Kill All the Lawyers

Thirty-Seven

The cop had a familiar face.

A mini-Afro. A name tag that said "Teele." A skeptical look.

Sure, the guy who arrested me at the radio station. The second time.

Bad break, Steve thought. They were standing in Steve's driveway just after seven A.M. Janice was inside, sacked out on the sofa. Bobby was asleep in his bedroom, Victoria sitting watch alongside. Myron and Eva were back in their house on Loquat, giving statements to Teele's partner, Rodriguez.

"Dr. Kreeger is canoeing on the Suwannee," Teele said.

"Canoe-ing on the Su-wan-nee?" Steve used his best derisive tone, dragging out the words. "That is the worst fucking alibi I've ever heard, and my clients have used some doozies."

Teele lowered his voice into serious cop mode. "You're saying Dr. Bill kidnapped this girl and planted evidence to incriminate your nephew, but you've got no proof. Now, I listen to Dr. Bill's radio show. ."

Oh, great. A fan.

". . and I think he makes some good points. As for the girl, she could be sleeping in somebody's backyard, and any minute she'll come riding up the street on her bike."

Cops usually assumed the worst because they see the worst. But this guy was an optimist, Steve thought. "So you reached Kreeger on his cell?"

"Couldn't get him. He's up the river past Hatchbend, where there's no service."

Up the river past Hatchbend? Jeez, I'm in Mayberry with Deputy Barney Fife.

"What the hell's he doing up there?" Steve demanded.

"Fishing for largemouth bass, the way we hear it."

"Lemme guess. The woman living at Kreeger's house gave you this cock-and-bass story."

Teele checked his little cop pad. "Mary Amanda Lamm. That's correct."

"Kreeger brainwashed her. She'd say anything he wanted her to."

"Was she lying when she said both you and your nephew are patients of Dr. Kreeger?"

"Not patients, exactly."

The cop made a note on the pad. "So you're not under court order to see Dr. Kreeger?"

"Okay, technically true, but-"

"For sexual deviancy."

"No!"

The cop used his pen to scratch his scalp through the mini-Afro. "I pulled the report, Solomon. The boy's a peeper. And Ms. Lamm claims she came out of the shower one day and found you lurking in her bathroom."

"Bedroom," Steve corrected, a lawyer slicing the bologna too thin. "I was lurking in her bedroom. But that's got nothing to do with the court ordering me to see Kreeger."

"Right. That would be for your violent streak."

"Look, Teele, Maria's missing. The clock's ticking. By the time you guys get off your butts, she could be dead."

"I hope not, sir. For your sake. Because your nephew was the last person to see the girl. By his own admission, he made unwelcome advances to her while inebriated, and her brassiere was found in his belongings. The way I see it, the only evidence points straight at him."

Victoria was the first one out of the Mustang when Steve pulled to a stop in front of Kreeger's home. The morning had turned windy and gray and smelled of rain. They'd left Bobby with Janice, but Cece was on the way there to chaperone.

On the drive to the Gables, Victoria had asked Steve if he had a plan.

"Amanda's going to tell us where Kreeger is," he said flatly.

"And betray her lover?"

"There's a glimmer of something good inside her. We just have to tap into that."

Victoria wasn't so sure. "And how do we do that?"

"Good cop, bad cop."

"I assume I'm the good cop."

"Which means you go first. If you don't get anywhere, I'll take over."

Victoria remained skeptical but kept quiet. No use in chipping away at Steve's confidence.

Amanda answered the door, for once wearing clothes. Two articles of clothing, to be exact: a red tank top and tight white short-shorts. No bra and clearly no panties, judging from the outline of her taco. No makeup. Hair tied in pigtails. A twenty-yearold trying to look fourteen.

She smiled and said, "Goody, more visitors. Hey, Ms. Lord, did you get that bikini wax yet?"

Victoria shot a look at Steve, who shrugged as if to say sorry.

"Cutie here really admired my landing strip." Amanda gave Steve a flirtatious tilt of the chin.

"Cut the bullshit, Amanda," Steve said. "We've got to talk."

She ignored him, focused on Victoria. "I offered Cutie a closer look, but he said he'd have to think about it."

"How unusual," Victoria replied. "Cutie so seldom thinks before acting."

One minute later, they were all inside. A nondescript living room with a sofa and two facing chairs. An old fireplace. A floor of Dade County pine. A coffee table with a bowl of slightly overripe fruit. No personal items, other than the oil painting of Kreeger on a power boat.

"Amanda, we really need your help," Victoria said, her tone pleasant.

"Like I told the cops, Uncle Bill's canoeing upstate."

