Bodily Harm (42 page)

“Who provided you with the down payment to buy a $784,000 home in a development in the East Bay?”

Carter twisted his head, as if the knot of the tie had become tight. “My in-laws loaned me the money.”

“The Larsens gave you the money?”

“It’s a loan. I’m paying it back.”

“Just out of the blue they gave you more than two hundred thousand dollars?”

“It was part of Jake’s inheritance. They wanted Jake to have a stable place to live.”

“And the monthly mortgage payment, you’re making that payment?”

Carter squirmed. “Not yet, but I’m going to be.”

“Well, who is now?”

“The Larsens.”

“Is that also part of this loan?”

“I guess. I don’t really know.”

“Do you know whose name is on the title to the house?” Sloane knew the answer, having pulled the title report for the property.

“The Larsens’.”

“So when you say you bought a house, that’s really just a figure of speech, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not really your house at all; the Larsens made the initial down payment and they are paying the monthly mortgage. It’s their house, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, it’s a loan.”

“At what interest?”

“What?”

“Most banks charge interest on a loan, Frank. Surely you know that in your line of work. What interest are the Larsens charging you?”

“I don’t really know,” he said.

“You don’t know?”

“They have all the paperwork.”

“Then I’ll have to ask them. But you seem to have done pretty well in this deal. A new house, no mortgage payment, no rent. Did you get anything else, a car, boat?”

Flannigan stood, speaking as calmly as a country lawyer. “Objection, Your Honor, counsel is badgering the witness.”

“Sustained.”

Sloane returned to counsel table to consider his notes. He was about to take Frank Carter apart for his lack of interest in Jake over the past thirteen years when the door to the courtroom opened and the Larsens entered, Jeff Harper at their side. Bill Larsen glared at Sloane, but Terri looked away. Sloane was about to turn his attention back to Frank Carter when another figure stepped through the doorway, giving him pause and bringing a lump to his throat.

Jake wore a pair of khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt, the tail only partially tucked in at the waist. It used to drive Tina crazy when he wouldn’t fully tuck in his shirt. Hands thrust in his pants’ pockets, Jake had his head down. His hair had grown long enough to cover his eyes. But as he entered the courtroom Jake looked up at Sloane. For a brief moment, his face was a blank mask. Then the corner of his mouth inched into an impish, “I’m not supposed to do this but I can’t help it” grin.

Sloane felt his heart skip a beat. He fought to retain his composure, taking a deep breath.

“Mr. Sloane?”

Sloane took a drink of water from a cup on the table. “Yes, Your Honor, I’m sorry.” He returned to the lectern, took another moment, and continued his cross-examination. “How large is this house that you live in, Frank?”

“It’s three bedrooms. Jake has his own room.”

His throat still dry, Sloane turned to pick up the glass of water and his eyes again found Jake, now seated between the Larsens in a pew, and this time it brought a different recollection—that of a six-year-old boy sitting next to his father in a San Francisco courtroom staring up at a photograph of his mother’s battered and beaten body. The trial had been Sloane’s last before moving to Seattle. Emily Scott had been raped and murdered in her office when Sloane’s client failed to provide proper security. Like Emily Scott’s young son, Jake’s lasting image of his mother would be a horrific snapshot of her lying on her back, choking on her own blood.

“Mr. Sloane?” Sloane turned back to Judge Zelinsky, who looked down at him with a wrinkled brow. “Do you have more questions of Mr. Carter?”

Sloane had planned a forty-five-minute cross-examination that would expose Frank Carter for what he was, a lousy father who had never showed any love for his son and who was now only interested in Jake because the Larsens were paying him to take the boy. Sloane had no doubt he could do it; he had been fixated on getting Jake back, at all costs, since the confrontation in Jeff Harper’s office. Now, all he could think of was that Jake had already lost his mother, and Sloane was about to take his father from him as well.

“Mr. Sloane?”

Sloane turned back to the judge. “Just one more question, Your Honor.”

Frank Carter looked first to the judge, then to Dean Flannigan, seemingly uncertain and confused about this unforeseen development.

Sloane left the podium, stepping closer to the railing, obstructing Carter’s view of his attorney. When he leveled his gaze, Carter leaned back.

