Justifiable Means

  It took a moment for the face to register in Larry’s mind, but suddenly he recognized the one man he’d never considered might be here.

  Edward Pendergrast.

  Some cross of rage and anguish burst inside Larry’s mind.

  Pendergrast grinned as their eyes made contact, then, one by one, he regarded the faces in their row until he came to Melissa with her parents, the same parents he’d terrorized before.

  Instead of taking a seat, he stood still at the end of their row, that smug grin on his face, that victorious expression of hardened pride, of invincible evil.

  Melissa was stunned at the sight of him. Her parents slowly turned and saw him.

  Pendergrast lifted his hand in a wave, as if they were all old friends, then slid into a seat across the aisle from them.

  Larry’s teeth clenched, and his breathing grew heavy. He bolted out of his seat and stepped around Melissa and her parents. Pushing out of the row, he headed toward Pendergrast. But Melissa caught his arm. “Larry, don’t. Please—just stay here.”

  “I can’t,” he bit out, and kept going.

  Pendergrast was enjoying this, and he beamed up at Larry as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t ole gullible Detective Millsaps. Believer of beautiful women. Swallows their stories hook, line, and sinker. But all’s forgiven, man. There is justice, after all.” He held out his hand to shake, but ignoring it, Larry leaned over until his face was square with Pendergrast’s.

  “Don’t talk to me about justice,” he said through clenched teeth. “You don’t have any business in here.”

  “Au contraire,” Pendergrast said with a laugh. “As the victim of her little fantasy, I’d say I belong here even more than you do. I might even have something to say to the judge.”

  Larry’s face paled, and he glanced back over at Melissa. She’d shown unbelievable composure until now, but since Pendergrast had entered her face had reddened and was twisted into a fragile, on-the-verge expression that made his heart ache. Her parents, too, looked as if they might come undone.

  Larry pointed a finger in Pendergrast’s face. “I want you to know something, Pendergrast.”

  “Soames. The name is Soames.”

  Larry wasn’t daunted at his coolness. “I’m going to get you, Pendergrast,” he said. “One of these days, I’m going to get you.”

  “I don’t think so, Millsaps. Better men than you have tried.”

  “Watch me,” Larry said. He stepped back across the aisle and bent down to Lynda’s ear. “He says he’s going to say something. Can he do that?”

  She gave Pendergrast a troubled look. “I’m afraid so. The judge will listen to anyone who has something to say about this. The wronged party always has the right to speak.”

  “Then let me speak,” Larry said. “I’ll tell them what a good person she is, that she had good reason—”

  “No,” Lynda said, touching his hand. “I’m sorry, Larry, but I don’t think it would help. You’re the cop she originally lied to. It would be better if you stayed seated. Melissa does plan to address the court herself. I think that’ll be enough.”

  “But you’ll tell the judge about his past record, won’t you? You’ll tell him about Sandy?”

  “It’s all in the PSI, Larry. The judge has reviewed all of it.”

  “But maybe he hasn’t made up his mind yet!”

  She looked to the front of the room, and swallowed. “I’m going to do what I can, Larry. Please, just try to keep Melissa calm.”

  Miserably, he pushed further down the row, past her parents, and sat on the other side of Melissa.

  Melissa was trembling worse now, and her palms were sweating. He didn’t know how she would make it through this. Or how he would. “What did he say?” she asked.

  “He’s just trying to scare you,” he said. “It’s intimidation. Just ignore him.”

  Slipping his arm around her shoulders, Larry pulled her against him and pressed his mouth into her hair. Quietly, he prayed for her, not in words she could hear, but he knew that she knew what he was doing.

  The gavel banged twice, making her jump, and the bailiff called out the case code. “Pinellas County versus Melissa Nelson.”

  Melissa got up, wobbling slightly, and Lynda slipped out of her seat with her files and led her to the judge.

