Gone but Not Forgotten (1993), page 1
Gone but Not Forgotten (1993)
Margolin, Phillip
Published: 2011
Gone But Not Forgotten
Phillip Margolin *
Part One.
WAKE-UP CALL.
Chapter One.
"Have you reached a verdict?" judge Alfred Neff asked the eight men an d four women seated in the jury box.
A heavy-set, barrel-chested man in his mid-sixties struggled to hi s feet. Betsy Tannenbaum checked the chart she had drawn up two weeks ag o during jury selection. This was Walter Korn, a retired welder. Bets y felt uncomfortable with Korn as the foreman. He was a member of the jur y only because Betsy had run out of challenges.
The bailiff took the verdict form from Korn and handed it to the judge.
Betsy's eyes followed the folded square of white paper. As the judg e opened it and read the verdict to himself, she watched his face for a telltale sign, but there was none.
Betsy stole a glance at Andrea Hammermill, the plump, matronly woma n sitting beside her. Andrea stared straight ahead, as subdued an d resigned as she had been throughout her trial for the murder of he r husband. The only time Andrea had shown any emotion was during direc t examination when she explained why she shot Sidney Hammermill to death.
As she told the jury about firing the revolver over and over until th e dull click of hammer on steel told her there were no more bullets, he r hands trembled, her body shook and she sobbed pitifully.
"Will the defendant please stand," judge Neff said.
Andrea got to her feet unsteadily. Betsy stood with her, eyes forward.
"Omitting the caption, the verdict reads as follows: 'We the jury, bein g duly impaneled and sworn, do find the defendant, Andrea Mari e Hammermill, not guilty ...'"
Betsy could not hear the rest of the verdict over the din in th e courtroom. Andrea collapsed on her chair, sobbing into her hands.
"it's okay," Betsy said, "it's okay." She felt tears on her cheeks a s she wrapped a protective arm around Andrea's shoulders. Someone tappe d Betsy on the arm. She looked up. Randy Highsmith, the prosecutor, wa s standing over her holding a glass of water.
"Can she use this?" he asked.
Betsy took the glass and handed it to her client.
Highsmith waited a moment while Andrea regained her composure.
"Mrs. Hammermill," he said, "I want you to know that I prosecuted yo u because I believe you took the law into your own hands. But I also wan t you to know that I don't think your husband had the right to treat yo u the way he did. I don't care who he was. If you had come to me, instea d of shooting him, I would have done my best to put him in jail. I hop e you can put this behind you and go on with your life. You seem like a good person."
Betsy wanted to thank Highsmith for his kind words, but she was to o choked up to speak. As Andrea's friends and supporters started to crow d around her Betsy pushed away from the throng to get some air. Over th e crowd she could see Highsmith, alone, bent over his table, gathering la w books and files. As the assistant district attorney started toward th e door, he noticed Betsy standing on the fringe of the crowd. Now that th e trial was over, the two lawyers were superfluous. Highsmith nodded.
Betsy nodded back.
With his back arched, his sleek muscles straining and his head tippe d back, Martin Darius looked like a wolf baying over fallen prey. Th e blonde lying beneath him tightened her legs around his waist. Dariu s shuddered and closed his eyes. The woman panted from exertion. Darius's face contorted, then he collapsed. His cheek fell against her breast. He heard the blonde's heart beat and smelled perspiration mingled with a telltale trace of perfume. The woman threw an arm across her face.
Darius ran a lazy hand along her leg and glanced across her flat stomac h at the cheap digital clock on the motel end table.
It was two p.m. Darius sat up slowly and dropped his legs over the sid e of the bed. The woman heard the bed move and watched Darius cross th e room.
"I wish you didn't have to go," she said, unable to hide he r disappointment.
Darius grabbed his kit off the low-slung chest of drawers and padde d toward the bathroom.
"I've got a meeting at three," he answered, without looking back.
