Winner Take All (39 page)

The silence. Not breathing, not really even thinking. Not letting anybody touch her in this sterile little cocoon. Trading one tight little cage for another. Going through life with no change. Nothing moving, especially not inside herself. Flying all over the globe, going through the motions of having a life. But held by the safety of empty silence. Just like now.

She did not lower herself so much as crash to the floor. Crawled across to the bed. Knelt there waiting. When the phone rang again, she made the grab before the first ring was through, not giving herself time to enter lockdown again.

Marcus started speaking. He said the words. She felt them cascade over her but she could not actually hear what he said. All she could make out was the tone, the message of concern and love and acceptance. It broke her entirely.

W
HEN
M
ARCUS ENTERED
the courtroom early Monday, Hamper Caisse was seated in the first public row. Hamper gave a little double take at Marcus’ appearance. Marcus was too preoccupied to take much pleasure in turning the tables. The conversations with Kirsten and her revelations had left him utterly drained. He had also spent futile hours trying to track down Dale. Under any other circumstances, he would already be headed to Wilmington.

Judge Rachel Sears offered Marcus a tight smile of approval as he set his briefcase upon the table. “Are we alone this morning, Mr. Glenwood?”

“Apparently so, your honor.” Marcus turned to inspect his new foe. Opposing counsel’s table was occupied by a Health and Human Services lawyer. This one was white and male and had a slick nervous sheen to his skin. He wore a button-down Oxford blue shirt with a stained wool tie. Normally the HHS attorneys were the least prepared of all local counsel. They generally worked between fifty and seventy active cases at any one time. Their paperwork was notoriously shoddy. Family court judges usually granted them enormous leeway. If an HHS attorney requested a stay, that was generally enough for the court to require a medical assessment. Where children were concerned, most judges preferred to err on the side of extreme caution.

The HHS attorney opened with “Your honor, we have learned over the weekend that Erin Brandt has died. We are here to request that her child immediately be made a ward of the court.”

Marcus demanded, “Let’s get this straight. You’re pointing the finger at my client?
You
are? Or Hamper Caisse?”

The HHS guy kept his gaze locked on the judge. “Your honor, we have reason to believe that Dale Steadman has proven himself to be an unfit father. The father is under indictment for the murder of his former spouse. Plus there are numerous other issues that raise warning flags.” He fumbled with his own case and drew out three bound portfolios. “We have prepared a brief outlining our concerns.” He plunked a copy on Marcus’ table and walked forward with another.

The judge eyed his work with consternation. She flipped through the pages. She looked at him. “What is your caseload at this time?”

He struggled with the knot of his tie. “Hard to say, your honor.”

“Ballpark figure.”

“Around three hundred. Of which about fifty are active.”

“Three hundred cases.” She rifled through the pages. “How many staff?”

“Just me and my secretary.”

“And you put together a brief that runs to,” Judge Sears checked the top of the last page. “Two hundred and twelve pages?”

“We are aware that the child is about to come home, your honor.”

“Is that so? And just exactly how did you learn this?”

Marcus could hear the guy swallow from across the room. “It stands to reason, judge. The mother is dead, the child has nowhere else to go. We are asking that the baby be made a ward—”

“Hold that thought. First I want to get a fix on what’s brought us to this point.” She crossed her robed arms over the closed brief. “In all my time on the bench I’ve never seen anyone from HHS come in here so prepared. Normally I have to be satisfied if you’ve bothered to interview the neighbors to either side. When did you have time to prepare these documents?”

“Yesterday.” He swiped at his hair. “As I said, your honor, we are deeply concerned about this boy’s well-being.”

Judge Sears slowly repeated, “This boy.”

The lawyer almost turned to where Hamper had taken a choke hold on the railing. He caught himself just in time. “Did I say that? Sorry, your honor. I meant the girl.”

“Are you sure? What is the child’s name?” She halted his motion with a tightly aimed gavel. “Don’t you open that brief, sir. Anybody
who’s gone to all this trouble over a weekend is bound to at least know how the child is called.”

