The Child Comes First (9 page)

Eventually, Tiffany had calmed herself enough to whisper into his ear, “Do you
promise?
” He'd assured her again, and then she'd slipped out of his arms and gone up to her room without looking back. He remembered from his own childhood being afraid to look adults in the eye at times, thinking that they were lying to him, and he wondered if that was what Tiffany feared, too. Maybe that was why they understood each other.

“I forgot to ask you how things went on your trip,” Tiffany said. Their drive to court had been filled with chat about the early episodes of
L.A. Law.

He smiled. “Very well, thank you. My client was happy, and that's the main thing.” He'd become used to talking to Tiffany as if she were an adult much of the time. Certainly, she was too smart for the simple conversation he used to think appropriate for an eleven-year old-girl.

She put her hand gently onto his shoulder for just a moment. “I'm a happy client, too. What will you focus on in your statement today?” she asked. He should have known she'd want to know about his strategy.

“Well, I'm going to focus on you,” he admitted.

Her eyebrows lifted. “How do you want me to look?”

He smiled down at her. “I want you to be yourself.”

She thought about that a moment. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”

“Of course you can,” he said, and he ruffled her hair. She laughed and the sound went right to his heart. While he might be confused about his feelings regarding Jayda, he had fewer and fewer doubts about Tiffany these days. The girl was smart and that kept her from giving in too frequently to that angry, rebellious part of her nature that he'd been learning to deal with. And despite his years of training, he'd somehow come to believe in her innocence. Nothing seemed more important to him than winning this case.

For all his lack of experience, the prosecuting attorney, Robert McGuire, launched into a brutal opening argument that caused the jurors to eye Tiffany with real apprehension. Simon glanced to his left to see how Tiffany and Jayda were dealing with this verbal attack. Jayda held Tiffany's hand to support the young girl. Tiffany's face had gone pale, her lips were compressed and her eyes large and luminous as she stared at McGuire. Hoping to draw her attention away from the prosecutor's version of how Derek had been killed, Simon pulled his notepad onto his knees and drew a little dog. He tilted the crude drawing in her direction, hoping for a smile, but he didn't get one. She looked up at him with a softness in her eyes, however, as if she understood what he'd been attempting to do. Then she slipped her free hand into his, her small palm pressed tight against his much larger one. His heart filled with the need to protect this child, an aching imperative to keep her safe from harm. So powerful was this feeling that he nearly withdrew his hand, nearly gave in to the self-preservation instinct that urged him to remain detached.

But Jayda's steady gaze drew his attention. When he met her stare, he could see the approval in her eyes. That gave him the confidence to leave his hand in Tiffany's clasp, even though what he really wanted to do was punch the lights out of the prosecutor so the kid didn't have to listen to his accusations. Simon took heart in knowing the proof he'd promised the jury was not likely to be forthcoming. The government's case would be stitched together with circumstantial evidence, just as Simon's would have to be. But McGuire had made a certain impression and Simon was glad the defense always delivered after the prosecution. He didn't want these jurors to sit through a trial on the heels of the prejudice the prosecution had created. He'd have his chance to persuade them they wanted Tiffany to be innocent.

When the time came he gave Tiffany's hand a squeeze, then stood and faced the jury of eight women and four men, plus two male alternates. He smiled at all of them, as he had when he'd met each one during the voir dire process. He moved toward the jury box as he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Tiffany is a little girl. Nothing more, nothing less.” He let that sink in for half a beat as he angled his body to induce the jurors to look toward the defense table. “She's been a victim of the tragedy surrounding this case, too. And no one can deny that a terrible tragedy has taken place. Derek Baldridge is gone, but Tiffany didn't cause that to happen. There is no evidence to suggest that she did and every indication that she couldn't have.” He walked calmly over to the defense table and stood behind Tiffany, emphasizing her tiny stature in comparison to his size. “She's far too small to have been able to inflict the damage necessary to cause a sturdy boy to die. All you have to do is look at her to see that.”

He approached the jury again, holding the gaze of each person who made eye contact. He talked to them about how adults may sometimes lose their temper with children and hit them or shake them until they are damaged inside. He wanted to create possibilities in the minds of the jurors about the many grown-ups who might have had access to Derek. He explained how the evidence would show them that a child can live a long time before succumbing to what's come to be known as shaken baby syndrome. The evidence would show that the children were not well supervised in Hester Amity's care and that someone might have shaken Derek days before his actual death. He wanted them to consider all the other things that could have happened to Derek, things that had nothing to do with Tiffany.

Simon knew the descriptions of these alternatives would be hard for Tiffany to listen to, and he wished he could protect her from them. But presenting other likely scenarios for Derek's death was his best hope for winning Tiffany's freedom. So he went on doggedly, painting a dark picture of foster care, pointing out that a child of Tiffany's age should not have been burdened with the responsibility of watching Derek, weaving the implication there was something amiss in the home where the two children lived. Then he circled back to the main point of his opening argument.

“Experts will tell you during this trial that it would take martial arts training or a great deal of force to kill a human being without a weapon. Tiffany hasn't had the money to get into any tae kwon do classes. And a pintsize girl isn't going to be able to produce sufficient force to do it otherwise. Physics simply won't allow for that. The prosecution would have you believe Tiffany was so angry at little Derek that she momentarily had the necessary strength.” He looked over his shoulder at Tiffany, taking in her size and encouraging the jurors to do the same.