  Slipping into the seat she had previously occupied, Larry took her mother’s hand, squeezed it. And then Jim Nelson, her father, reached over and took both of theirs. They drew strength from each other’s touch as they watched Melissa take a seat at the table in the front of the courtroom.

  “Is she going to say anything?” Jim asked him in a whisper.

  Larry shook his head. “She wasn’t sure when we talked about it, but Lynda wants her to, I think.” He glanced over at Pendergrast, who had sat up straighter, as if preparing to go forward himself. Every muscle in Larry’s body tightened.

  The state attorney addressed the court in routine legalese concerning the findings of the presentencing investigation. When he recommended that the judge give Melissa at least two years in the state penitentiary, Larry closed his eyes.

  “Your honor, before you rule on this, there’s someone here who would like to address the court.”

  “Fine,” the judge said. “Go ahead.”

  The state attorney turned back and nodded to Pendergrast. With a solemn look on his face—the look of a fine, upstanding citizen who has been deeply wronged—he made his way to the front of the room.

  Melissa started to rise in protest, but Lynda made her sit back down and whispered to her as Melissa’s face reddened and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Your Honor,” Pendergrast said, “I’m Edward Soames, the person this woman accused of raping her. I just wanted to say a few words before you decide on her sentence.”

  “All right,” the judge said, taking off his glasses and fixing his full attention on Pendergrast.

  Pendergrast cleared his throat and looked at his feet, looking for all the world like a clean-cut professional man who was nervous coming before the judge. “One day I was a successful architect with a lot of friends, just living life and not bothering anybody, and the next day, because of one lie that someone told about me, I’m branded a rapist, I lost my job, my friends won’t talk to me—” His voice seemed to catch, and he stopped, swallowed, and started again. “You see, this all started because I didn’t return her interest in me.”

  Across the room, Melissa’s muffled cry interrupted, and the judge glanced at her. Lynda quieted her.

  “So she got even,” Pendergrast went on. “Now I have to live the rest of my life with this stigma following me around. Even though the charges have been dropped, my friends are still suspicious. She made a mess out of my life, and I didn’t do a thing to deserve it.” He seemed to get emotional, stopped, and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he looked up at the judge. “That’s—that’s all I have to say, Your Honor. Just think about that before you decide on her sentence. Women shouldn’t be allowed to just go around ruining people’s lives. They shouldn’t get away with it.”

  The judge seemed moved. “Thank you, Mr. Soames.”

  As Pendergrast turned around to go back to his seat, he got that grin on his face again and glanced back at Larry. He was proud of himself.

  Lynda stood up. “Your honor, my client would like to address the court herself. That is, if she can still manage to speak after that classic performance.”

  “All right,” the judge said. “Proceed.”

  Melissa stood up, her knees shaking. She couldn’t stop the sobs still overtaking her. “His name is not Soames,” she said. “It’s Pendergrast, and he’s a liar. He killed my sister—”

  The judge, looking disgusted, slapped his hand on the table. “Unless you have a murder conviction to back that up, Miss Nelson, I suggest that you rephrase it. Otherwise I might be led to believe that you haven’t learned your lesson.”

  She covered her mouth and tried to pull hersel
f together. Finally, attempting to speak again, she said, “He caused my sister’s suicide. He’s a rapist, Your Honor. She wasn’t the only one.”

  He shook his head and began taking notes, as if he’d already dismissed her for making false accusations again.

  “Your Honor, I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. But I was trying to right things. The court system let my family down, and he was still out there—you just don’t know how desperate you can get, when you find your only sister dead in a bathtub, and the guy who ruined her life is still walking the streets, working, living like a normal person—”

  She broke down then, covering her face, and collapsed back into her chair, unable to go on.

  The judge looked up, waiting for her to go on. It was impossible to tell from his expression whether he was disgusted or sympathetic. “Do you have anything else to say, Miss Nelson?” he asked.

  Melissa couldn’t answer. She only shook her head and tried to muffle her sobs.

