Splitsville, p.1
Splitsville, page 1
Praise for William Bernhardt and Splitsville
“Splitsville is a winner—well-written, with fully developed characters and a narrative thrust that keeps you turning the pages. William Bernhardt has not only written another expert legal thriller, but once again he has his fingers on the realities of the modern legal system, and his portrayal of a female lawyer struggling to succeed is honest and compelling.”
Gary Braver, bestselling author of Tunnel Vision and, with Tess Gerritsen, Choose Me
“Bernhardt is the undisputed master of the courtroom drama."
Library Journal
“William Bernhardt is a born stylist, and his writing through the years has aged like a fine wine….”
Steve Berry, bestselling author of The Kaiser’s Web
“Once started, it is hard to let [The Last Chance Lawyer] go, since the characters are inviting, engaging, and complicated….You will enjoy it.”
Chicago Daily Law Bulletin
“[Court of Killers] is a wonderful second book in the Daniel Pike series…[A] top-notch, suspenseful crime thriller with excellent character development…”
Timothy Hoover, fiction and nonfiction author
“I could not put Trial by Blood down. The plot is riveting—with a surprise after the ending, when I thought it was all over….This book is special.”
Nikki Hanna, author of Capture Life
“Twisted Justice has the most mind-blowing twists of any thriller I’ve ever read. And everything works.”
Rick Ludwig, author of Pele’s Fire
“Judge and Jury is a fast-paced, well-crafted story that challenges each major character to adapt to escalating attacks that threaten the very existence of their unique law firm.”
RJ Johnson, author of The Twelve Stones
“Final Verdict is a must read with a brilliant main character and surprises and twists that keep you turning pages. One of the best novels I’ve read in a while.”
Alicia Dean, award-winning author of The Northland Crime Chronicles
Splitsville
William Bernhardt
Copyright © 2021 by William Bernhardt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my mother, my sisters, and my daughters
When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.
Provers 21:15
Contents
I. Joy to the Righteous
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
II. Terror to Evildoers
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
III. Faith in a Bottle
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Afterword
Sneak Preview
About the Author
Also by William Bernhardt
Joy to the Righteous
Chapter One
His wife was the easiest to kill. His daughter was the hardest.
But they were all dead now, and soon to be buried in a mass grave beneath the terrace. One wife. Five children. Two dogs.
Darien stirred the wet concrete in the wheelbarrow. Once he finished disposing of the bodies, he would disappear and no one would ever know what happened to any of them. No one but him.
The remains would be discovered, eventually. Busybodies or relatives would break into the home. Someone might notice that part of the terrace had been resurfaced. In time, someone would start digging. But by then he would have a new life elsewhere, with a new name, a new path, and a very different calling.
His true destiny began today.
It didn’t have to happen like this. She forced his hand. How much was a man expected to tolerate, and for how long? The perpetual whining. The endless self-martyrdom. The woman was so busy playing her own violin that she couldn’t hear a word he said. He had tried to help her. Again and again. But she wouldn’t listen. She always found some trivial fault to complain about. Ignoring all he did for her. For all of them. Resenting him when she should appreciate him. When she should worship him.
You are so charming, she said. Everyone thinks you’re wonderful. They have no idea what you really are.
That part was true. They had no idea…and neither did she.
She rallied the children around her, using them as a shield and a ransom. She isolated him, distanced them from him. She would win the battle by winning the children, or so she thought. The offspring became the spoils of war.
She left him no choice.
She didn’t think he was serious, not at first. But when he raised the shovel over her head, she realized how wrong she had been. He would never forget the expression on her face, the change wrought in an eyeblink when she understood how disastrously she had miscalculated.
Blood gushed from her head. With the second blow, hot red tendrils splashed across the terrace. Each swing of the shovel spread more splatters across the ceiling, his face, his hands. Black blood puddled on the barbeque.
Then he heard Abigail scream.
His second daughter, usually at her mother’s side, was the first to see what he had done. Her voice was an earsplitting siren that shattered his already jangled nerves. Until then, he had options. He could’ve stopped it before the cancer spread to the children. But after that, he had no choice. The story would not end until all the plot threads were sewn together.