"We don't think so." Still soft, still pleasant. "We think he kidnapped a twelve-year-old girl. We're afraid what he'll do to her if we don't stop him."

"That's silly," Amanda said, sounding like a preteen herself. She picked up a green apple from the bowl, tucked both legs under herself, and started munching.

Amanda didn't seem overly concerned, Victoria thought. A missing girl. Her lover accused. And here she was, nibbling away on a Granny Smith. Was it possible, Victoria wondered, that Amanda was as much a sociopath as Kreeger?

"Uncle Bill's a lover, not a killer," Amanda added with a sly smile. "And I ought to know."

"Dammit, Amanda!" Steve said, breaking in before he was supposed to. "Kreeger killed a guy named Jim Beshears. He killed a boat captain named Oscar De la Fuente. And he killed your mother."

"Now I know you're lying," Amanda said. "I'm the one who killed the witch."

She said it with a certain amount of glee that Victoria found unsettling. "You were thirteen, Amanda. Kreeger was giving you drugs when he seduced you. Your memory can't be trusted."

Steve picked up the story and they tag-teamed her: "Your mother found out about the two of you and they had a big fight. Kreeger hit her with a skimmer pole and pushed her into the hot tub. Then he convinced you that you'd done it."

"Like I said before, you have everything bass ackwards." Amanda giggled. "I seduced Uncle Bill. I was smoking a little weed, but that's it. Bill gave me some Valium after I killed Mom because I was freaking out. I wanted to call the cops and confess, but Bill said he'd take care of everything."

"He's brainwashed you, goddammit!" Steve said.

Amanda took a dainty bite from the apple. "Where was Mom hit, Cutie?"

"Right side of the skull."

"Uncle Bill's right-handed. If they were having a fight, wouldn't he have hit her on the left side?"

"Pincher covered that. Your mother must have turned and started walking away when Kreeger hit her."

Amanda's "ha-ha-ha" seemed contrived, like everything else about her, Victoria thought.

"That's not how it happened," Amanda said. "Me and Mom. We were facing each other. She called me a little whore, said she was gonna send me away to some school for fuckups and I'd never see Bill again. I picked up the pool thingie and hit her as hard as I could. She fell into the hot tub, and I just stood there and watched her drown."

Amanda picked up another apple from the bowl and flung it-left-handed-at Steve. He caught the apple and exchanged looks with Victoria.

"Uncle Bill got rid of the pool thingie," Amanda continued. "He came up with the story that Mom slipped and hit her head. The jury didn't believe him. Why should they? It wasn't true."

"I don't believe you," Steve said.

"But I do." Victoria stood, grabbed the apple from Steve, and tossed it from hand to hand as she spoke. "And if I'm right, if you're telling the truth, you owe your life to Kreeger. I'll bet you stayed faithful to him all those years he was in prison."

"I was a good girl. I promised I'd wait for him, and I did."

Victoria nodded in agreement. "After what he did for you-covering up a murder you committed-how could you do anything else?"

"You got it, Ms. Lord."

Victoria took a step toward Amanda. "Which means you'll never betray him, no matter what he's done in the past, no matter what he's doing now."

Amanda winked at Steve. "She's smarter than you are, Cutie."

"I know," Steve admitted. He turned to Victoria, looking defeated. "So if Amanda killed her mother, I lost a case for an innocent man. No wonder Kreeger hates me."

"But you were right about everything else." Still tossing the shiny green apple from hand to hand, Victoria paced in front of the sofa where Amanda sat cross-legged. "Kreeger killed Beshears and De la Fuente, didn't he, Amanda?"

"I'll never tell," she sang in her little-girl voice.

"You know one difference between Steve and me?" Victoria asked.

"I don't know and I don't care."

"Steve would never hurt a woman. It's not in him. But me.. "

And before Steve saw it coming, Victoria drew back her right arm and threw a punch as hard as she could. Not a jab. And not a hook. A fist that had an apple in it and all her weight behind it.

The Granny Smith smashed squarely into Amanda's nose.

There were three sounds, coming a second apart. The crack of cartilage, the thump of Amanda's butt hitting the floor, and a yelp.

Steve heard a yelping sound, realized it had come from him. A stream of blood ran down Amanda's face; a pink bubble emerged from her lips as she exhaled through the torrent.

Did I just see what I think I saw? Did Vic just TKO Amanda with a Granny Smith?

"Fucking bitch!" Amanda bleated, her hands covering her face. "You broke my nose."

"Put your head back till it stops bleeding," Victoria ordered, suddenly the Nurse Ratched of the law business.

"Jesus, Vic. Why'd you do that?"