Darius washed away the sheen of sweat he had worked up during sex, the n toweled himself thoroughly in the narrow confines of the motel bathroom.
Steam from the shower misted the mirror. He wiped the glass surface an d saw a gaunt face with deep-set blue eyes. His neatly trimmed beard an d mustache framed a devil's mouth that could be seductive or intimidating.
Darius used a portable dryer, then combed his straight black hair an d beard.
When he opened the bathroom door, the blonde was still in bed. A fe w times, she had tried to lure him back into bed -after he was showere d and dressed. He guessed she was trying to exercise sexual control ove r him and refused to give in.
"I've decided we should stop seeing each other," Darius said casually a s he buttoned his white silk shirt.
The blonde sat up in bed, a shocked expression on her normall y confident, cheer-leader face. He had her attention now. She was not use d to being dumped. Darius turned slightly so she would not see his smile.
"Why?" she managed as he stepped into his charcoal gray suit trousers.
Darius turned to look at her so he could enjoy the play of emotions o n her face. "For your credit, you are beautiful and good in bed," he said , knotting his tie, "but you're boring."
The blonde gaped at him for a moment, then flushed with anger.
"You shit."
Darius laughed and picked up his suit jacket.
"You can't mean it," she went on, her anger passing quickly.
"I'm very serious. We're through. It was nice for a while, but I want t o move on."
"And you think you can use me, then toss me away like a cigarette," sh e said, the anger back. "I'll tell your wife, you son-of-a-bitch. I'l l call her right now."
Darius stopped smiling. The expression on his face forced the blond e back against the headboard. Darius strolled around the bed Slowly, unti l he was standing over her. She cowered back and put her hands up. Dariu s watched her for a moment, the way a biologist would study a specimen o n a slide. Then he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm until she wa s bent forward on the bed, her forehead against the crumpled sheets.
Darius admired the curve of her body from her backside to her slende r neck as she knelt in pain. He ran his free hand along her rump, the n applied pressure to her wrist to make her body quiver. He liked watchin g her breasts sway rapidly as she jerked to attention.
"Let me make one thing very clear to you," Darius said in the same ton e he might use with a recalcitrant child. "You will never call my wife, o r me, ever. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the blonde gasped as he twisted her arm behind her, pushing i t slowly up toward her shoulder.
"Tell me what you will never do," he commanded calmly, releasing th e pressure for a moment and stroking the curve of her buttocks with hi s hand. "I won't call, Martin. I swear," she wept.
"Why won't you call my wife or bother me?" Darius asked, puttin g pressure on the wrist.
The blonde gasped, twitching with the pain. Darius fought back a giggle , then eased up so she could answer.
"I won't call," she repeated between sobs.
"But you haven't said why," Darius responded in a reasonable tone.
"Because you said I shouldn't. I'll do what you want.
Please, Martin, don't hurt me anymore."
Darius released his hold and the woman collapsed, sobbing pitifully.
"That's a good answer. A better one would be that you won't do anythin g to annoy me, because I can do far worse to you than I just have. Far , far worse."
Darius knelt by her face and took out his lighter. It was solid gold , with an inscription from his wife. The bright orange flame wavered i n front of the blonde's terrified eyes. Darius held it close enough fo r her to feel the heat.
"Far, far worse," Darius repeated. Then he closed the lighter and walke d across the motel room. The blonde rolled over and lay with the whit e sheet tangled around her hips, leaving her slender legs and smooth bac k exposed. Each time she sobbed, her shoulders trembled.
Martin Darius watched her in the motel mirror as he adjusted hi s wine-red tie. He wondered if he could convince her this was -all a joke , then get her to submit to him again. The thought brought a smile to hi s thin lips.
For a moment, he toyed with the image of the woman kneeling before hi m and taking him in her mouth, convinced that he wanted her back. it woul d be a challenge to get her on her knees after the way he had crushed he r spirit. Darius was confident he could do it, but there was a meeting t o attend.