One by one the children ran out of the house, panicked, terrified. And one by one he knocked them down like targets in a shooting gallery. Grit. Bone. Blood. At one point, his hands were so slick he could barely grip the shovel. But he managed to finish the job.
Strangely, he did not feel sick afterward. He did not collapse. He did not vomit. If anything, he felt elated, surging with the natural high produced by a job well done.
Now he could work in peace, stirring the concrete and digging the grave. Afterward, he would have to clean the whole area. That would be time-consuming—but he had all the time in the world. No one could see him. No visitors were expected. He worked all night long, sometimes humming to himself. He knew the first day of his new life had arrived.
A sailing expedition might be the thing to clear his head and, after that, a change of venue. Happily, he had always maintaned an escape hatch. Money. Transportation. Safe house. All waiting.
Once the grave was finished, he returned to the pile of bodies. His wife should enter first, with her sad minions piled on top. They could be attached to her apron strings for eternity and—
Wait. Something was different. Something had changed.
It took him several moments to realize what it was.
Someone was gone.
He rummaged through the pile, shoving bodies aside and taking a blood-stained inventory.
Two were missing. His oldest daughter and his youngest. The toddler. Annalise. The baby of the family.
Perhaps his job was incomplete. Perhaps he did not see as clearly as he thought.
They could not have been gone long. And where could they go on foot this early in the morning, injured and alone? He had purposefully bought a home far from prying neighbors. He had time.
He grabbed his shovel and started running.
Elizabeth didn’t know what had happened or what she could do about it. All she knew was that somehow, miraculously, she was still alive. Like an abrupt burst of light in the darkness, her consciousness had returned. She felt stunned, disoriented. What was happening? Why had Father tried to kill her? She felt sticky with blood, and the stench surrounding her was intense, sickening. This, she realized, must be what death smells like.
Her mother and siblings lay beside her, bloody and still—except one. She saw her baby sister, Annalise, stir slightly. She was alive. But that would end if her father noticed. Somehow, Elizabeth had to get both of them out of here without him noticing.
She tried to be quiet. Father was busy shoveling and didn’t seem aware of what was happening behind him. He was lost in his own private world. She would take advantage of that.
The night was pitch black, but maybe that was to her advantage. It would be hard for him to see them in this inky darkness. Or so she hoped.
Their estate was almost a mile from any other homes, but if she could get Annalise into the nearest neighborhood, surely som eone would come to their rescue.
She had to move quickly. Once Annalise was fully conscious, she would probably not remain silent or still. She couldn’t possibly comprehend what was happening. Annalise would be even more horrified than she was.
Quietly, she rose to her feet, scooped up her sister, and raced out of the backyard.
She ran track one year in grade school. She didn’t last long because she wasn’t very good, but she learned a few things. Don’t look back. Point your toes straight ahead. She couldn’t swing her arms because she was carrying a little girl who seemed to weigh nothing at first and seemed to weigh two tons now. Every part of her ached, but she ignored that and focused on the road, the destination. She was Annalise’s only hope of survival.
She could imagine what she must look like. She could feel blood on her mouth, caked and smeared. The flat side of the shovel had struck her on the head, knocking her to the ground. How had she survived? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. She had a job to do.
She was not going down without a fight. She would fight for herself and her beautiful baby sister.
Tears flowed from her eyes with such intensity that they soaked the collar of her shirt. Waves of grief rippled through her. She saw what Father did to the others. Mother didn’t have a face anymore. He almost decapitated her. And then he started on Abigail, and Chris, and Donny. Maybe he was tired by the time he got to her. Maybe he was too far removed from reality to notice that he hadn’t killed her. Maybe—
She felt Annalise stir in her arms. “Lizzie?”
She was alive. And awake. “You’re okay, sis. You’re fine.”
“Why…are you carrying me?”
It was hard to talk and run at the same time. “Can’t explain now.”
“Daddy…hit me.”
“I know, honey. He hit all of us.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Something…isn’t right.” She tried to keep her voice flat, to mask the terror she felt.
“Where we going?”
“Someplace safe.”
“Is Mommy dead?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know. We just need to get somewhere safe.”
She saw the gates at the entrance to Forest Glen, just as the sun’s corona crept over the horizon.
She could do this. She knew she could. She—
“Elizabeth! Come back this very minute!”
Her body seized up. It was him. He was not far behind them and closing fast.