The lawyer was caught flat-footed. Judge Sears let the silence hang a moment, then said, “You may open your brief if need be.”

The young man almost dove for the pages. “Celeste, your honor. Celeste Steadman, no middle name. Sorry, it just slipped my mind there.”

Judge Sears shot Marcus a silent heads-up, then asked the young attorney, “I assume you have included the child’s birth certificate?”

“Ah …” The attorney’s search of the pages became more frantic. Hamper looked ready to explode from his seat.

“That’s all right.” Sears at her mildest. “No doubt you have a copy in your files.”

When the attorney’s search through his briefcase came up with nothing more than sweat and bumbling fingers, Hamper Caisse sifted through his own papers, then reached forward and rammed it into the HHS lawyer’s outstretched hand. The HHS attorney spun about and announced, “Here it is, your honor.”

Marcus was already rising to his feet. “Your honor, I feel it is in the court’s interest to know what else Mr. Caisse has in his briefcase.”

Hamper gave his best imitation of a man severely electrocuted. “What?”

Sears gave him a tiny nod of approval as Marcus continued, “If Mr. Caisse has an attorney-client relationship here, he has to assert it. Otherwise, he’s just a witness. If he’s a witness, I want to call him to the stand.”

Hamper bolted to his feet. “Judge, I protest! There’s nothing more sinister here than a lawyer who’s been hooked up with this case for weeks now, worried about this child.”

Sears aimed the gavel at his face. “What I see is an individual on the wrong side of the bar addressing this court.”

“But—”

“Either sit yourself down and be quiet, or come up before me here and declare yourself!”

When Hamper reluctantly forced himself back down, Marcus announced, “Your honor, I ask that you issue a bench subpoena. Mr. Caisse must not be permitted to leave the courtroom until the subpoena is served.”

A bench subpoena would act as a search warrant on Hamper’s person
and his briefcase, granting the court power to seize any documents deemed pertinent to the case. Another brief nod told Marcus he had handed Judge Sears the ammo she required. “Step forward, Mr. Caisse.”

Hamper was loath to move. “Do I need to have the bailiff assist you?”

When Hamper stood before the judge’s podium, Judge Sears used both hands to pull her hair back in a gesture of tight animosity. “All right, give. What’s your role in this petition?”

“Interested third party, your honor.”

She turned to Marcus, inviting his response. “I’m here about the child, your honor. Everything else is secondary. Including whatever tricks opposing counsel is up to now.”

“Your honor, I object in the strongest possible terms!”

Marcus continued to address the judge. “This child is a United States citizen. She has the right to grow up here among her people. Right now she’s lost to us. First her mother abducted her. Then she hid her away somewhere. She obviously was planning something. I want to know what. I want to know
why
.”

“Wait a second now,” Caisse sneered. “You’re not suggesting Erin Brandt had a hand in her own demise.”

“How are we to know
what
happened so long as the facts remain hidden?” Marcus stabbed the air between them. “Whatever Hamper has secreted away, I feel the court has a right to know!”

“Spare us the histrionics,” Hamper shot back.

“Mr. Caisse, do you know where the child is?”

“No, your honor, I do not.”

“Do I need to put you under oath?”

“It would not change my response one whit, your honor. I’m telling you the dead solid truth here.”

“In that case, I hereby am issuing forthwith a subpoena to search your briefcase. I wish to see if you are withholding any documents of vital concern.” She waved to where the deputy sat in the empty jury box. “Bailiff.”

Hamper used both arms to hug the case to his chest. “You can’t do that!”

“You’re about to witness,” she declared grimly, “just how wrong you are.”

Hamper danced a step away from the approaching deputy. “Your honor, this is proprietary information!”

Marcus protested, “But your client is
dead
.”

“We’re still seeing to her interests!” He slackened his hold on the case long enough to a jab a finger at Marcus. “That man is representing an abuser and a murderer! Dale Steadman can’t be granted the chance to hurt this poor little child!”

