Kristmas Collins, page 7
“I think he’s going to make it a really special Christmas for a special little girl.”
Dora finally looked up from her laptop, perturbed. How dare he not tell her the truth that Santa might not be stopping by the Woods’ this year due to budget constraints. And that jolly old St. Nick probably wouldn’t know where to find them anyway, since their new “home” was parked on a different street each night.
Dora reached into the bag of items he’d just purchased from the 24-hour pharmacy down the street, and pulled out a plastic bottle. She shook her head. “We need to get him to a real doctor, not give him antacids.”
Payne spoke up, “I have a stomachache—that’s all. Every time I get a normal pain doesn’t mean the cancer is back. Who’s stomach wouldn’t hurt after all the shit we’ve been eating?”
This reminded Edmund. He reached into his bag and pulled out candy bars and bags of chips, and handed them around. He was convinced that hunger was the cause of tonight’s angst, and hoped to temporarily calm the tensions. But he knew it was just a Band-Aid—the only real solution would be to get their life back.
“If it doesn’t go away by morning, we’re going to take him to the free clinic,” Dora said.
“I’m not going to the free clinic,” Payne rebutted. “That place is loaded with nothing but homeless crackheads!”
A lump formed in Edmund’s throat. Payne’s words slapped him with reality—they were homeless! And smoking crack might not be far behind … just to tolerate each other.
Dora warned Susie that she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she had any more chocolate—as if sleep was actually a possibility—and swapped a pack of breath mints for the candy bar. It was hard to upset Susie, but she didn’t look happy about the tradeoff.
Dora opened a bag of Doritos and mocked Edmund by smacking her lips and making mmm sounds as she ate the chips. He no longer recognized her. He kept a clipping of their wedding announcement from the New York Times just to remind him of what once was, even if he doubted that it would ever be again.
They’d met at Kerstman Publishing—the first job out of college for both of them. He worked his way up to VP of Finance, while Dora went from an intern all the way to editor, and even worked on the last Harry Crawford book. Edmund had seen the signs of the financial struggle at Kerstman after Crawford stopped writing. When it got to the point that Edmund feared they wouldn’t be able to make payroll, he went to Diedrich Kerstman. He told Edmund in confidence that Harry Crawford had agreed to make a comeback, which would solve any financial problems, but in the meantime he would use his own money to keep things afloat … and proved it by handing Edmund a large check. He would learn at the trial that this was a lie. There was no Crawford comeback planned, and the check was extortion money connected to a shady business deal in which Kerstman sold out his employees’ personal information.
Once Payne got diagnosed, all their focus and energy went to him. So maybe that’s why he wasn’t on top of things like he normally was. The first alarm went off when they were rejected for a loan to cover the cost of an experimental treatment that their insurance wouldn’t pay for. Their credit had been destroyed, and their savings siphoned away.
The house they fought to keep for three years was just a material object, same with their lost retirement fund, and thankfully Payne didn’t need the experimental treatment to survive. But the doctors told them that there was a 50/50 chance of a relapse within three years, and in Dora’s eyes, Edmund had left their son vulnerable, and he doubted she would ever forgive him for that.
A knock startled everyone. Edmund looked to see a police officer, and rolled his window down. He gulped a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Can I help you, officer?”
“Don’t get many Range Rovers in this neighborhood, so I thought you might be lost, or having some car trouble.”
“No, we were coming back from my sister’s in the city, and my son was having some stomach issues—he gets carsick—so we stopped off at a pharmacy to get him some antacid,” Edmund said. Payne held up the bottle to back up the story.
The officer’s eyes roamed around the vehicle, and Edmund could tell he was now aware that he was talking to a family living in a car. It was packed like they were headed for a cross-country trip, not a visit to a sister that didn’t exist.
“Take a few minutes until he feels better, and then I suggest you move on. This isn’t the safest neighborhood,” he let Edmund keep a little of his dignity.
When the officer left, and things began to settle down, Edmund shut off the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” Dora asked him. “It’s snowing out—we’re going to freeze without the heater.”
“I don’t want to call any attention to us and get another visit from the cops. Let’s use the sleeping bags, and the kids have heavy coats.”
“You got to be kidding me. Well, at least now I know our son won’t die of cancer … because his father is going to freeze him to death!”
“C’mon, Dora, you think this is easy for me?”
“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Maybe because you avoid talking to me at all costs.”
She opened her window and a cold breeze blew through the car. “Are you happy now? We can all freeze to death together—right after we finish eating some more shitty food!” She shoved another handful of chips in her mouth, and again did the lip-smacking thing.
She was about to take another handful, when the bag disappeared out the window.
A voice boomed, “A lot of people don’t got no food around here, so maybe you should be a little more appreciative.”
The voice came from an enormous man wearing a ski mask. “What do you want?” Edmund asked, trying to shield the fear in his voice.
“You’re in my neighborhood.”