  Lynda stood up, obviously shaken that Melissa’s speech hadn’t been more eloquent, and that she hadn’t been able to finish what she’d tried so hard to say. “No, You Honor. She doesn’t.”

  “Anyone else?”

  She hesitated, then turned and glanced back at the three people huddled together in the back. “Yes,” she said finally. “One more. Detective Larry Millsaps.”

  Larry sat still for a moment, not sure he had heard correctly. Finally, prying his hands away from Melissa’s mother, he got up and headed to the bench.

  Because it was an informal hearing, he stood in front of the judge and began speaking without preamble. “Uh . . . Your Honor,” he said, “I’ve seen a lot of criminals in my day. I deal with them day in and day out. Melissa Nelson is not a criminal. She’s an innocent young woman who’s been deeply wounded by her sister’s rape and suicide. I saw the pictures after Sandy’s rape, your honor. They were brutal. And I saw Pendergrast’s rap sheet. The very reason he changed his name is that he had these other arrests on his record. Yes, there was a stigma. There always is when one is charged with rape—not once, but twice. Yes, this third charge was false, but if you had lived through what Melissa and her family have lived through, and knew that a rapist was still out on the streets, waiting to terrorize more women, your state of mind wouldn’t be the best in the world, either. As a police officer, I can say that Melissa is no threat to anyone. But if you send her to prison—” His voice cracked, and he looked up at the judge, his eyes pleading. “—with people who have committed horrible crimes for which they deserve that kind of punishment, I’m just not sure she can handle it, Your Honor. I’m not sure she’ll survive it.”

  He looked at Melissa, still lost in her pain and grief, then brought his eyes back to the judge. “Look at her, Your Honor. How do you think she’ll fare in prison? Will any justice really be served by sending her there?”

  Unable to think of anything other than getting down on his knees and begging, he uttered, “Thank you,” and went back to his seat.

  The judge put his glasses back on and began to study his notes again. He scribbled something, frowned, then looked back up at Melissa. Setting his pencil down, he steepled his hands in front of his face.

  “Well, we have two drastically different stories from three different people. While I do understand the emotional nature of this case, and perhaps even the reasons behind her actions, I can’t condone anyone’s calling the police on someone they don’t like, for something that that party may or may not have done years ago to someone else. I can’t condone anyone sitting before a grand jury and lying. Miss Nelson, this man has not been convicted of a crime. Citizens cannot pin crimes on innocent people, no matter what they may think they deserve, and get away with it. There has to be a punishment for that. I think six months in the Pinellas County Correctional Facility for Women should be enough of an example to anyone else who ever thinks of doing such a thing.”

  Despite her mother’s muffled scream and Melissa’s guttural sob, he banged his gavel again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Six months. The words took a moment to penetrate into Larry’s mind and sink down into his heart.

  Had the judge really given her six months in jail?

  Melissa sat stiff, stunned, as the judge continued reading his decision. He heard her mother’s muffled, S strangled cry. Across the aisle, Pendergrast was laughing.

  The rapist was free. Melissa was going to jail.

  It didn’t compute, wouldn’t sink in, and Larry found himself coming to his feet as the bailiffs came to take her away. They weren’t giving her time to say good-bye, or to break down and cry, or to prepare for where she was going. She looked quickly back at her parents, then at Lynda, her eyes brimming with apology and remorse. Then her wet eyes connected with Larry’s.

  It can’t be right, his eyes told her. It’s not over!

  But they all knew it was over, as the bailiffs ushered her out of the room.

  Stepping on the feet of the people next to him, Larry hurried out of the row, then ran out of the courtroom and around through the back door where she would come out. His breathing came too hard, and he felt light-headed, as if he might pass out. He leaned back against the wall, his mind racing as he tried to find something that made sense.

  The rapist free . . . Melissa in jail . . .

  A sheriff’s car drove up and idled at the door, and in a moment, the door opened. The two bailiffs came out with Melissa between them.

