The Child Comes First (21 page)

Jayda's attention went on high alert at those words. “Is there something I could do to help?”

“Yes, Jayda. There certainly is. But you'll have to be brave. More courageous than you've ever been. For someone like you, it'll feel like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. But my bet is you'll do it.”

“I'm listening,” Jayda said.

 

A
N AUSPICIOUS DAY
, M
ONDAY
. It was the day Simon would deliver his closing argument to Tiffany's jury. The decision would be up to them after that. The very idea seemed ludicrous to Simon, for the first time in his legal career. A jury shouldn't be able to decide this child's future. They didn't know her the way he did. Their judgment was clouded by Bob McGuire's arguments and the written record of Tiffany's past. They could as easily convict her as acquit her, and Simon's soul burned with the knowledge of that.

If they lost, he'd appeal, of course. He'd already begun to work out his strategy, just in case. It might be a good thing to remain positive in the face of possible defeat, but it would be irresponsible not to plan for the worst. He didn't share any of this with Tiffany, or with his mother. The only person he'd confided in was Jayda. She, more than anyone, knew how tormented he felt as he reviewed his notes on this critical day. He didn't let it show. His demeanor gave off the same cool confidence he always had in the courtroom. Practice made perfect, even though this was the first time he'd admitted to himself that he wasn't as cool and confident as he wished he could be.

Again, the prosecutor went first, delivering a damning and eloquent closing that Simon could only hope the jury wouldn't fall for. It helped that he'd have the last word. But when his turn came and the judge called him forward to address the jury, Simon couldn't remember a single syllable of his prepared closing. All he could think of was how much he loved that little girl who was counting on him today. Minutes ticked by as he searched his mind and fought back an upwelling of emotion he didn't want anyone to see. Juries were moved by facts, by reason, by cogent argument. Even in this age of reality TV and voting by phone for one's favorite rising star, jury members tended to take their jobs seriously and did their best to come to conclusions in the interest of society. This was not the time for emotion or theatrics.

And yet his eyes burned for an endless moment and his throat remained tight. He fought for control but found himself losing the battle when he looked back at Tiffany, sitting there waiting for him to save her life. He blinked back the tide and turned his gaze to Jayda.

She gave him what he needed. Her strength, her confidence in him, shone from her eyes, and he borrowed from her the fortitude he didn't seem able to produce on his own. She held his gaze, and the determination in her beautiful brown eyes flowed into him. He knew she would stand by him, no matter what happened today. She'd fight for Tiffany with him for as long as it took.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he approached the railing in front of the jury box. “There's a young girl who needs your help today. She needs you to see her the way everyone close to her sees her—the way I see her.” He hadn't planned to say that. It was never a good idea to bring personal opinions or feelings into a closing argument. But he didn't seem able to hold back the truth. Fortunately, he saw sympathy in the eyes of many of the jurors. Parents, he suspected, who understood the powerful love an adult could have for a child. “A more intelligent, caring kid I have yet to meet,” he said as he looked behind him toward the object of his speech. “Tiffany could not have killed Derek Baldridge. She didn't have the motive and she didn't have the means. You heard the evidence in this courtroom that she simply didn't have the strength.”

Regaining his composure and hitting his stride, he reviewed with the jury all the flaws he'd uncovered in the prosecution's case. He reminded them of the alternative theories for the cause of Derek's death, reiterated for them the opinion of a renowned medical examiner regarding the trauma the boy had suffered and the likely cause. He went over the fact that even Derek's own mother thought there was another likely explanation for Derek's death and that her suspicion of her husband had been corroborated by the testimony from Mrs. Karowski, who'd proven to be a more valuable witness than he'd expected.

A man had been lurking in the neighborhood, unnoticed by Tiffany or the distracted foster mother, Hester Amity. A man with the strength and motivation to shake his child in frustration until the boy's brain was so badly bruised that he would never be able to survive. It would be up to the police to discover evidence about the real killer in this terrible tragedy, he told them. That would come later. Just because they couldn't produce the actual killer right now didn't mean there wasn't reasonable doubt regarding the child on trial.

