‘Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?’
‘
There’s a car. A late-model black Jaguar XJ8. Right now he’s headed south on Washington from Lincoln Road. He’s got two kilos of cocaine in his trunk, and he’s headed to the airport. He’s going to take the MacArthur to MIA, just in case you miss him on Washington.’
‘What’s your name, sir? Where are you calling from?’
The hum of a telephone line going dead.
She had listened to the tape at least thirty times since getting a copy from the MBPD. The voice was muffled, as if the caller had placed a cloth over the phone. But it was deep and definitely male. He was calm, not rushed or hurried. In the background the faint sound of soft music, an opera perhaps, could be heard.
Why would someone call in a fake tip that the car was carrying dope? Who would want the Jaguar pulled over, the trunk searched? An angry fellow motorist who sought revenge because he had been cut off? The deep, calm voice on the phone did not sound angry or upset. It did not sound like a car’s cell phone. There had never been any evidence ever found to suggest that Bantling even did illegal drugs, much less dealt them.
Who would want that trunk searched?
The only other possible answer left made C.J.’s blood chill.
Someone who knew the gruesome contents the police would find inside.
68
The smell of roasted lemon pepper chicken and hot buttermilk biscuits rushed her when she opened the front door. Lucy scrambled to find the source, trying desperately to dash through C.J.’s legs into the hall, but C.J. caught her with her feet. Tibby II found the person holding the goods and coquettishly rubbed his body up against Dominick’s calf, purring incessantly, as if he had not seen food in a week.
‘I see you brought dinner,’ she said.
‘Hey, we can’t powwow without food,’ said Dominick as he made his way into the apartment. ‘Don’t be too impressed, though. It’s Publix. Although I did spring for extra biscuits.’ He whipped out a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag from behind his back and handed it to C.J. ‘And, what fine dining would be complete without a bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay?’
Then he bent down and found Lucy’s head. ‘Hey there, Lucy, old girl! That mean momma of yours hasn’t fed you yet? Well, have I got a surprise for you!’ Tibby mewled loudly.
Et tu, Brute?
‘And for you, too, Tibby. Of course.’ From behind his back he pulled out another plastic Publix bag. In it was a container of cooked chicken livers. Lucy howled with delight. Tibby almost jumped on Dominick’s head. ‘Let’s get you both a bowl.’
C.J. watched the show from the kitchen table while she put out the roasted chicken and biscuits and
wineglasses. ‘She’s gonna howl now for twenty minutes. She’s also going to have to go out again tonight.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll walk her later.’ Dominick walked into the kitchen and, reaching for the wine, came up behind C.J. as she set the table. ‘I’ll get that,’ he said as she turned to face him. He pressed her up against the table and kissed her softly on the mouth, his hand finding hers and moving over it with his fingers. ‘Now, who needs food?’ he said lightly.
‘Okay, Casanova. Show me those muscles and open the wine.’
‘No sweat.’ But he didn’t move. With his body still pressed to hers, backing her up against the table, he reached his arms around behind her and found the wine bottle and corkscrew. Then his mouth found hers again, his tongue sensuously wandering to touch hers. She ran her hands up over his polo shirt, feeling the hardness of his chest, the strength of his shoulders, the curve of his muscles, until they were wrapped around his neck. Through her thin silk blouse she felt the cold wine bottle on the small of her back, dripping condensation as it hit the heat of her body, and causing the silk to moisten and mold to her skin. The cork popped free of the bottle, but their kiss did not end. Dominick put the bottle on the table and pulled her blouse out of her pants and away from her back, replacing the wet silk with his own hands, made damp and cold by the wine bottle. They ran up her back with a delicious chill, over her bra straps, stopping to caress her shoulders. Then they moved back down and unhooked her bra, and the fingers feathered out over her ribs until they finally found her breasts. He moved her loose bra out of the way and his fingers delicately moved over her, massaging her firm breasts,
feeling them heave under his touch as her breathing became heavier.