  Fortunately, he knew one of them. “Al, let me talk to her for a minute. Just for a minute. What would it hurt?”

  His friend glanced around at the sheriff and the others, and they all shrugged. “All right, Larry, but just a minute.”

  Larry looked at her for a moment, aware of the people standing around them. She was struggling to hold back her tears, but her chin trembled with the effort. Finally, he pulled her into a smothering embrace. “It’s okay, Larry,” she whispered in a fragile, broken voice. “Really, it is. I expected this.”

  “But Melissa—”

  Her face changed, and her eyes fixed on some point across the street. Larry followed her startled gaze to the man standing there alone, leaning against the building opposite them, grinning and rubbing her nose in his freedom.

  Something exploded inside him, and he almost launched across the street with his hands poised to grab Pendergrast by the throat. But Melissa stopped him. “Watch him for me, Larry. Catch him on something, okay? Something real.”

  He turned back to her. “I promise,” he whispered. “And I’ll come visit you. First visiting day. I’ll be there.”

  “No, don’t,” she said. “I don’t want you to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—I don’t want you to see me that way. You don’t owe me anything.” The bailiffs ushered her toward the back door of the car.

  “I’m coming anyway,” he said. When she didn’t answer, he looked around one of the bailiffs at her car door. “Did you hear me, Melissa? I’ll be there!”

  She slid in and they slammed the door, and she looked at him through the window. Tears streamed down her face as they got into the front. As the car drove away, she looked down at her hands.

  When the car was out of sight, Larry started to cross the street.

  Pendergrast was gone, but it felt as if the evil lingered in his wake.

  “I’ll get him for you, Melissa,” Larry whispered, looking up and down the sidewalk for a sign of him. “If it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Pinellas County Correctional Facility for Women in Clearwater had been finished—after a flood of controversy over how much money the separate facility was costing the state—just six months before, not far from the jail that had housed both men and women for so long. Legislators had insisted that it was needed, due to the growing number of women being convicted of crimes. In her wildest dreams, Melissa had never guessed that it would be her home for six months.

/>   The building still smelled like paint, and the floor down the long hall was polished, but she knew that that appearance of clean comfort was deceiving. Within these air-conditioned walls were other women who had committed crimes. Drug dealers, prostitutes, child abusers, thieves—the reports she’d read about the women imprisoned here had seemed like fantastic stories to her then, stories of dangerous women who’d surrendered to evil in their lives. Now Melissa was one of them.

  The corrections officer who oriented her didn’t care that hers had not been a violent crime, or that it had been designed to bring justice to someone who deserved it. To her, Melissa was only a number: 6324655. A faceless, nameless, colorless member of the inmate population, to be treated no differently from the women who’d been sent here for acts she couldn’t even imagine.

  Wearing her prison-issued orange jumpsuit with the words PINELLAS COUNTY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY in black block letters on the back, and carrying an armload of provisions—sheets, a thin pillow, a blanket, and the few things she had been allowed to bring from home in a small paper sack, which had been carefully searched—she followed the CO through the maze of locking doors and meandering hallways. They came to a wall of yellow iron bars. The guard pushed a few buttons, and the wall began to rise.

  “You’ll be in cellblock C,” the big woman said, leading her into the cellblock. “We’re putting you with Chloe.”

  “Chloe?”

  “Yeah.” The guard gave a cursory glance back at her. “If you start trouble, you’ll be put in isolation. Trust me, you won’t like it. If she—or anybody else for that matter—makes trouble with you, call a guard. Chloe likes to fight.”

  Melissa swallowed her terror and tried desperately to keep tears from filling her eyes. “Isn’t there someone else, then?”

  The woman seemed amused. “What are you looking for? A welcoming committee? Sorry, but our Welcome Wagon has four flat tires. Truth is, the other prisoners usually do harass the new ones, especially when they look as scared as you do.”