The Tears of Dark Water (63 page)

After the first week of the trial, she spent more time in Maryland than she did in Virginia. When she wasn’t seeing patients, she was home with Quentin and Ariadne. What had started as a tender friendship had blossomed into a full-fledged romance, with doe eyes and handholding and kisses stolen in private moments. Dr. Greenberg had warned her this would happen—that at some point Quentin would recover his sexual interest and become an ordinary adolescent again. Vanessa tried not to worry about what they did when they were alone, but she couldn’t help it. So she monitored Quentin’s studies and went sailing with them and kept herself visible in the hope that it would slow the advance of their affections. She expected Quentin to be annoyed, but most of the time he seemed to welcome her presence. It was as if his injuries had muted that part of his teenage brain that made him resent her.

What Quentin didn’t like was being excluded from the trial. He had been looking forward to it for months, both because he wanted to see justice served and because he hoped it would close the last gaps in his memory. But Judge McKenzie forbade it after deciding he had the capacity to testify. While she accepted Dr. Greenberg’s opinion that his recollection was accurate as far as it went, she felt that hearing the stories of others could materially alter his testimony. She granted only one exception: he could listen to Vanessa testify. Curtis tried to persuade Barrington to call Quentin first so he could attend the rest of the trial, but the prosecutor did the opposite, putting him last to make an impression on the jury. So Quentin stayed home until the middle of July, when his summons finally came.

On the morning of July 16, they arrived at the courthouse together, Vanessa on his right arm, Ariadne on his left, and Curtis and Yvonne bringing up the rear. They took the elevator to the third floor and made their way through the crowd of reporters, lawyers, and spectators to Courtroom One. For an uncomfortable moment, Vanessa thought that one of the journalists might ask Quentin for a comment, but none tried. They just followed him with their eyes and nodded as he passed.

She saw Paul Derrick across the hall talking to Agents Hewitt, Escobido, and Matheson. He returned her gaze and smiled slightly. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the day he testified. She smiled back and felt a tickle of pleasure.
It’s nice to see you again, too.

At Quentin’s request, they took seats in the front of the gallery. He was as tense as a coiled spring. She understood—she was nervous, too—but it was disconcerting to see him so unsettled. In the months since Ariadne arrived, he had acquired a remarkable self-assurance, taking every day as it came and giving little thought to the things he couldn’t change. The solitary tremor in the oasis of his calm was the gap in his memory, but even that he had largely succeeded in setting aside, trusting that his brain would heal in time to tell the jury what he saw on the night his father died. Now, however, the trial was here and he had yet to remember. She felt his frustration as if it were her own.

At ten o’clock, Judge McKenzie appeared and took her seat on the bench. “Mr. Barrington,” she began, “am I correct that you intend to wrap up your case in chief today?”

Barrington stood. “Yes, Your Honor. That’s our hope.”

“Wonderful,” said the judge. “Let’s get to it then.”

Barrington turned around and met Vanessa’s eyes. “I call Vanessa Parker.”

Vanessa stood up and walked to the witness stand, taking quick stock of her appearance. The pins holding up her hair were still in place; she hadn’t forgotten her lipstick or mascara; her dress wasn’t riding too high on her thighs. When she completed the checklist, she felt little relief. She sat down on the witness stand and took a deep breath, ignoring everyone but Clyde Barrington.

The prosecutor wished her good morning and led her through the preliminaries: the general landscape of her marriage and family, the genesis of the circumnavigation—the dream, not the family crisis, which no one knew about—and a few touching memories from the nine months Daniel and Quentin had been at sea. Eventually, he got around to the hijacking.

“When did you first learn that the
Renaissance
had been pirated?” he asked.

“I got a call from my father-in-law, Curtis Parker,” she replied. “He had received a distress message from my husband. Daniel sent it before the pirates took control.”

Barrington nodded. “What did you do then?”

She recalled the terror and uncertainty of those moments. “I tried to stay calm. Curtis and Yvonne came over, and Curtis used his connections in the government to get information. The Navy moved quickly, but they were on the other side of the world. It took time.”

“Will you describe for the jury what that time was like?”

She took a breath. “It was excruciating, but I had good support. The FBI assigned us a negotiator, Mary Patterson. She was amazing. And Curtis hired a private security firm to advise us. There wasn’t much we could do. Then we got a call from one of the pirates. He identified himself as Ibrahim and demanded five million dollars.”

Barrington tented his hands beneath his chin. “How did you respond?”

“We didn’t know if the government would let us negotiate. But my father-in-law intervened, as did Paul Derrick. The government agreed to let us work out a deal with them.”

“Was your family able to come to terms with Ibrahim?”

Vanessa looked at the jurors and saw their sympathy. Some of them were mothers like her.
I can do this
, she thought. “We did. Curtis negotiated the amount down to just under two million dollars. Then he and Yvonne cashed in their life savings. I flew to Kenya to make the delivery. I was with the security team on the plane when they dropped the package.”

“When the drop happened, did you see anyone in the cockpit of the
Renaissance
?”

Vanessa fought back her tears. “I saw Daniel and Quentin with Ibrahim. I realize his name isn’t Ibrahim; it’s Ismail. I spoke to them briefly. They said they were okay. I told them . . .” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I told them I loved them and that I would see them soon.”

“Is the pirate who called himself Ibrahim in this courtroom?” Barrington asked.

“Yes,” she said, extending her finger toward Ismail. “He’s over there.”

“Let the record reflect the witness has identified the defendant,” said Judge McKenzie.

Barrington went on: “Did you speak to Ibrahim at that time?”

Vanessa nodded. “I did. He told me to deliver what we promised and he would do the same.”

