Due Justice

Chapter 19

Tampa, Florida

Tuesday 2:00 p.m.

January 19, 1999

By the next afternoon, I was thinking that in two more weeks I’d begin to feel like a human being. Never again would I believe those movies where the hero gets bopped on the head and jumps right back up for another round. They hadn’t found whatever it was I’d been hit with in Carly’s apartment, so I was still insisting on the bowling ball theory. If it wasn’t a bowling ball, I don’t ever want to be hit on the head with anything again.

George brought a tray to the bedroom with some fabulous consommé and fresh bread. Then, looking a little like a new colt with wobbly legs, I walked into the den and sat down. George seemed relieved I was up and about and eating. He made me hot tea and told me that he had called my office, told Margaret that I was ill and asked her to cancel the trial for the remainder of the week. The lawyers and their clients were angry but couldn’t very well argue with the explanation. George called the CJ and explained that I had a bad fall and was being treated at home for a concussion. The CJ, true to form, was solicitous of my health. Although we have our little test of wills going, he would never admit to anyone that he wasn’t able to control his own team.

Once George figured out that I was going to survive, he released his vivid anger. He went on for quite a while, but I only tuned in to the last part. “Wilhelmina, what in the hell is wrong with you?  Did it not occur to you that someone could go with you to Carly’s apartment?  Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?  I would have gone along.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You would have tried to talk me out of it, and you know it. You would have said, let Ben Hathaway handle it.”  I tried talking calmly the way I’ve seen television cops calm raving lunatics. It didn’t seem to be working.

“So what if I had?  That certainly would have been the more reasonable thing to do, anyway. If you’d done that, then whoever hit you might be in police custody now as opposed to you sitting there in that chair just barely able to move around.”   I can’t remember a time when George had ever been so angry with me. In the seventeen years we’ve been married, we’ve had relatively few fights. The ones we have had were almost always over my personal safety. I knew his reaction stemmed from concern for me, but it made me bristle nonetheless.

“George Carson, you can just stop trying to boss me around. I don’t do what you want me to do or what you say I should, and you know it. I make my own decisions.”

“And a fine one this was.”  He said as he stomped off out of the room, leaving me and my pride to deal with my pounding head, which had returned with the shouting. I sank back on the pillows and closed my eyes.

After he left me with my dignity intact, I had to admit to myself that he might have been right. Unless it was Carly who hit me, which I couldn’t believe. And then I realized that I’d heard nothing about Carly or where she was and I didn’t know if anyone else had heard from her. I still wasn’t strong enough to get up and walk after George, but I could reach the phone.

I called Hathaway. This time, when I asked to be connected, his secretary said he was out of the office. I told her Judge Carson was calling and asked him to call me back. She said she’d give him the message. I had the impression that he’d left standing orders with her that he wasn’t to be bothered by Judge Carson. Ben can be so pouty.

I tried reaching Carly at home and at the office, and I tried again to call her car phone. As before, no answer, no answer and no answer. Then, it occurred to me to check my voice mail. When I did, there was a message from Carly. Technology is so wonderful.