“Do you love your son?” Sloane asked.

Carter’s eyes narrowed, as if considering whether it could be a trick question. He searched Sloane’s face for any hidden malice.

“Do you love your son, Frank?” Sloane asked again, his voice soft.

Carter looked past Sloane to where Jake sat. “Yes. I love Jake very much.”

Sloane did not have to turn to know Jake was smiling. He could see it in the smile on Frank Carter’s face and the tears pooling in the man’s eyes. He knew it intuitively, as a father.

“I know I haven’t been much of a father in the past. But I hope to change that,” Carter said, looking up at Judge Zelinsky. “I hope to have a second chance. I wasn’t expecting one, but here it is, and I intend to make the most of it. I intend to do better.”

Sloane nodded. “I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

AFTER DISMISSING FRANK CARTER, Judge Zelinsky sat back, surveying her courtroom, no doubt pondering what had just transpired. After nearly a minute she sat forward. “I’d like to talk with Jake. Young man, would you join me for a moment?”

Jake looked to his grandparents, who encouraged him out of the pew, then stood to follow. Judge Zelinsky stopped them with an outstretched palm. “Just Jake,” she said. “Alone.”

At the front of the room she put a robed arm around the boy’s shoulders, and together they walked through the door to the left of the bench.

Thirty minutes passed before the door reopened. When it did, Jake emerged with his head bowed, but Sloane could see from his red and swollen eyes that the boy had been crying. Jake removed a hand from his pocket long enough to wipe his nose as he shuffled between the two tables, never raising his head or taking his gaze from the floor. Sloane pressed his lips together and squeezed shut his eyes, teeth clenched.

Then he felt him.

Jake wrapped his arm around Sloane’s shoulders and buried his face in Sloane’s neck. Sloane held him tight, feeling Jake’s tears on his cheek and neck.

“I love you, Dad,” he whispered.

“I love you too, son.”

Judge Zelinsky gave them a moment. Then she said, “Mr. Sloane, Mr. Carter, I’d like to see you both.”

Flannigan did not protest being left out.

Jake released his grip and stepped back. Sloane held him by the shoulders. “Remember my promise? I’ll always be there for you. I’ll always do what’s best. Now go on back with your grandparents,” he whispered. Then he followed Carter into the judge’s chambers.

Judge Zelinsky’s furnishings were modest, a leather couch along one wall beneath a nondescript print, a functional desk, two chairs. Nobody sat. The judge waited near windows that framed City Hall’s glittering golden dome, brilliant in the bright sun. Sloane and Carter stood just feet apart.

“I think you both probably know what Jake would prefer,” she said, looking to Sloane. “And I have no doubt, Mr. Sloane, that you love that child as much as any father and would do a tremendous job raising him. What just transpired in my courtroom this morning was one of the most selfless acts I have ever witnessed. Anyone who would do what you just did . . . Well, your love cannot be questioned.”

Sloane could only nod.

“Too often I watch families tear themselves apart,” Zelinsky counseled. “Parents belittle and degrade each other, then wonder why their children don’t respect them. So while I know you would raise Jake just as selflessly, I have to look at all of the circumstances, including the boy’s living situation, relatives, the disruption to his life. You are a successful attorney, Mr. Sloane, and I know what it takes to maintain a law practice.”

“Judge,” Sloane interrupted. “I’m withdrawing my request for custody. I recognize that what Jake needs now more than ever is stability. He needs a family. I can’t give Jake what I don’t have. I can’t conjure up grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.” He smiled. “Maybe a dog, but . . . While I have issues with the motivation behind much of this, I can’t deny there is a group of people out there who love Jake and want him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him, to be in a place where he knows he is loved.” Sloane faced Frank Carter. “Did you mean it, what you said in that courtroom?”

Frank Carter nodded. “I was young, David. And the longer I stayed away, the more embarrassed I became. I saw that Tina loved you and that Jake loves you. So I stayed away. It was wrong of me, and I realized it these past weeks living with Jake. I’ve been given a second chance and I intend to do better.”

In his head, Sloane heard Jenkins talking about second chances, even when it isn’t deserved. He spoke to Judge Zelinsky. “If it’s all right with you, Judge, I’ll say my good-byes to Jake and be going.”