“Did you do that?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I saw them take the package with my own eyes.”

Barrington gave her a sorrowful look. “Did Ibrahim deliver what he promised?”

In an instant, she was there again, in the plane with Steyn and Flint, climbing into the sky as the sun set over Somalia. She remembered the call she made to Paul, the plea she had spoken, and the trust she had placed in Ibrahim. She closed her eyes, overcome by the memory of what came next.

“No,” she finally said. “He didn’t.”

Barrington hesitated, then said: “I’m sorry to ask this, Mrs. Parker, but it’s important to the case. Did you get the ransom money back?”

She nodded, recalling the blustery day in December when the FBI had returned the briefcases of cash. “We did, but it didn’t matter. We wanted our family back.”

The prosecutor surveyed the jury box. “Of course you did.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Barrington led her through the aftermath—Daniel’s funeral, the medical care Quentin received, and the challenges associated with his brain injury. The tears flowed freely as she recounted the day Quentin realized his father was dead. She told the jury how Daniel’s postcards and letters had helped him out of the tunnel of despair. And then she told them about Ariadne—how she had become his polestar and inspired him to sail again. She met the girl’s eyes and realized that she had never told her this. She saw that Ariadne was crying, too.
I need to be more open with them
, Vanessa thought.
I need to be more open with everyone.

“Did there come a time when the government returned something to you from the sailboat, something that had been Daniel’s?” Barrington asked.

“Yes,” Vanessa said. “It was a chest his father gave him before they set sail.”

Barrington took the box from Curtis and passed it along to her. “Is this the chest?”

“It is.” She held it up for the jury to see. “It’s from Zanzibar.”

“Was there something in the chest?” Barrington asked gently.

“There was a letter,” she said and opened the lid, pulling out the folded pages again. “It was unfinished. I would read it to you, but it’s very personal. Daniel and I were going through some hard things when he left. He wrote this to say he was sorry.”

Barrington waited a moment before asking: “Is there another letter you’d like to read instead?”

“There is,” Vanessa replied. After Barrington retrieved it from Eldridge Jordan, she said, “This is the last letter Daniel sent before the hijacking. It gave me hope in my darkest hours.”

She took a breath to center herself, and then she began to read. She pictured La Digue as Daniel had described it, the sun and sand and granite boulders that Quentin had climbed, the breeze and the sea and the freedom they offered from the hurried world. When she reached the part about Quentin, she met his eyes and spoke the words to him for the first time.

The boy who once crawled like a caterpillar has become a butterfly. He is alive, Vanessa. I’ve never met anyone more alive than he is. He is beautiful and strong and intelligent and capable. He could sail the rest of the way on his own and I don’t doubt he would make it home.

I give you more credit for this than I take myself. He sees the hearts of others like you do. He feels deep empathy for pain. There once was a day when I struggled to love him. Today, I look up to him. I wish I were more like he is. Maybe I will be someday. But even if I never make it, I am comforted that in this way, at least, I haven’t failed. I haven’t failed our son.

Where will he go? Only time will tell. But I believe that the stories he will pass on to his children will be greater than the story I’m telling you now. He’s as close to bulletproof as a man can get in this life. Nothing can hold him back. He’s learned to rise above his fears.

When Vanessa finished reading, she looked at the jury and saw that not a single eye was dry. She folded the letter and heard Barrington say, “Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I have nothing further.”

She waited pensively while Megan Derrick rose to her feet, wondering what questions the defense lawyer could possibly ask, but Megan didn’t approach the podium.

“Mrs. Parker,” she said, “I’m so very sorry for your loss. I have no questions for you.”

Judge McKenzie turned to Vanessa. “In that case, you can step down.”

Vanessa wanted only one thing at that moment—to embrace her son. She returned to the gallery, looking at no one but Quentin. He stood up and met her in the aisle, his face wet with tears. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Your dad was right,” she whispered. “You know that, don’t you? Nothing can hold you back. Go up there and speak the truth. This isn’t on you. It never was.”

When Quentin took the witness stand, Vanessa’s world shrunk to the size of his face. He sat with his head erect, his shoulders square, and his hands in his lap, as if he were sitting for a portrait. She had never seen him behave so formally. Barrington went briefly to the podium to review his notes, and then he moved toward Quentin again, stopping a comfortable distance from the stand.

“Thanks so much for coming,” the prosecutor began. “We’re all very glad you’re here.”

Quentin nodded stiffly. “So am I.”

“Will you please state your name for the record?”

“Quentin Everett Parker.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in September.”

Barrington made a few more background inquiries to set the stage, and then he moved on to the voyage. Vanessa listened closely, worried that the stress of the situation would cause Quentin’s speech to lose its hard-won smoothness, but it didn’t. His words came out strong and clear and almost completely free of hesitation.

He told the jury about the South Pacific, about meeting Ariadne in Rarotonga, about the Force 10 storm off New Zealand and the lightning strike in the Strait of Malacca, about crossing the Bay of Bengal and exploring the Maldives and Seychelles. For Vanessa, the experience of listening to him was overwhelming. She had never dreamed that the troubled teen who had drowned his angst in first-person shooter games, who had taken a wrap of cocaine from his best friend to give to a buddy at a football game—an exchange observed by campus security that nearly destroyed his life—would have the courage to face nature’s wrath and then talk about it with such confidence.
Daniel, you were right
, she marveled.
The sea is what he needed. It brought him back to life.

After Quentin told the jury about La Digue, Barrington asked him to describe the departure from Victoria and the prelude to the hijacking. It was a narrative Vanessa thought she knew, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. She sat on the edge of her seat as Quentin described the piracy bulletin they had received and Daniel’s desire to return to Mahé, escorted by the coast guard.