Bodily Harm (41 page)

But he didn’t. It was over. He had done what he had set out to do, yet he found no joy in any of it.

“When’s the custody hearing for Jake?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Have you hired a lawyer yet?”

“I’m going to handle it myself.”

“Isn’t there a saying about a lawyer who represents himself having a fool for a client?”

The baby dropped the bottle and cried out. Jenkins repositioned it and held the end. “He’s getting big,” Sloane said.

“You want to hold him?”

Sloane shook his head. “Maybe in a little while.”

“We’re going to raise him Catholic.”

It seemed an odd comment. “When did you make that decision?”

“Pretty much when Alex told me; it was part of the package if I wanted to marry her. So, we’re looking for a godfather.”

Sloane took a bite of enchilada, fighting back his emotions. “I’m not Catholic,” he said.

“No, but you’re the best man we know. I think that qualifies.” Jenkins paused. “Remember that night I dropped you off at the hotel?”

Sloane did.

“Don’t go to that island, David.”

“Only to visit you,” he said.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

CIVIC CENTER COURTHOUSE

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Sloane found the family law department and pulled open the door to a modern courtroom. He wondered about Jenkins’s admonition of having a fool for a client. Maybe—but he also knew that no attorney would be more motivated than he to get Jake back. Jake was all Sloane had left. Lose him, and Sloane lost his only remaining connection with Tina.

Brightly lit from recessed incandescent lighting, the windowless room resembled a courtroom only by its furnishings: a gallery of pews behind a wood railing, and two tables facing an elevated bench. Modern technology provided not only the light, but also a climate-controlled temperature for everyone’s comfort.

Sloane pulled out his notepad and pen and thumbed through the pleadings filed by the attorney for Frank Carter, which, as he had assumed, was not going to be Jeff Harper. He then read the responsive pleadings prepared by Tom Pendergrass, who had done a good job. Legally, Frank Carter had an advantage, being the boy’s biological father, but Sloane would present evidence that it was only genetics. For thirteen years Carter had divorced
himself from his son, rarely visiting Jake in San Francisco and never traveling to Seattle. He had rarely attended any of the boy’s school or athletic functions, and had never financially supported Jake. Tina’s will, in which she expressed her desire for Sloane to raise Jake, would confirm Frank was not a fit parent, and Sloane would leave no doubt Frank Carter did not love his son and only sought custody because the Larsens were paying him.

“Mr. Sloane?”

A bear of a man introduced himself as Dean Flannigan, which was the name on the pleadings. With a shock of dirty blond hair and a beard that covered the knot of his tie, Flannigan resembled Kenny Rogers before the plastic surgery. The man was so big Sloane did not immediately see Frank Carter, who stood off to the side dressed like a kid going for a prep school interview in his navy blue suit, white shirt, and tie.

Flannigan had a thick and calloused hand. “Do you have counsel?”

“I’ll be handling the hearing myself.”

Together, Sloane and Flannigan advised the judge’s clerk that both sides were present. The clerk asked them to wait at the bench.

“Where are the Larsens?” Sloane asked. “I subpoenaed them.”

“I don’t know,” Flannigan said. “I represent Mr. Carter. Their attorney did, however, leave me a message this morning indicating they will be here.”

Sloane wanted to call bullshit; he knew very well who was paying Flannigan’s bill, but he decided to let it go. Besides, Judge Marianne Zelinsky had glided into her courtroom.

“Counsel,” she said, “our goal here today is the health and well-being of the child. It is my job, and it is my intention, to find the best living situation for Jake.” With short gray hair and thick black-framed glasses, Zelinsky furrowed her brow frequently.

“That’s everyone’s goal, Judge,” Flannigan said.

Sloane refrained from comment. There would be no need for a hearing if everyone had Jake’s best interests at heart, but he would prove that soon enough. He also suspected that Flannigan, a local practitioner, had previously appeared before Zelinsky.

“You have complied with the temporary restraining order, Mr. Sloane?” Zelinsky asked.