By the time he got around to asking the jury to acquit Tiffany, his heart took over his better sense once more. He paused, looking at the girl he hoped he could raise into adulthood, and he couldn't say a single word for a time. He knew this might play well to the jury, but he preferred to engage such tactics with a clear and reasoned purpose and not because he was overcome with raw emotion. What would he do if these people convicted his daughter? What would he be capable of in order to save her from imprisonment while she awaited appeal?

“Don't multiply this tragedy by claiming another child's life. Acquit this girl and let her get on with her life. Let her visit Derek's grave to say goodbye, let her go to school and make friends and struggle through a normal adolescence and grow into a productive member of society. If you set her free, I give you my word I'll make sure she gets every chance she needs to fulfill her destiny.”

He thanked them and sat down and nearly succumbed to the certainty that he'd screwed it up. He closed his eyes as pressure built inside his head, and he remembered every flaw in his argument and replayed every tiny misstep. But then, just when he thought his head might explode, he felt a small hand slip into his and realized Tiffany had made contact again, when he needed it most. Not her usual hug—they had to sit through the judge reading the instructions to the jury first. But her hand in his made all the difference. His headache ebbed and he remembered he was supposed to be the strong one. He sat up a little straighter and once again played the part. Catching Jayda's eye once more, he gave her his best imitation of the indefatigable attorney. It was the least he could do. No matter what, he needed to be strong for his family.

O
NCE THE CASE WENT
to the jury, there was nothing left to do but wait. Barbara took Tiffany back home and that left Simon and Jayda free to return to their offices.

“You want to get some coffee?” Jayda asked him. “You look like you could use something a lot stiffer, but it's kind of early.”

He smiled, but it was a weary, worried smile. He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment in an hour. It'll take me awhile to drive to it. You want to come with me?”

Confused, she said, “To your meeting?”

“It's not a lawyer meeting. But I think it'll help take your mind off the jury. My sense is they'll be out for some time. There was a lot of evidence and testimony to review. If they make a decision, I'll get a call and we'll all meet back at court.”

She sensed he needed company. She'd never seen him so edgy. “Okay, let's go.”

“I'll pick you up in front of the courthouse in ten minutes,” he said.

When he pulled up to the curb, he was driving a used BMW 325i. It was a nice car, even if preowned.

“I'm still pretending I'm a high-powered attorney, so I need to keep up appearances as best I can,” he said when she asked him why he'd chosen this model to replace his Mustang. “I got a good deal. What? You didn't think I was going to buy a minivan, did you?”

She smiled. “I can't see you in a minivan. Ever.”

He became thoughtful. “It could happen someday, if I collect more kids.” He said it casually, but Jayda couldn't help remembering what Marla had said about helping him win Tiffany's adoption.

They pulled up to a split-level home with a two-car garage in the suburbs of Baltimore. A For Sale sign stood in the center of the front yard, and Under Contract had been added to the lower edge.

“What's this?” she asked.

“I'm meeting the home inspector here today. I put a bid on the house, but I've stipulated it has to be inspected.”

She smiled at him. “It's in the suburbs. I thought you liked living in the city.”

“Tiffany will do better in Howard County schools away from the city. You want to walk through the house with me and tell me if you think it would make a good place for Tiffany?”

She looked through her car window at the house. What would happen to Simon if he ended up living there alone without an adopted daughter? Could she live with herself if she didn't do everything in her power to make sure that didn't happen?

“Okay,” she said softly. “Let's look at it.”

The inspector hadn't arrived yet, and they toured the empty house alone since Simon's real-estate agent had let him borrow the key. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big family room in the basement.

“The kitchen is a little dated,” she said.

“But the price reflects that. I'm hoping to remodel it after we move in,” he said. He handed her the price sheet.

“I don't know the first thing about real estate,” she said, looking at the paper. “But it's an awfully nice house.”