“We were just moving on, I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“You ain’t going nowhere until I’m through with you, Mr. Range Rover.”
“Please don’t hurt us,” Dora called out.
“A minute ago you were hoping to freeze to death, and now you’re all worried about your well-being? I don’t think you know what you want, lady.”
“Just don’t hurt my children. My son has cancer.”
Those were fighting words for Payne. “For the last time, Mom—I don’t have cancer anymore.”
“Maybe right now you don’t, but the doctors said it could come back.”
“Right now is the only time that matters.”
The man peered into the backseat where Payne was sitting. “You’re a brave kid, it takes a lot of courage to whip cancer’s ass.”
“He’s my role model,” Susie chimed in. “And my brother.”
“Sounds like a good person to look up to. I think your parents could learn a lot from him. Not only is he courageous, but also smart. Especially when he said that right now is the most important time. For example, right now, your mom and dad are going to hand me their wallets, and that way nobody will get hurt.”
Edmund reached into his pocket and handed his over. Dora resisted at first, but when the man displayed a knife she begrudgingly handed him her purse. He did a quick search through it until he found the wallet. He took nothing else.
She tried to hand him her laptop. “Go ahead … take it. They’ve stolen everything else from us, you might as well have it.”
“You don’t get it do you, lady?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As far as I can tell, nobody took any of your important stuff.”
“Don’t you tell me what’s important!” she screeched, and again pushed the laptop toward him.
“Do I look stupid to you? I don’t want nothing that can be traced, so keep your computers and phones.” He looked in the wallets and pulled out their driver’s licenses, which he studied. “I wish you a Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Woods … just don’t be spending it in my neighborhood.”
And just like that, he was off into the night.
Dora looked at Edmund with fire in her eyes. “If you don’t go after him, I will.”
“He has a knife, Dora.”
“If I get stabbed you can buy me some antacids and I’ll be fine,” she said and began to open the door.
He reached out and grabbed her arm—it was the first time they’d touched in months. “I’ll go find that policeman—they probably know who this guy is … he said it was his neighborhood.”
Edmund again entered the cold. But he didn’t look for a policeman. He walked a couple blocks away and found a bench. He cleared off the snow and sat by himself. He just stared out into the dark night and cried.
Almost an hour later, when his tears began to turn to icicles, he returned to the vehicle. Everybody was asleep—they’d been conditioned with Payne’s sickness to get their sleep between emergencies and disasters, and now it was between fights and muggings. But one person awoke, huddled under a blanket with her sleeping brother.
“Hi Daddy,” she whispered.
“Hey there, sweet pea.”
“Did you find the policeman?”
“I did … you know what he said?”
“What?”
“That Susie better get some sleep, because she has a big day tomorrow.”
Edmund reached into his pocket and pulled out the flyer he found when they stopped at the post office to pick up their mail yesterday.
“Why is it gonna be a big day?”
He took another look at the flyer. “Because you’re going to meet Santa Claus.
____________________________________________________________
Monday December 23
Chapter 15
I hid behind the morning edition of the New York Globe, as I peered out at the suburban Ossining street from my Volvo SUV. Mothers stood at the ends of snowplowed driveways, waiting with their children for the arrival of the school bus. But there was one I was specifically interested in.
Her long red hair fell out her winter cap. Her heavy overcoat covered up an athletic physique that was the result of her training for her first marathon last year. But I worried that the sudden affection for distance running was her trying to run from the pain of the past. Her son, Peter, looked just like her with similar red hair and collection of freckles around his nose. His younger sister, Janie, reminded me very much of the twins. I thought they might hit it off if they met, but it was doubtful that would ever happen.
I questioned my sanity coming here. But after a day that included a return to the Wainwright estate, an FBI ambush, and almost being cookie’d to death by Gooch, I sought out the one person who always made me feel like the world was going to be alright. Not that she’d ever see it that way.
I first came in contact with Nicole Closs during the Kerstman trial, when her sharp wail interrupted my cross-examination of a witness. I turned, as did the rest of the courtroom.
“You’re a murderer!” Nicole shouted. “You killed him!”
While the courtroom was a new venue for these types of verbal assaults on Kerstman, the attacks were not. He had become the face of corporate greed, right up there with Enron and Madoff. As his lawyer, I pleaded with him not to be seen in public as the trial neared, but he continued to walk the streets of Manhattan and take his medicine from the angry public … and occasionally a fist.
But I quickly realized that Nicole wasn’t just talking to him—her comments were also directed to the man who was defending the evildoer. Her fiery eyes locked on mine as she cried out, “Did you use the blood money he paid you to buy your children Christmas gifts this year, Mr. Collins?” She then held up pics of Peter and Janie for me to see, adding, “There will be nothing under our tree this year.”
The next day the New York Globe led with the headline “Nothing Under Our Tree.” It included an artist’s rendition of our showdown in court, accompanied the caption: “Blood Money!” She became the face of the victims’ pain.