“David?” Frank Carter extended his hand. “Anytime you want to see Jake you let me know and I’ll put him on a plane to Seattle. That’s a promise.”

“What about the Larsens?”

Frank Carter shrugged. “They don’t think much of me,
David, but they love their grandson. They’re not going to do anything to hurt their chances of seeing him. That’s why I hired my own attorney. I’ve filled out the paperwork for a loan to pay them back. My parents will help. I’m not going to let them dictate how I raise Jake.”

Maybe Carter had grown into a man after all. Sloane hoped so, for Jake’s sake.

“How about tomorrow?” Sloane asked. “Jake and I have something we need to do.”

EPILOGUE

HOLY CROSS CEMETERY

DALY CITY, CALIFORNIA

The other headstones were mostly gray concrete, some blackened and chipped with age. A few were marble, but none were blue, Tina’s favorite color. Sloane had wanted a headstone that would stand out and be easily found. He had succeeded.

CHRISTINA ANNE SLOANE

Seeing her name etched in the stone brought a finality he could not ignore, a proclamation for everyone to see. Tina had not left for the store. She was not on a trip. She was not coming home after a long day at the office.

She was not coming back, ever.

Sloane pulled tight the collar of his jacket, feeling the chill of the damp, overcast day. The sky seemed to mourn with him, emitting a persistent, light mist. Overhead he heard the hushed engine of a plane hidden somewhere in the fog, and the sky reminded him of so many of the mornings at Three Tree Point when they would walk along the beach in the marine fog.

It was time to go home. As hard as it would be to go back to the house that he and Tina loved, the house in which they had intended to grow old together, Sloane would not run from the memories. To do so would dishonor Tina.

He stood at her grave uncertain of what to say. Not having learned any prayers, he spoke from his heart.

“I miss you,” he said. “I really miss you. I miss holding you and seeing you smile. I miss the smell of your hair and the softness of your skin, and the way you used to giggle just before we made love. I miss feeling completely lost in you, and sitting on the porch holding hands watching the sunset. I still imagine us sitting there, old and gray. You told me once you had always loved me and always would. I didn’t understand what that meant, not completely, but I do now. You taught me to love selflessly.” He paused, catching his breath. “I couldn’t destroy Frank in court. I couldn’t do that to Jake. I love him too much to hurt him. Frank seems to have changed. He says he loves Jake, and Jake seems happy. He’ll have a family. I couldn’t give him that, not without you.”

He took a deep breath and pushed his hands deeper inside his jacket pockets. “It should never have been you. You were too good to die. It should have been me.

“I think about you and I wonder . . . if there is a heaven, whether you’re happy. I hope you are. I know that I have to stop blaming myself, Tina, not because I don’t still feel guilty, but because I have to be there for Jake. He still has his whole life ahead of him, and I have to make sure it’s as good as it can possibly be. I promised you that. I just wish I knew that you understood, that you forgive me.”

A noise drew his attention. Beside him an old woman had knelt on a wool shawl spread on the lawn and was brushing away leaves and picking at elongated strands of grass at the base of the stone where the blades of the gardener’s lawn mower could not
reach. Perhaps sensing Sloane’s silence, she sat back on her heels. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

At her side, hidden when she had been tending to the grave, Sloane saw a bundle of red roses. Some of the buds had bloomed wide, others were just beginning to open. Thorns traced the stems.

The woman considered the dates beneath the name on Tina’s headstone. “So young. So recent.” She got up from her knees. “Your wife?”

Sloane nodded.

“I’m sorry. I know how painful it is.”

The dates on the tombstone that the woman had been tending revealed that the man buried there had been dead more than thirty years.

“When does it stop hurting?” he asked.

A breeze swayed the branches of the oak tree, causing them to creak and click against one another. The woman brushed a strand of white hair from her face, revealing cobalt blue eyes. “The ache in your heart each morning when you wake to realize she’s really gone?” She held out her hand. When Sloane took it her touch caused his chest to radiate, despite the chilled weather. “It doesn’t,” she said. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds. But it does deaden the pain so that we can go on.”