“I have, Your Honor,” Sloane said.

“Mr. Flannigan?”

“I am unaware of any violation of that order, Judge.”

“Good. Then we’ll get started.”

Sloane returned to counsel table, and Flannigan retrieved Carter from the back of the courtroom, whispering final instructions before leading him to his seat beside him. Shortly after nine the judge’s staff filed into the courtroom and Zelinsky took the bench.

“Who will testify today?”

Sloane and Frank Carter both indicated they would testify. Zelinsky asked them to raise their hands and swore them in.

“All right, Mr. Flannigan, you may proceed.”

Flannigan pushed back his chair and stood. The fabric of his suit stretched to cover his ample girth. “Judge, I’d like to ask questions of Mr. Sloane if I may?”

Sloane was surprised. He had thought that Flannigan would open with Frank Carter.

“Mr. Sloane, please come forward and take the stand,” Zelinsky said.

Sloane complied, feeling odd to be at the other end of an attorney’s questions. Flannigan stepped forward, a paper in hand. He established that Sloane had moved to Seattle with Tina and Jake when she took a job at an architecture firm and that they had subsequently married.

“You otherwise have no other connection to that city.”

“Define connection,” Sloane said.

Flannigan nodded, as if it was a legitimate clarification, but Sloane knew where the lawyer was going with his questions. “You have no relatives in Seattle, no mother or father, no brothers or sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, connections. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“In fact, you have no relatives to speak of anywhere, do you?”

“No,” Sloane said.

“You were raised in foster homes, several of them, were you not?”

“I was.”

“Four to be exact.”

The Larsens were pulling no punches. Sloane didn’t answer, and Flannigan didn’t push him.

“You own a home in Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“And that is where you lived with the deceased and Jake since moving there?”

“Except for a brief time before we bought the home, that’s correct.”

“That is the home that your wife was murdered in.”

Sloane paused. “Yes, it is.”

“Have you been back to that home since that night?”

Damn. The Larsens must have hired a private investigator; Sloane hadn’t considered that. “No, I have not.”

“You haven’t been back to the home at all, not once?”

“No.”

“I see.” Flannigan paced for a moment with a concerned expression. “And have you avoided returning to the home because to do so would be emotionally painful?”

Again Sloane knew where Flannigan was going with his questions but he could not redirect it and he could not avoid it. “Yes, I thought that it might be.”

“And do you think returning would be emotionally painful for a thirteen-year-old boy who watched his mother die in that house?”

Sloane fought to not sound combative. “I know it would be difficult for Jake, and for me. But we would get through that together. We could also sell the house and find another place.”

“And perhaps another school, another set of friends.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Flannigan had made his point. “You have been providing for both Jake and Mrs. Sloane since moving to Seattle. In fact, you make a very good living as an attorney.”

“I could care for Jake very well.”

“Financially I’m sure you could.”

“And emotionally,” Sloane offered.

“You also do quite a bit of legal commentary on television, don’t you?”

“I have.”

“Chicago, New York, Los Angeles. I imagine that takes up quite a bit of your time, in addition to the full-time practice of law. Tell me, Mr. Sloane, how is it you plan on taking care of a thirteen-year-old boy while running a highly successful legal practice and flying around the country as a legal commentator?”

“I’ve hired two attorneys so I could cut back on my hours at the office and I would stop being a legal commentator.”

“And who would watch Jake while you were at work?”

“Jake is in school. He participates in after-school activities. There were many nights I arrived home before him.”

“You try cases, do you not?”

“I do.”

“What would you do if you were in the midst of a trial and couldn’t get home until very late?”

“I would work more at home.”

“But you have no relatives to help you out, to help care for the boy, isn’t that true?”

“We’ve already established that, counselor.”

“Just answer the question,” Judge Zelinsky admonished.

“No, I don’t,” Sloane said.

“So Jake could find himself alone in this house that you yourself have refused to return to because it is emotionally too upsetting, is that right?”

“It would be very rare, and I would take some time off until we both became acclimated.”