"The room's paid for, he said. "You can stay as long as you want."
"Can't we talk? Please, Martin," the woman begged, sitting up an d turning on the bed so that her small, sad breasts were exposed, bu t Darius was already closing the motel room door.
Outside, the sky looked ominous. Thick, black clouds were rolling i n from the coast. Darius unlocked the door of his jet-black Ferrari an d silenced the alarm.
In a short while, he would do something that would increase the woman's pain. Something exquisite that would make it impossible for her t o forget him. Darius smiled in anticipation, then drove off without th e slightest suspicion that someone was photographing him from the corne r of the motel parking lot.
Martin
The heavy rain kept the pleasure boats off the Willamette River, but a rusty tanker was pushing through the storm toward the port at Swa n Island. Across the river was an architectural mix of functional, gray , futuristic buildings linked by sky bridges, Michael Graves's whimsical , post-modern Portland Building, the rose-colored U. S. Bank skyscraper , and three-story historical landmarks dating back to the eightee n hundreds. Darius had made his fortune adding to Portland's skyline an d rebuilding sections of the city.
Darius changed lanes just as a reporter began the lead story on the fiv e o'clock news.
"This is Larry Prescott at the Multnomah County Courthouse speaking wit h Betsy Tannenbaum, the attorney for Andrea Hammermill, who has just bee n acquitted in the shooting death of her husband, City Commissioner Sidne y Hammermill.
"Betsy, why do you think the jury voted 'not guilty'?"
"I believe it was an easy choice once the jurors understood ho w battering affects the mind of a woman who undergoes the frequen t beatings and abuse Andrea suffered."
"You've been critical of this prosecution from the start. Do you thin k the case would have been handled differently if Mr. Hammermill was not a mayoral candidate?"
"The fact that Sidney Hammermill was wealthy and very active in Orego n politics may have influenced the decision to prosecute."
"Would it have made a difference if District Attorney Alan Page ha d assigned a woman deputy to the case?"
"It could have. A woman would have been able to evaluate the evidenc e more objectively than a man and might have declined prosecution."
"Betsy, this is your second acquittal in a murder case using th e battered wife defense. Earlier this year, you won a million-dolla r verdict against an anti-abortion group and Time magazine listed you a s one of America's up-and-coming female trial lawyers. How are yo u handling your newfound fame?"
There was a moment of dead air. When Betsy answered she sounde d uncomfortable.
"Believe me, Larry, I'm much too busy with my law practice and m y daughter to worry about anything more pressing than my next case an d tonight's dinner."
The car phone rang. Darius turned down the radio.
The Ferrari purred as it pulled away from the traffic. Darius glide d into the fast lane, then picked up on the third ring.
"Mr. Darius?"
"Who is this?"
Only a few people knew the number of his car phone and he did no t recognize the voice.
"You don't need to know my name."
"I don't need to speak to you, either."
"Maybe not, but I thought you'd be interested in what I have to say."
"I don't know how you got this number, but my patience is wearing thin.
Get to the point or I'll disconnect."
"Right. You're a businessman. I shouldn't waste your time. Still, if yo u hung up now, I can guarantee I'd be gone but not forgotten."
"What did you say?"
"Got your attention, huh?"
Darius took a deep, slow breath. Suddenly there were beads o f perspiration on his brow and upper lip.
"Do you know Captain Ned's? It's a seafood place on Marine Drive. Th e bar's pretty dark. Drive there now and we'll talk."
The connection was broken. Darius lowered the phone onto its cradle. He had slowed without realizing it and there was a car on his bumper.
Darius crossed two lanes of traffic and pulled onto the shoulder of th e road.
His heart was racing. There was a shooting pain in his temples. Dariu s closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. He willed hi s breathing back to normal and the pain in his temples eased.
The voice on the phone was rough and uncultured.
