Custody of the State (41 page)

Judge Trainer pursed his lips together and thought for a few long seconds.

Then he ruled.

“Detective,” he said.

“Yes,” Tracher answered.

“Answer the question.”

Bender stood up.

“I doubt he remembers the question after all this,” she said with an attempt at a laugh. “Perhaps Mr. Chambers should resubmit the question in a different form. Have another go at it. That way defense counsel could ask the question in a way that
we all could understand
this time.”

“I remember the question exactly,” the detective stated.

Then, after another slight pause, he answered.

“The fact is, the crime-lab chief told me that the brake fluid was found on the exterior portion of the cup, and a minute amount was found on the lip of the cup. But there was
no brake fluid at all inside the cup
.”

Joe Fellows hung his head down, muttering something and smiling.

Judge Trainer adjourned for the day, but he warned the audience to be more compliant with his directives about noise when they resumed the next day.

When the judge and court reporter had exited, Harriet Bender took a few steps toward Will Chambers as guard Thompson was escorting Joe out of the courtroom and back to this cell.

Then Bender opened up.

“All of that…” she said, waving vaguely around the courtroom, “this afternoon. Your cross of the witnesses. Of detective Tracher. Nothing—a big lot of nothing. A lot of noise. Two facts remain. First, Dr. Parker's opinion places the brake fluid
in Joshua's bloodstream
.
In his bloodstream.
Only one thing explains that. Someone fed it to that kid. And you and I both know who did that. Maybe Mary Sue washed the brake fluid out of the inside of the cup to hide her tracks. Don't know. Don't care. Dr. Parker's opinion is going to nail this thing. We both know that.”

“What's your second fact?”

“Your client's not here. If that isn't a picture of guilt, I don't know what is.”

“What's really on your mind, Harriet?” Will asked.

“I came over here to offer you a deal. I think that Putnam would be willing to drop this whole thing if your client simply agrees to stipulate to cause for a temporary extension of child custody by the department. We will give your client the standard list of conditions she has to meet—parenting classes, counseling, supervised visitation with Joshua for a couple months. If she's a good girl and does everything to our satisfaction, she and Joe will get custody of Joshua back.”

“I'll tell you what I think,” Will replied. “My client did not do this thing. But someone is trying hard to make it look like she did.”

“You really are nuts.” Bender shook her head athletically, grabbed her briefcase, and walked hastily out of the courtroom.

57

A
S
W
ILL RETURNED TO THE
houseboat for the night, he was feeling momentarily optimistic about the course of the trial. He still had reservations, though, in two areas.

First, there was the problem of Dr. Parker's opinion about Joshua's blood test. Harriet Bender
was
right about that. If Judge Trainer felt there was any credible evidence that Joshua's blood contained an unexplained toxin, then the burden shifted. The defense would have to account for it. They could do it with Dr. Forrester's testimony, but Judge Trainer still had not decided whether to permit that testimony.

The only other way, it seemed, was to have his client testify in court—to explain, if she could, how the poison made its way into Joshua's bloodstream. It could not have been accidental—Mary Sue had assured Will that Joshua was never out of her sight. And that he was certainly never allowed to be near the chemicals and other dangerous materials in the garage.

Here was the mystery—almost as opaque and incomprehensible as the reason why Mary Sue had not been open and forthright with Will about the facts of her case.

In any event, it seemed that she would not be appearing at trial. That created the indelible impression—like it or not—that his client was hiding something.

Will threw a frozen dinner into the microwave and sat down at the little table in the kitchenette, waiting for the timer to let him know it was done.

He rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he was very tired. Things were catching up to him. Maybe he should make a quick call to Fiona,
he thought, before it got too late—patch things up again—
maybe.

His headaches were back with a vengeance. Maybe he would lie down and sleep for a while. Then call Fiona, when his mind was clear, and he was less liable to put his foot in his mouth.

Outside, the sky had turned gray and the air was heavy. A breeze started blowing through the houseboat's small windows. Within minutes a light rain started drifting down onto the lake, followed by the rumbling of distant thunder.

Then the phone rang. It was Mary Sue.

Through the poor reception on the line, Will told her it was urgent that they talk before the second day of trial. He gave her a thumbnail sketch of how court had gone that day.

“I will not be there to testify,” Mary Sue responded.

While this did not surprise Will intellectually, something in his insides started churning at the thought of having to win this case with no client to tell her story.

The question was—what was her story?

“You've got to tell it to me straight,” Will said firmly. “Everything. I need to know the whole story—now.”

Mary Sue launched into a prolonged introduction—an apology of sorts. She knew that Will might think that the reason for her nondisclosure of facts was silly—even stupid—and mindless. But long after this case was over, she would still have to do everything possible to ensure a happy marriage with Joe.

Will listened patiently, but he urged Mary Sue to tell him some facts that would help him make sense of the case against her.

She had called Jason Bell Purdy, she started out. She hadn't talked to him in a while. The last time before that had been at a benefit dinner for the Delphi hospital. A new wing was being opened, partly due to a generous donation from the Purdy Trust. Mary Sue and the rest of the nursing staff were there. Jason, in tux and black tie, was also. He was given a ceremonial key to the hospital and made a few comments that charmed the crowd.
Then the group had retired to the banquet hall. Jason had deliberately moved his place card to her table so he could sit with her. They made small talk, she said. Nothing significant. But he was, she commented, “the same old Jason—still on the prowl.