The story shed more light on the motive for her outburst, which went deeper than the usual animosity—her husband had committed suicide the previous day.
Our brief encounter changed me. I know it would be hard for people to believe that, especially after I went on to help Kerstman escape, and my failure to return the money. But when I looked in Nicole’s eyes that day, I saw my own life crumbling around me—their intense pain and vulnerability providing a glimpse into my grim future. But when I looked closer, there was also a twinkle of hope. A small diamond floating in an ocean of pain and destruction. It was that small flicker that had kept me going in the darkest days in prison. I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head since that day.
A clinking of metal on my window woke me from my daydream. I turned to see the barrel of a gun pointing right at me. Since I never took Alyson’s advice to get bulletproof glass installed, I rolled down the window.
“What are you doing here, Rudi?”
“I just came to wish you a Happy Festivus, Collins. Are you airing grievances or performing a feat of strength? Because from my vantage point, it just looks like you’re trying to get people hurt.”
“Speaking of which, put that thing away. There are children here!”
“If you were really concerned about their safety you wouldn’t have dragged the bullseye on your back down here.”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people … what if I had a gun?”
She began to laugh. “You wouldn’t have a chance against me. Or more importantly … Scroggie’s people.”
She pointed in the direction of a driveway, two houses down from where Nicole was standing with her children. “Does that mother look familiar?”
I squinted at the woman with short bob haircut and heavy overcoat, flanked by a couple of preschoolers. She looked like a typical Ossining soccer mom. “Should she?”
“Remember your friend Jacqueline from last night? And FYI—when she pretends that she’s taking pictures of her kids with her phone, it’s not a coincidence that she makes sure you’re in the background.
“I’m going to put an end to this—it’s harassment.”
“This isn’t a court case, Collins. The best move right now is to lay low.”
“She threatened Libby last night. That’s crossing the line. If she wants me, I’m here, but leave my family out of this.”
“Libby isn’t the Kris Collins love interest that I’m worried about.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re stalking the stalker,” she said, while glancing in the direction of Nicole. “And before long they’ll figure out who you’re stalking.”
“I’m not stalking anybody,” I said defensively.
Coming here might not have been the healthiest way to spend my morning, but I associated stalking with the sick and depraved. No matter what people think of many of my former clients, if they’d seen some of the threatening letters from their stalkers, or the photos to prove that they could get near their children, it would have been hard not to have empathy.
“Do I need to remind you, Collins, that you’re one slip-up from heading back to jail? And you know as well as I do that you’re committing fourth degree stalking in the state of New York, which will get you sent back—it doesn’t matter if you actually initiate contact. If you really care about this woman, walk away,” Alyson said.
She opened the door and pushed me over the console into the passenger’s seat, and climbed in. “How does she afford that house? I thought they lost all the life insurance money when the husband killed himself?”
“They did—it’s her mother’s house.”
She started the vehicle. “This is a nice piece of machinery. Can I have it if you go back to jail?”
She smiled, which clashed with her nose that looked like a piece of rhubarb pie topped with two very black eyes.
“You’ll have to ask Libby—she owns it now. I transferred all my belongings into her name before the feds could freeze my assets.”
“How about the Ferrari?”
“It’s stashed away in the barn on the Pound Ridge property. Although, rumor has it that it might be in danger of being evicted to make room for a couple of ponies.”
She began driving out of the neighborhood. I watched as Jacqueline Helada got smaller in the rear-view mirror. I wished it was that easy to get her out of my life.
“Where’s your car?” I asked.
“In Brooklyn.”
“Then how’d you get here? And come to think of it, how did you know I’d be here?”
“That’s a trade secret. But I will say that I heard you called in sick with a case of stupidity today. So this sounded like a place someone would come who was suffering with an ailment like that.”
“What’s your excuse for skipping out on work?”
“It’s a tradition for me to take off the 23rd to go Christmas shopping. I used to have a boss who would send me out two days before Christmas to get gifts for the staff and clients that he completely forgot about, even though his dedicated assistant reminded him at least ten times about it.”
I sighed. “So where are we going, Rudi?”
She smiled. “The North Pole.”
Chapter 16
Libby Wainwright entered the midtown office of Wainwright-Collins & Rudingo on Monday morning. The office was still the same as when it was used by Kris Collins Esq. to impress celebrity clients, but the clientele was less glitzy these days, which suited Libby.
She was met by Joanne, the last remaining staff member from the time before Kris went to jail. He had kept a much smaller staff than most firms, worried about leaks involving his high-profile clientele. And a big reason why he could get away with being so understaffed was that Alyson often did the work of ten people.
With Christmas on Wednesday, most of the staff took the entire week off, and Alyson had taken a personal day to finish up her Christmas shopping. Libby planned to close the office around noon and surprise Joanne by taking her out to lunch. But first there was work to be done on the Morzetti case.