Flannigan let it go. “Prior to living with the deceased and Jake for a relatively short period of time—”

“It was two years. More than two years,” Sloane interjected.

“That’s right. Prior to living with Jake and his mother you lived alone, correct?”

“I did.”

“And we’ve already established that you grew up without a father or mother. Is that a fair assessment? I mean you did not establish a parental relationship with any of the foster parents, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, but Jake and I didn’t have that kind of relationship.” Sloane directed his next comments to Frank Carter. “No one was paying me to care for the boy. I love Jake. I love being his father. It’s the reason I intended to adopt him. It’s the reason Tina’s will specified me as his legal guardian should anything happen to her.”

“Yes, well, let’s take a look at that adoption paperwork that you submitted with your briefing, shall we?” Flannigan flipped through a binder at counsel table and produced the paperwork. “I noticed it wasn’t filled out.”

“We hadn’t had a chance.”

“Too busy?”

Sloane bit his lip.

Flannigan said, “I also noticed that Mrs. Sloane never signed the document.”

“We discussed it as a family just before she died.”

“And I noticed that Mrs. Sloane’s will left all of her personal estate in a trust for Jake, is that correct?”

Sloane struggled to remain composed. “Tina and I made that decision when she sold her flat in San Francisco. Since I was well off financially, I told her to put it in a trust for Jake.”

The examination continued for nearly an hour. When Sloane stepped down he felt drained and was seriously reconsidering his decision to handle the hearing himself. After a brief recess, Flannigan called Frank Carter to the stand.

Flannigan wasted little time painting a contrast between Carter’s and Sloane’s backgrounds.

“How long have you been in the commercial brokerage business?”

“About three years,” Carter said. “I went back to school.”

“How much do you earn?”

“It depends. The last couple of years weren’t very good for anyone.”

“Say on average.”

“Between sixty-five and a hundred thousand.”

“What hours do you normally work?”

“Well, that’s kind of the beauty of the job. I don’t have set hours. I can pretty much make my own. So I’m home when Jake leaves in the morning and when he gets home.”

“Do you drive him to school?”

“Sometimes, but the house is close enough he can ride his bike. There are a couple of other kids in the neighborhood he’s become friends with. They ride together, and I’m encouraging it, you know, so he can make new friends.”

“Do you own your own home?”

“I just bought one.”

“You lived in an apartment before that?”

“Yes, but I thought a house would be a better environment for Jake. He has his own room and a yard. We just got a dog. Plus it’s a better school district.”

The news that Jake had a dog stabbed Sloane in the chest.

“Do you take Jake to school?”

“And pick him up.”

“What happens if something unexpected comes up?”

“I have a lot of help. My parents are close by. I also have three brothers and sisters in the area.”

“Does Jake have any cousins?”

“Seven. A couple his age.”

“And has he spent time with them?”

“Lately he has. It’s been good for him, having a family around.”

The testimony was as positive as Sloane’s was negative, but Sloane simply bided his time. Flannigan could orchestrate Carter’s direct testimony to make him look like father of the year, but he couldn’t protect him once Sloane began his cross-examination. In fact, Sloane thought it a mistake for Flannigan to go to such lengths to paint Carter as the doting father; it would make it that much easier for Sloane to tear down the facade and reveal the man for who he truly was.

After another half hour, Flannigan nodded to Zelinsky. “I think I’m finished, Judge.”

Zelinsky addressed Sloane. “Mr. Sloane, do you have questions of Mr. Carter?”

“I do, Your Honor.”

At the podium Sloane leveled his gaze at Carter, and Frank squirmed in his seat, as if anticipating a punch to the gut. The impact was going to be painful, but knowing it was coming and there was nothing he could do about it must have made it that much worse.

“Mr. Carter, why did you live in an apartment for so many years?” Sloane asked.

“It was just me then.”

“Finances, or a lack thereof, didn’t play into that decision?”

“I don’t understand,” Carter said, though Sloane was certain he did.