She knew her track coach wouldn’t approve, but she glanced over her shoulder.
He was swinging the shovel.
A shudder raced through her, like razor blades slicing her into pieces.
She knew she couldn’t outrace him, not with Annalise in her arms. But if she could just make it to the first house, the one on the corner…
The house had a small open window on one side. Was someone awake? Did they like the night air? She couldn’t be sure.
“Sister,” she whispered, “I love you with all my heart.”
“Lizzie…what…?”
Elizabeth ran up to the house and shoved Annalise through the window. She heard a crash as her sister landed somewhere on the other side.
“You idiot!” Father grabbed her hair and jerked her down to the ground. Pain electrified her head. He twisted her around at an excruciating angle, dropped the shovel, then grabbed her by the throat with his left hand, choking her.
His fingernails scraped her face. She tried to kick him, to grab his wrist, but she wasn’t strong or quick enough. She felt his right thumb pressing against her eye.
Another wave of pain pulsed through her. It felt as if her eyeball was pressed against the back of her brain.
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
Yes, she thought, I know. I’ve made it impossible for you to eliminate my entire family. You can’t get through that window and you can’t ring the bell without starting a conversation you don’t want to have.
Even as she felt her consciousness fading, she smiled. No matter what happens next, there will always be a dangling thread. You will always be looking over your shoulder. You will always wonder if this is the day your past comes back to destroy you.
Her last thought was a happy one. My baby sister. Annalise.
She’ll be the one who delivers the justice you deserve.
Chapter Two
Thirty-Two Years Later
Kenzi stared at the woman on the witness stand, trying not to blink, gape, or otherwise betray her thoughts. Possibly everyone in the courtroom needed an extra moment to digest what the witness had just said.
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure we all got that. Could you please repeat your last statement?”
The witness appeared peeved. “I don’t know how I could say it any more plainly. I got inseminated in the bathroom at Dick’s Drive-In.”
Kenzi glanced around the courtroom. Judge Cornwall, an African-American man in his mid-fifties, was nodding, obviously trying to maintain his judicial poker face. Even opposing counsel seemed to be struggling to remain composed.
Why could she never have a normal case?
Because in divorce court, nothing was ever normal…
“And…what brought you to this point?”
“My husband, Frank, that’s what. He’s useless in every possible way. I wanted children and I wasn’t going to get any with him.”
Kenzi took a deep, cleansing breath. Family court was always an adventure here in Seattle—Rain City, Coffee Capital of the World—and she doubted it was different anywhere else. Like most of the lawyers in her firm, she specialized in matrimonial law—divorce, separations, child custody, and everything that went with them. She’d made a reputation for herself, achieved considerable financial success, and developed a significant social media following, all from the ashes of failed romance. Severing couples who didn’t want to be together anymore suited her just fine. She didn’t see why anyone should be stuck in a relationship that didn’t work.
“You and your husband tried to get pregnant, I assume?”
“I tried. Frank wasn’t trying. I’m not sure he’s capable of trying.”
“What…exactly did you try?”
“A sexy dress. Lots of beer. Ravel’s Bolero. African tribal chants. Oysters. Fertility idols. A Wonder Woman costume. Nothing tripped his trigger.”
“You must’ve had some…intimate relations prior to marriage.”
“He faked interest for a while, but it’s pretty darn clear at this point that he’s…I’m not even sure what. A member of the LGBTQ community? Which is fine with me. Everyone should feel free to be who they truly are. But I don’t understand why in this day and age someone would fake being straight when they’re not.”
“Has your husband acknowledged this?’
“No. Frank is so deep in the closet you’d need a telescope to find him.”
“Did you try any…scientific approaches to fertility?”
“Yes. But he has a low sperm count and apparently what little he has isn’t worth much.” She paused. “Which brought me to the bathroom at Dick’s Drive-In.”
The witness, Marcia Greenburg, was Kenzi’s client, so she knew all this was coming. That didn’t make it any less startling when she heard it spoken out loud. Marcia was from a prominent Seattle family and had an excellent job—but she chose her work better than she did her lovers. She couldn’t believe Marcia’s underperforming husband wanted exclusive custody of the child he played no role in creating. Divorce was hard enough without people playing stupid games for spite.
