporter knocked on the door at Graham’s hotel room. Jack Overton was small in stature, with brown hair and a well-groomed mustache. They got into a tan Buick. Without hesitation, the reporter interrogated him on every aspect of his life—his daughter, his prison sentence, and the events that led up to his conviction. He refused to answer all of Overton’s questions. The man persisted as the miles ticked off on the odometer.

“We’re here,” Overton announced.

Jessica’s home was secured with a fence that had white metal bars placed on top of a U-shaped brick wall. The structure was large and the grounds manicured. They walked through the unlocked gate to the front door. Graham’s hands were cold and clammy. He rang the doorbell. Movement could be heard from inside the house. Would she open the door?

It swung open, exposing a disheveled woman who vaguely resembled what had once been his little girl. She was dressed in an animal print workout suit. The smell of booze permeated the air. When Graham tried to speak, his words were stuck inside.

“I’m Jack Overton,” the reporter said, extending his hand. “Are you Melody Asher?”

“No, I’m the maid,” she said, declining to shake his hand. “What the hell do you want? You’re a damn reporter, aren’t you? Get off the property.”

A tall figure stepped forward. “Jessica, it’s Dad.”

Melody’s father reached out to touch her. She pulled away from him and almost fell backward onto the hard marble floor. “What are you doing here?” she spat. “You’re a murderer. Get out of here before I call the police.”

Dr. Graham extended his arm forward, forcing his way into the house. Melody was caught off guard. He turned, glared at the reporter, then slammed the door in his face. The subsequent pounding was ignored.

They were finally alone.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” he said. “You need to know the truth. We have to talk.”

“I know the truth,” Melody said, remembering him leaning over Jeremy’s body. “We don’t need to talk. Please leave now.”

He moved toward her. “Honey, you need to know what really happened the night Phillipa and Jeremy died. I’m not a murderer. You have to believe me.”

“You’re lying,” she said, rushing into the other room. She’d been tormented by the past for eighteen years. Now it had shown up on her doorstep. Her father looked terrible. He had been so handsome. How could this man be her father? He’d been a prominent heart surgeon. He looked like an ex-con, with his cheap shirt and his worn jeans. She picked up the portable phone in the kitchen. He stood quietly in the shadows, staring at her, making her furious. “If you’re not a murderer, why did they convict you? Go back to wherever you came from. You have no business being here. I’m not your daughter anymore.”

“They convicted me based on your testimony. What are you doing?” He walked forward and took the phone from her.

She swung at him, her balled-up fist striking his face. The impact dropped him to the floor. “You killed Mother and Jeremy,” she yelled, standing over him. “I wasn’t going to lie to protect you, even if you were my father.”

Rubbing his bleeding nose, he said, “I didn’t fire the shot that killed them.
You did
, Jessica. It was an accident.”

“No, you’re just trying to trick me,” she said, pointing to the front door. “Get out of my house. I’m going to set off the alarm.” She walked a few feet away and held her finger above the panic button on the security panel. If the useless rent-a-cops didn’t get there in time, she’d have to solve the problem herself, just as she had always done. She dropped her hands to her side, forgetting to press the button. The volcano inside her erupted. “You know the hell I’ve been through? Your fucking brother raped me, not once, but every single day. He took me in the basement and locked the door; then he stripped me naked. If I refused to have sex, he beat me with a paddle.”

“Oh, my God, the paddle!” her father exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet. “I swear, Jessica, I didn’t know. Elton swore it wasn’t true. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Now you know why I don’t need him, you, or anyone. I can take care of myself.”

“Before I leave,” he said in a voice full of shame, “I want you to know your mother and Jeremy’s death wasn’t your fault. You were looking for the Christmas presents when you stumbled across my rifle. You brought it into our bedroom. That’s when it happened, Jessica.”

Melody’s mind began spinning. She walked into the living room and sat down on the edge of the sofa, a distant look in her eyes. She remembered him carrying her down the stairs that night. Her pink flannel pajamas had been splattered with blood.

Dr. Graham sat in the chair across from her. “Jessica, you’re a grown woman. You’re living in denial. Think about this logically. Why would I shoot Jeremy in the back while he was leaning over your mother? You know I would never intentionally hurt you, Jeremy, or your mother. I dedicated my life to healing people. I tried to save Jeremy. I held his heart in my hands. There was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do.

“Your mind shut out what really happened. It’s a survival mechanism, particularly with children. It’s lingered in your subconscious for years. When I saw you, I ran toward you to get the rifle. Your finger got caught in the trigger mechanism and the gun went off. The bullet first hit your brother in the back, then entered your mother’s head.”

She leaned into the sofa, her eyes darting back and forth in thought. “You can say anything you want. It won’t change things. I know I took the rifle from the box in the garage. But you yanked it away from me and shot them. You’re the one who’s living in denial. You didn’t believe Elton raped me, either.” She stood and walked over to him, a frenzied look in her eyes. “After I ran away, I lived on the street. Want to know how I survived? Having sex with men. You and your piece-of-shit brother turned a child into a prostitute. Are you happy now,
Daddy
?”