“Because Henry Pencup had died on my shift recently, someone at the table—one of the nurses—made a point of talking about it. I didn't think it was appropriate to be talking about a patient's care at the banquet table—even if he had died.

“Then one of the nurses—I think it was my supervisor, Dorothy Atkinson—she has a thing against me anyway—says loudly, ‘Hey Mary Sue—didn't he die on your shift? You were right there in the room with him and that priest, weren't you?'”

His client's voice grew very strained.

“Jason gave me a really funny look. He bent over, close to my ear, and tried to talk a little about it. But I just avoided the issue. The whole thing was very uncomfortable.

“Then a few days after the banquet, Jason called me at the hospital and left a message with Dorothy, my supervisor. But I didn't return the call.

“It wasn't long after that call that Dr. Wilson called Social Services, which brought the county down on us. I pleaded with Joe to hire an attorney to try to resolve things over their interference with Joshua.

“But Joe was adamant,” Mary Sue continued. “Money was tight. That was his same refrain, all the time. We simply couldn't afford to get legal counsel. In fact, he kept saying he didn't know how we could afford a second medical opinion for Joshua, considering it wouldn't be covered by our insurance.”

“So you got back in touch with Purdy and asked him for money?”

“No,” Mary Sue answered quickly. “It wasn't that. I kept saying we needed a lawyer to get Social Services off our backs. Working in the hospital, I had seen what happens when things go bad in a Social Services custody case. But Joe said no. I sulked. He kept saying no. So—then I did what I now regret.”

“What?”

“I called up Jason at his office in Atlanta. I told him a little bit about it. I said we couldn't afford a lawyer—but we needed someone with clout to straighten things out with Social Services before things really got out of hand. Frankly, Jason knows everybody in high places in this part of the state. I figured that he could just pick up the phone and make things happen.”

“So what did he do for you?”

“Well, apparently he made some calls. He told me he was talking to people—he didn't say who. But he said he had to meet with me to discuss it.”

“Did you?” Will asked.

“I remember the day all too well. It was about a week before the sheriff's deputies and Social Services came tearing up to our house. Jason said we had to meet. It was urgent. It was about Joshua, he said.”

“What happened?”

“Jason wanted me to drive to his mansion. I knew that was not a good idea. You have to realize how crazy jealous Joe has always been of Jason and me. I knew he would absolutely freak if he knew I was talking to Jason, let alone driving to his house. But I was really scared about Social Services. I kept telling myself that pretty soon Jason would take care of it—and it would be all over.”

“Did you go?”

“I tried to. Joe was going to be gone all day at a meeting of the farmers' co-op board. He was taking the good truck. The older truck was still in the garage. He'd said all it needed was some brake fluid—it was dangerous to drive otherwise because the brakes were so mushy. But he just never got around to it.”

“So you put the brake fluid in yourself?”

“Yes,” Mary Sue said with a deep sigh. “Spilled it. Made a huge mess. I was so angry. Mostly at Joe, I guess. That he hadn't taken care of the truck like he promised. But then, the real irony is this—I try to start the truck and the battery is dead. I was furious and frustrated. I called Jason crying. I said we couldn't
meet because of the truck. I pleaded with him to help. I was so incredibly naïve. Jason says in that smooth, good-little-boy voice of his—‘Mary Sue, you have no worries. I'm going to drive over to your farm myself. So you and I can work this Social Services stuff out.' Of course he suggested that when I told him Joe would be gone all day.”

“Did he come—to your house?”

“Certainly. And I told him about the truck. About spilling brake fluid all over myself. Tracking it into the kitchen. I'd cleaned it up the best I could. I must have touched Joshua's cup. Anyway, Jason was right there listening to me spill all of this information. I told him Joe would do something drastic if he found out that Jason was in our house. Jason just smiled and said, ‘Nobody needs to know I was here.'”

“For heaven's sake—why didn't you tell me this at the beginning?” Will demanded.

“And then explain everything about Jason?”

“What do you mean?”

“When Jason was at my house he didn't want to talk at all about Social Services or helping me. He kept asking me about Henry Pencup. And the priest. And everything that Pencup had said before he died. On and on about that.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth—at first. That I really hadn't heard much of anything. I'd just happened to be there when the cardiac arrest took place.”

“Did he believe you?”

“I don't know. Because then he started getting…this is very tough for me to say.”

“I need to hear,” Will said gently but firmly.

“He tried to put his arms around me. Joshua is sitting right there on the floor playing. I'm in my jeans and work clothes, and he starts pawing me. I really couldn't believe it was happening. His hands were all over me. Like I was a cheap date he'd picked up at a bar. I pushed him away. He kept coming at me, touching
me. Finally I hauled off and slapped him. Hard, too. I think I left a mark.”

“How did it end?”

“That was the scary part. I thought I knew Jason. I was aware he was always going after the ladies. And me. But I figured that down deep he was a gentleman—just consider the family legacy he came from. Well, that day I learned differently. He looked at me with such a look—almost demonic. That's the only way I can describe it. He says, ‘I'm going to ask only one more time—what did you hear Henry Pencup say?' And this is where I was so wrong. So stupid. I wanted to get his goat.”

“What did you tell him?” Will asked.

“I led him on, just to get back at him. I said, ‘Wouldn't you like to know?' As if I really knew something. The fact is, I didn't.”

“He left?”