One hand moved free and progressed down her stomach, ignoring the ugly scar lines, and finding the button on her pants. She could not extricate herself from his kiss, and in less than a second, the button was open, the zipper down, and his hand moved down lower, moving aside her panties, his fingers finding her warm and moist and waiting for him. Her black suit pants fell in a pool on to the kitchen floor. With the strength of his body, he lifted her buttocks on to the table, his fingers never leaving the inside of her, his penis pressed hard against the inside of her thigh through his slacks.
She knew what was about to happen, and she forced herself to break from the kiss. She opened her eyes and saw the bright track lights on the kitchen ceiling above her.
‘Dominick, let’s go into the bedroom,’ she said in a whisper. His fingers moved faster inside her and she felt a tingling sensation erupt over her body.
‘Let me make love to you here. Let me see you, C.J. You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered back next to her ear, his tongue wrapping around her earlobe. His other hand moved from her breast and his fingers began to unbutton her blouse.
‘No. No. The bedroom. Please, Dominick.’ The tingling sensation from his touch was rushing her whole body now and she began to quiver on the table. Her orgasm was not far off.
‘Let me see you. I love your body. I want to see what I do to you.’ His hand had pushed down her panties, and they slid off on to the floor. Only the thin white silk of
her blouse covered her, and he had gotten all the buttons open.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Please.’
He pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes. Without another word, he picked her up gently in his arms and carried her down the hall and into the dark bedroom, leaving the telling lights of the kitchen behind them.
69
They lay together in the darkness, front-to-back, like two spoons from the same set. He watched in the dim red light of the alarm clock while she dozed, his fingers playing with her hair on the back of her neck, where the roots grew in blond. After they had made love, as she always did, she had quickly put on a T-shirt in the dark before getting back into bed to cuddle. He ran his hand now under the T-shirt, feeling her warm back against his palm, the slightness of her delicate bones, the definition of muscle covering them, and her soft skin. He watched as she slept, her body gently rising and falling with each breath under his hand.
As they often did, his thoughts ran to Natalie, and in the alarm-clock light he saw the long whispers of her dark hair that rested on her shoulders and spilled on to her back while she slept. Natalie. His fiancée from years past, and the only other woman in his life whom he had felt as much for, whom he needed to be with as much. To just be near and to watch sleep next to him. He remembered how intense the pain had been when she slipped away, when he had finally lost her. His grief had been overwhelming. It had taken over him so completely that he felt as if a part of him had actually died with her, as if someone had punched a hole in his chest and physically torn his heart out. Her death had made him understand what the relatives of the victims on his cases had meant when they spoke to him of
the enormous pain they experienced at the loss of a loved one. A pain so deep and so profound that it touched everything they did, every relationship they had – it touched their very soul. And then there was the final, brutal secret that this macabre club membership had let him in on: Time does not necessarily heal all wounds.
He couldn’t go through that pain again. He remembered the torture of just waking up and looking around his apartment at each happy memory they had shared together encapsulated in a picture frame, or some end table they had bought together, or a favorite coffee mug. The daily agony had stretched on and on until it finally numbed him, and he had vowed he would never again get that close to a woman. He placed the memories far away, back in deep storage, but then the familiarity of a moment would trigger them, and they would tumble out, seeking to be reexamined. He would see Natalie’s bright face and her sweet smile before it turned before him into a cold and empty mortician’s stare.
He lay next to C.J., his body touching hers, the scent of her hair driving him crazy. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting more with her, wanting to know all there was to know about her and who she was, this beautiful, mysterious, troubled woman.
He kissed her neck and felt her stir. She moved closer to him. What time is it?’ she murmured sleepily.
‘Twelve. You slept for about an hour.’
‘I hope I didn’t snore.’
‘Not tonight.’
She rolled over and put her head on his chest. ‘I’m starving,’ she said and looked at the closed bedroom door. A sliver of light sneaked in through the bottom of
the door. All was eerily quiet. ‘I wonder if the chicken is still out there.’
‘I never even fed them the chicken livers. I doubt there’s anything left of the chicken.’
‘It’s almost like a bad horror movie,’ she mused lightly, ‘when the sexy coed makes her boyfriend go get her a beer after they’ve fooled around. Nothing is left alive in the kitchen after the attack of the hungry pets.’