“Perhaps the prosecution will suspend Newton's second law of motion so that force will no longer be the product of acceleration and mass. Because there's not much mass when it comes to Tiffany. In fact, the evidence will show you that Tiffany and Derek were pretty close to each other in terms of weight.”

He moved to the railing that separated him from the jurors and gripped it firmly, showing through the strength of his hands how critical his words were. “They were also close in terms of friendship. Derek and Tiffany played together every day for months prior to his untimely death. They were pals, despite the age difference. Tiffany is grieving the death of her friend. She's the only one who is, by the way, because Derek's parents can't be found. She was the closest thing to family the boy ever had—the two bonded in their mutual aloneness. Because Tiffany has no mom or dad, either. All she had was Derek. Her playmate, her buddy. And now he's gone.”

He returned to the defense table and was gratified to see that Tiffany's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The jury wouldn't be able to ignore how bravely she struggled with her emotions. “Tiffany had no malice aforethought, which is a necessary element for the charge being pursued by the prosecution. This little girl wouldn't consider hurting anyone, least of all her friend. She certainly had no intent to inflict harm likely to result in death. But—and this is the most important point—she doesn't have the size or strength to do so. I have every confidence that you'll weigh the evidence judiciously and then give Tiffany the freedom she deserves. The first thing she wants to do is say a prayer over her young friend's grave.”

Without another word, he sat down beside his client. As if on cue, a single tear slipped down her cheek. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch across the room. Then the judge blinked and cleared his throat as if he himself had been lost in the story Simon had woven.

“Are you ready to call your first witness?” Judge Becker asked the prosecutor.

“I am,” McGuire said.

“Proceed,” intoned the judge.

 

A
T THE END OF TWO GRUELING
days of listening to the government's witnesses, all saying things that were intended to implicate Tiffany in a murder, Jayda was ready to shriek with frustration. Part of her job as Tiffany's social worker was to help her cope with the bad things she was hearing. But Tiffany had shut down. All she was willing to talk about was how great things were at home, how nice Barbara was to her and how fatherly Simon seemed. She could wax eloquent about movies the family had seen together and books they'd read aloud, but she refused to speak of the prosecutor's case against her. It had to hurt. She was a smart kid and she certainly understood everything that was being said, seeing how it all would come together to paint a picture of her as Derek's killer. But she wouldn't say a word about it.

Jayda was worried. She was also jealous. Simon and Barbara and Tiffany got to spend all that quality time with each other while Jayda went home to an empty apartment. She passed her evenings thinking about her life and wondering why there seemed to be something missing. And her thoughts would inevitably find their way back to Simon, whom she'd been avoiding.

She'd been avoiding him because she was susceptible to his wiles, just as Marla had foreseen. Each day she watched him in court, vehemently defending Tiffany against the patchwork of evidence the prosecution delivered, her admiration for Simon went up another notch—along with her susceptibility.

“Since we finished early today, you and I could go out and talk to that woman who thinks she saw a man hanging around the neighborhood,” Simon said to her.

“Sure. I have some things to talk to you about, anyway.”

“Can you drive? I have to let my mom take the Honda to get Tiffany home. The ELMO ankle bracelet people aren't going to be understanding if she's late.”

She thought of him folding his bulk into her Mini Cooper. Unlike the first time they'd ridden together in his Mustang, now she was amused instead of anxious. “Yes, I can drive,” she agreed.

He gave a smile, a real one instead of the version he doled out to clients, and her heart skittered in a way that was completely inappropriate to the professional relationship they were supposed to be maintaining.

“Great,” he said. “Let me get the ladies on their way home and I'll meet you at the door.”

“What if I go get my car out of the garage and meet you at the curb?” She couldn't believe she was actually looking forward to having him squeeze into her tiny car beside her. It was all she could do to keep her amusement hidden.

“Deal.”

In fifteen minutes, she pulled to the curb in front of him. He continued to scan the street, as if some other car would be arriving at any moment. So she beeped. He looked down, his eyebrows shot up, and the most delightful dumbfounded expression came to his handsome face. She laughed out loud and motioned for him to hop in.

“I see I should have asked more questions before suggesting this plan.”

“Too late,” she said as she waited for him to slide the passenger seat all the way back and fit his large frame into the space. The car had plenty of headroom, but it probably wasn't meant to hold a guy well over six feet tall. “Fortunately for you, it's not a long ride.”

He grunted and buckled up. “It's actually roomier inside than it looks from the outside.”

As she pulled back into traffic she became aware of his nearness, but for a completely different reason than the first time they'd driven together. She could smell him—not a strong or overpowering scent, but a clean, masculine fragrance that raised her senses to full alert. As the memory of their shared kiss came drifting into her mind for the thousandth time, she could feel heat rising to her cheeks. Hoping he wouldn't notice her blushing, she launched into the issue she needed to address regarding Tiffany.

“Tiffany is beginning to think of you and your mother as her family.”

“I know,” he said simply.

“That's not good, Simon.”

“Why not? She deserves to have a family, for once in her life.”

“But you and your mother can't be that family.”

“Why not?” he said again, stubbornly.

“Because…” She didn't really have an answer. “You just can't be.”

“I can, if I want to be. She and I have a connection. We understand each other. We're better people because of each other. So why couldn't I adopt her?”

She glanced at him. He was serious—absolutely serious. He had no idea that an unmarried male would never qualify as the adoptive father of an eleven-year-old girl. “Shit,” she said under her breath. But he heard her, anyway.