He was flummoxed. In all their time together, the most violence she'd ever shown was a wicked backhand on the tennis court.

"Don't you get it, Steve? We can plead and beg and try to find that glimmer of humanity you think is inside this sick puppy, but it won't do any good."

"And punching her will?"

"You're a Democrat and I'm a Republican."

"Yeah?"

"You're suspicious of the use of force. But the only way we're gonna get anything from her is to go Abu Ghraib."

"No way."

Victoria had strayed off script. Steve was supposed to be the bad cop, but apparently he hadn't been bad enough.

Still bleeding, Amanda got to her feet. She reached for a cell phone from the coffee table, but Victoria grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

"Ow!" Amanda rasped. "What are you, a dyke or something?"

Victoria snatched the phone with her free hand and threw it hard toward the fireplace. Her aim was high-not enough follow-through-and the phone sailed into the painting of Kreeger aboard his boat. It left a gash in the canvas.

"Bill ain't gonna be happy," Amanda said, no more little girl in her voice. "He loves that picture."

Still hanging on to Amanda's wrist, Victoria used a foot to kick the woman's leg out from under her. Amanda fell to her knees, Victoria tightening the grip and bending Amanda's arm like a chicken wing. Blood flowed from her nose and puddled on the pine floor. Victoria used the woman's arm like a crowbar, pushing higher and higher, until the back of her wrist lay flat against her neck.

"Fuck! That hurts."

"Vic, what are you doing?"

"Trying to save a girl's life. Bobby's, too. Now, make yourself useful and find something to tie her up."

Steve thought it was possible that his lover and law partner had quite suddenly gone insane.

"Where is he, Amanda?" Victoria demanded. "Where'd he take Maria?"

"Fuck you."

Victoria pulled higher on Amanda's wrist until it passed over the shoulder blade. There was a pop. And a scream.

"That was your elbow dislocating," Victoria said. "I've done that in tae kwan do. Hurts like the dickens, doesn't it?"

Amanda lay prone on the floor, her wailing interrupted only by her pained breaths.

"Hey, Vic, could you ease up a minute?"

"We don't have a minute. If we don't find Kreeger, that child's going to die. Isn't that right, Amanda?"

No more "fuck you" s. Just some sobbing.

"Let's work on the other arm," Victoria said.

"Wait." Amanda got to her knees. "Bill likes little girls."

"No shit," Victoria said.

Who is this woman?

"He takes them, sometimes. I don't know what happens to them."

"Sure you do," Victoria said flatly. "If they can ID him, he kills them."

"I don't ask him. There was a girl from the Redlands. About twelve or thirteen."

Oh, shit, Steve thought.

"That girl who went missing down in the Redlands. ."

Kreeger had tried to blame the disappearance on a boy with disabilities. No wonder the bastard knew so much about serial killers. His knowledge fell into the forensics category called "It takes one to know one."

"Where's he go?" Steve now, getting with the program. "Does he have an apartment somewhere? A cabin in the Glades? Where!"

Amanda didn't answer, and Victoria reached for her other arm. This time, it didn't take a snapped tendon. Amanda flinched, then surrendered. She turned her head toward the painting above the fireplace.

Steve focused on the painting, Kreeger and his big-ass sport fisherman, the Psycho Therapy. "The boat! He's got her on the boat."

Amanda didn't say a word, but her look told Steve he was right.

"Where's he keep it?" Victoria said.

"Grove Marina," Amanda whispered.

"C'mon, Steve. Let's get going."

"No."

"No?"

"Something's not right. You torture people, they always lie."

He remembered the photos of the boat in Kreeger's office. A dock, a channel, a mangrove island. The island was distinctive, and he remembered seeing it before. It provided a windbreak for the boats anchored away from the dock.

The island. The island. The island.

It wasn't at Grove Marina. Where was it? He tried to focus the way Bobby would. What could he remember? A breakfast. No. A brunch. That restaurant on the Rickenbacker Causeway on the way to Key Biscayne. From the restaurant, you look out over the channel, straight at the mangrove island.

"Crandon Park Marina. On Key Biscayne. That's where Kreeger keeps his boat."

"Then go!" Victoria ordered. "I'll make sure Amanda stays put."

"You're too late," Amanda said. Neither pleasure nor regret in her voice. "They'll be in open water by now."

"Where?"

"Don't know. The ocean, somewhere. Bill does the girls after he gets out to sea. Then he weights their bodies and chucks them overboard. Something about the water's all mystical to him."

Again Kreeger's words came back to haunt Steve. The guy didn't believe in ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He believed in a watery start and a watery finish. What had he called it?

"From the swamp to the sea."