‘It’s a good thing I closed the door, or that fat cat might be in here with my gun demanding more. He’s the leader, you know.’
‘I think I have some frozen pizza. Maybe some soup. That’s about it.’
They lay there in the darkness for a moment before Dominick spoke again. ‘What do the initials C.J. stand for?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I realized that I’ve never asked you that question.’
Her body stiffened. She’d been taken off guard, and so found herself answering him. ‘Chloe,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Chloe Joanna.’
‘Chloe. I like that. It’s pretty. Why don’t you use it?’
‘Don’t call me that, please.’
‘I won’t if you don’t want me to, but just tell me why.’
‘I don’t care to get into it. It’s personal.’ She rolled away from him.
He waited a moment and then with a sigh asked, ‘Why are you so full of secrets? Why won’t you let me in?’
‘That name is part of my past. Something I don’t choose to discuss.’
‘But the past is a part of you.’ Then in a low voice he added, ‘And I want to be a part of you, C.J.’
‘The past is who I was, not who I am now. That’s all I can give you, Dominick.’ She sat up stiffly in bed.
He sat up also, and pulled on his slacks. ‘Alright, alright. Whenever you’re ready,’ he said, his voice resigned. ‘How about I whip us up an omelet? Do you have any eggs?’
She waited a moment before she spoke. ‘Look. We need to talk, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ She sat still in the darkness at the edge of the bed, her back to him. ‘The trial is going to start in just a few days, and, during the trial I don’t think that we, well, that we should be together. I think we’re both going to be under a lot of scrutiny by the press and by our bosses and, I think my feelings for you are written all over my face when I’m with you. I think we should give ourselves some distance.’
Her words hit him like a smack across the face. ‘C.J., what does it matter if people guess our feelings for each other? What does it matter?’
‘It matters to me. I can’t jeopardize this case, Dominick. I can’t. Bantling needs to go away for what he’s done.’
‘I agree with you, C.J., and he’s going to go away. I promise you.’ He sat next to her on the bed. ‘We’re doing all we can. We’ve got a great case. You’re an awesome prosecutor. He’s going to go away.’ He looked into her eyes, pulling her face toward his. Why has he gotten under your skin like this? What else has he done, C.J.? Talk to me, please.’
For a long moment he actually believed she would tell him. Her lip trembled and a line of silent tears rolled down her cheek. But then she composed herself. ‘No.’ She wiped the tears away defiantly with the back of her hand. ‘Dominick, I really do care about you. More than you know, but we need to have distance between us
during this trial. I need to have perspective, and I need you to understand that. Please.’
Dominick reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. He finished getting dressed in silence while she sat on the edge of the bed, her back still to him. The door to the bedroom opened, and light rushed into the room. His words were distant and cool. ‘No. Don’t ask me again to understand it, because I don’t.’
Then he grabbed his gun and his keys off of the coffee table in her living room and walked out her front door.
70
The door to the judge’s hallway was flung open and Judge Chaskel hurried out, his black robe billowing in a puff of black behind him as he quickly took the bench.
‘All rise! Court is now in session! The Honorable Judge Leopold Chaskel the III now presiding,’ Hank the bailiff announced with a startled shout.
The courtroom hushed to silence and the judge quickly put on his glasses and frowned as he scanned the jury pool sheet that Janine, his clerk, had left for him on the bench. The box was empty, as were all the rows on the entire right side of the courtroom, which had been blocked off with rope. That was where the prospective jury pool would be seated during voir dire. Trial watchers, and, of course, the press, covered the rows on the left. It was 9:10 on Monday morning, December 18.
‘Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry I’m late. I had a judges’ holiday breakfast that I had to attend. ‘Tis the season.’ He looked down over his bench and over his glasses to where Janine sat at her desk, which was directly in front of the bench. ‘Speaking of the season, no hats please while court is in session, Janine,’ referring to the pointy red-and-white Santa hat the clerk wore on her head. She sheepishly pulled it off and stuck it in her desk. He cleared his throat. ‘Now, we are here today on
The State of Florida
v. –’ he began, then stopped himself, looking around the courtroom. Where is the defendant?’ he asked, his brow furrowing.