He started to speak, rethought his words, then asked, “As a social worker, do you think this place would improve my chances in the adoption? Ms. Smith seemed to take exception to me living with my mother. Of course, she also seemed worried about me living alone with Tiffany.” He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up.

Jayda had never seen him so unsettled. He was usually so strong, so sure of himself. She wished with all her heart she could reassure him. But the words wouldn't come. She recognized she was afraid—terrified of taking the leap that Marla had suggested.

“There's something else I want to ask you,” he said before she found sufficient courage to speak.

Again, her heart raced as if it had some sense of where he might be heading.

“If the jury convicts Tiffany, she's going to be sent to prison.”

This wasn't the subject she'd expected, but she rallied quickly. “You'll appeal and win her freedom.”

He began to pace through the vacant living room, looking like a trapped animal. “She wouldn't survive prison, Jayda. Even if she survived physically, her spirit would be dead in no time. I can't let them put her there.”

“Let's just hope that it doesn't turn out that way. You gave the jury lots of reasons to doubt her guilt. That's all they need to let her go.”

He stopped and looked directly into her eyes, and she could see the fear that had taken hold of him. “But what if they don't?” he asked.

“We'll both do the best we can for her,” she tried. But she could see that her efforts to be positive weren't working.

“I'll need your help,” he said as he approached her.

“I'll help any way I can,” she said.

He faced her and took her two hands in his. “Will you? Because the thing I'll need from you is huge. But if the worst happens when the jury returns, I'll be desperate, so I'm going to ask this of you, anyway.” He took a breath. “I'll need you to get Tiffany out of wherever they'll be holding her.”

“I don't understand.”

“If the jury convicts, I'll need you to escort her away from whoever is in charge of her, get her to me somehow. I'll take things from there, but I can't get her free without your help.”

She blinked at him and her mind reeled. “Are you saying you plan to abduct her?”

“I want to save her. And I can't think of any other way to do that, if she's convicted.”

“Simon, think about what you're saying,” she reasoned. “Where would you go? What would you do to support yourselves? Do you really think you could hide indefinitely from the authorities? And what about your mom?”
What about me?
she almost asked.

He turned away, frustration in every muscle. “I've got some of it worked out, but I can't tell you the details. It's better if you don't know, so you can deny any involvement.”

“So I'm supposed to say I took Tiffany to the bathroom and you kidnapped her from me? Is that the idea?”

“That's a good plan,” he said. “Take her to the bathroom. I can get her from you then.”

She stared at him, unable to believe that he'd come up with such a desperate plan.

He didn't speak, but paced a little more, then leaned against a wall looking dejected.

She went and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “I know you just want to protect Tiffany. I want that, too.”

“I guess there's only so much positive thinking I can muster,” he murmured. “I'm all out.”

“Well, I'm not. The jury
has
to acquit. It's the only decision that makes sense.”

“I'm glad you think so. Unfortunately, the police aren't likely to dig up much evidence that Derek's father shook him to death, even though they've promised to investigate that angle. Even if they come up with something, or find Joe Martin Baldridge, it won't be soon. The jury could easily decide to convict simply because she's the one that got charged and no one else is readily available.”

He looked at his feet and took in a deep breath, then let it out. “I know your office isn't going to approve me to adopt Tiffany.” He said it in a flat, dead voice.

She couldn't deny it, as much as she wanted to. Her heart broke for him.

“I need a place of my own, anyway, so I put a bid on this house. But I realize it's not going to help change anyone's mind about whether I'd be a suitable father. When were you going to tell me?” he asked without accusation.

“The final decision hasn't been made yet. There's still a chance—”

“Stop it!” he shouted suddenly. “You know what the decision is going to be. Stop wishing for something else. It won't help.”

She could think of no words to comfort him. So she stood beside him in silence. And she made a decision. She loved this man, after all. Loved him so hard, it hurt inside. Marla's advice had been sound. And there was no reason to hesitate, other than her own insecurities. Yet she didn't want to say anything right here, right now. The atmosphere was all wrong. And the inspector could arrive at any moment to interrupt them. Later, she'd do it later. But not much later. They didn't have much time left.