The man would be after money, of course. Darius smiled grimly. He deal t with greedy men all the time. They were the easiest to manipulate. The y always believed the person they were dealing with was as stupid an d frightened as they were.
The pain in his temples was gone now and Darius was breathing easil y again. In a way he was grateful to the caller. He had grown complacent , believing he was safe after all these years, but you were never safe. He would consider this a wake-up call.
Captain Ned's was weathered wood and rain-spattered glass jutting ou t over the Columbia River. The bar was as dark as the voice promised.
Darius sat in a booth near the kitchen, ordered a beer and waite d patiently. A young couple entered, arm in arm. He dismissed them. A t all, balding salesman in a disheveled suit sat on a stool at the bar.
Most of the tables were taken by couples. Darius scanned the othe r booths. A heavyset man in a trench coat smiled and stood up after Dariu s fixed on him.
"I was waiting to see how long it would take you," the man said as h e slipped into the booth. Darius did not reply. The man shrugged an d stopped smiling. It was unsettling to sit opposite Martin Darius, eve n if you thought you held the winning hand.
"We can be civilized about this or you can be bitchy," the man said. "I t don't matter to me. In the end, you'll pay."
"What are you selling and what do you want?" Darius answered, studyin g the fleshy face in the dim light.
"Always the businessman, so let's get down to business. I've been t o Hunter's Point. The old newspapers were full of information. There wer e pictures, too. I had to look hard, but it was you. I got one here, i f you'd like to see," the man said, sliding his hand out of his coa t pocket and pushing a photocopy of a newspaper front page across th e table. Darius studied it for a moment, then slid it back.
"Ancient history, friend."
"Oh? You think so? I have friends on the force, Martin. The public don't know yet, but I do. Someone has been leaving little notes and blac k roses around Portland.
I figure it's the same person who left 'em in HUNTER's Point. What d o you think?"
"I think you're a very clever man, Mr. ... ?" Darius said, stalling fo r time to dope out the implications.
The man shook his head. "You don't need my name, Martin. You just hav e to pay me."
"How much are we talking about?"
"I thought two hundred and fifty thousand dollars would be fair. It'd cost you at least that much in attorney fees."
The man had thinning, straw-colored hair. Darius could see flesh betwee n the strands when he bent forward. The nose had been broken. There was a gut, but the shoulders were thick and the chest heavy.
"Have you told the people who hired you about Hunter's Point?" Dariu s asked.
There was a brief flicker of surprise, then a flash of nicotine-staine d teeth.
"That was terrific. I ain't even gonna ask how you figured it out. Tel l me what you think."
"I think you and I are the only ones who know, for now."
The man did not answer.
"There is one thing I'd like to know," Darius said, eyeing hi m curiously. "I know what you think I've done.
What I'm capable of doing. Why aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"
The man laughed.
"You're a pussy, Martin, just like the other rape-os I run into in th e joint. Guys who were real tough with women and not so tough with anyon e else. You know what I used to do to those guys? I made 'em my girls , Martin. I turned 'em into little queens. I'd do it to you too, if I w asn't more interested in your money."
While Darius considered this information, the man watched him with a confident smirk.
"It will take me a while to come up with that much money," Darius said.
"How much time can you give me?"
"Today is Wednesday. How's Friday?"
Darius pretended to be considering the problems involved wit h liquidating stocks and closing accounts.
"Make it Monday. A lot of my holdings are in land.
It will take me until Friday to arrange for loans and sell some stock."
The man nodded. "I heard you didn't believe in bullshit. Good. You'r e doing the right thing. And, let me tell you, friend, I'm not someone t o fuck with. Also, I'm not greedy. This'll be a one-shot deal."
The man stood. Then he thought of something and grinned at Darius.
"Once I'm paid, I'll be gone and forgotten."
The man laughed at his little joke, turned his back and left the bar.
Darius watched him go. He did not find the joke, or anything else abou t the man, amusing.