 

B
Y THE TIME
S
IMON GOT TO
his mother's house after dropping Jayda at her car, he'd pulled himself together. He regretted asking Jayda to participate in his desperate plan. He'd never get away with it, anyway.

He sat in the BMW after he parked at the curb and took a few moments to practice pretending to be confident about the outcome of Tiffany's trial. There was no sense in weighing others down with his fear and helplessness. Fortunately, he had a great deal of experience on how to make people see what he wanted them to see. He walked through the door into the kitchen with a smile on his face.

His mother took one look at him and said, “What's wrong?” There was stark terror in her eyes.

He held up his hands to defend against her X-ray vision and rushed to assure her. “I haven't heard anything one way or the other. They can't tell me the verdict before Tiffany hears it herself. You know that.”

“Then it's the adoption. Something's gone wrong.”

He sighed deeply. “Where's Tiffany?” he asked.

“Playing with your old Nintendo. It helps calm her.”

Heavily, he sat in a kitchen chair and let his arms hang limply at his side. There was no sense putting on a stoic front if his mother was going to see right through it. “I'm pretty certain they're not going to approve me as her dad,” he said, and his voice broke on the last word. At the same moment, his eyes began to sting. He couldn't look at his mother for fear he'd lose all control. Instead he stared out the back window, into the yard he'd played in as a boy. The tire swing was gone now. The tree it used to hang from had grown quite tall.

“Well, then I'll apply to adopt her,” his mom said as she sat down across from him. “I may be old, but she doesn't have a whole lot of prospects. They'll come to see that.”

He managed to smile for her. “Sure, that might work.” But he already knew it wouldn't. There was no way on earth anyone would allow a seventy-year-old woman to take on a preteen of any kind, never mind one with Tiffany's temperament and history.

“Jayda's here!” Tiffany called from the other room.

Simon didn't understand. He'd just left her at her car an hour before. She hadn't mentioned coming out to the house tonight. Did she know something? Had she somehow persuaded Social Services to change their minds?

He scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the door, but Jayda stepped inside before he got to it.

“Hi,” she said, and he could hear the nervousness in her voice.

“Why are you here?” he said without preamble. His mother and Tiffany both hovered nearby as if they also sensed that something was about to happen.

She lifted her eyebrows. “I need to discuss something important with you.”

“About what?” he asked, wanting her to spit out whatever she'd come to say as quickly as possible.

“Um, I think we should all move to the living room,” she said.

“Why?” Impatience ate away at his civility.

“Simon,” his mother admonished. “Do what the lady asked you to do.”

Feeling like a chastised child, Simon went into the living room and sat on the sofa. Tiffany and his mom sat on either side of him. They all looked expectantly at Jayda.

“Uh, could you move to the chair?” she asked him.

“Why?”

“Simon Tyler Montgomery!” That from his mother again.

“Fine,” he said, and moved to the chair.

“Okay,” Jayda said, and now her hands were trembling. “Okay,” she repeated, and Simon's patience nearly crossed the breaking point.

But then she did a very strange thing. She got down on one knee in front of him and grasped one of his hands in both of hers. He was so startled, his brain seemed to come to a complete stop and he just watched her.

“Simon.” She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. “I thought this would be best done with your mom and Tiffany as witnesses. But don't let their presence sway you one way or the other.”

“Okay,” he said, because she paused and seemed to expect him to speak. His bewilderment mounted.

“I know of just one thing we can do to persuade Social Services to approve Tiffany's adoption. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this. Mostly, it's because I believe we'd eventually get around to this point in the long run. And if speeding things up will ensure Tiffany's well-being, then I think that's what we should do.” She took in a deep breath. “So, Simon Montgomery, will you marry me?” And she pulled from her pocket a little black jewel box and opened it in front of his stunned eyes.