“Fine.” Judge Sears started to rise from her chair. “In that case, the bailiff will escort you to my chambers, I will issue a protective order on everything I find, and then you will show me whatever you have
in camera
.”

This meant only the judge would review whatever he was holding. But Hamper merely looked more trapped. “Your honor, I declare attorney-client privilege.”

“You’re now representing a
different
client?”

“That is correct.”

“Is your client before this court?”

“Not at this time.”

“Does your client have a valid interest in this case?”

Hamper was growing increasingly agitated. “He feels a desperate concern for this child.”

“That is not a satisfactory answer in my book.” Her desire to get right in his face was so strong she perched herself on tiptoe and gavel. “I want to know who your client is.”

Clearly this was the question Hamper feared. “My client has instructed me not to reveal his identity. I did not come down here intending to make an appearance in this court.”

“But you did.”

“Under duress, your honor. Under duress. Given the circumstances, this court must agree I should have a chance to confer with my client before answering your question.”

Hamper had her, and they both knew it. Judge Sears reddened until her freckles all but disappeared. “You were playing that poor HHS lawyer like a puppet. You had everything but your hand up the back of his jacket. Now tell me what your client’s interest is in this case!”

“Judge, I can’t do that.”

“Then someone in this court is going to jail!”

Hamper deposited his briefcase at his feet, so as to use both hands to swipe at his face. “Your honor, my client’s instructions were very precise. He told me to assist this young attorney with the brief related to Celeste Steadman. He told me to appear in court. And he told me not to reveal his identity. That is all I can say.”

“Then I am ordering you to speak with your client and gain authorization. Otherwise, come tomorrow I’ll be sentencing you to ninety days in jail. If he wants to be heard by this court, he will be heard on the record. If you act in this court, you will do so with full disclosure of your client’s and your motives.” She smiled at his stricken expression. “Cheer up, Mr. Caisse. You should find ample acquaintances among the prison community.”

“Your honor—”

She banged her gavel. “Next case.”

“W
HY DID YOU WANT TO MEET
with my husband, Ms. Stansted?” Kirsten was seated opposite Evelyn Lloyd in the city apartment equivalent of a palace. The parlor was oval-shaped and flanked by bas-relief onyx pillars. Along one side resided museum-quality art. Along the other, seven French doors opened onto a terrace larger than Kirsten’s entire townhouse. Down below, the cars streaking along rain-washed Central Park West sounded like shredders working on tissue paper. The open patio doors formed billowing parachutes from silk drapes. The light was muted to pastel patterns. The floor was a mosaic of blue marble and old wood. The ceiling was twenty feet high and sculpted around a pair of crystal chandeliers.

Kirsten replied, “I’m not sure I can answer that.”

“Try.”

“Erin Brandt was last seen alive at Lincoln Center. I’d like an insider’s glimpse of the place, just to see if there’s something we might find.”

Evelyn Lloyd cocked her head. “You think you might discover something missed by the local police?”

“We’re working on different purposes, Mrs. Lloyd.” A silent housemaid drifted past the open door. “My first concern is locating the child.”

Evelyn Lloyd was dressed in daywear of ivory crepe de chine. “You realize my husband has cancer.”

“Yes. I’m very sorry.”

“You are also aware that we could not have children.”

The French parlor clock ticked down elegant seconds as Kirsten balanced a bone china cup on her knees. “No. I had not heard that.”

“It was a blow to my husband, I don’t mind saying. We were married almost eight years before the doctors finally stopped pretending they could spend my fortune and give us what Kedrick longed for above all else. An heir.”

Kirsten set her cup on the table between them. She directed her eyes to her hands. Not to avoid Evelyn’s gaze, but rather to focus more intently upon what was being said. “
Your
fortune.”

“Kedrick came into our marriage with little more than a title, a crumbling palace in Wiltshire, and the vast ego of ancient power voided by time.”

Kirsten tasted the air, hunting for what she was missing, what Evelyn wished her to hear. A woman of this moneyed clan did not share such confidences. It was not done. Ever. Particularly with a stranger. “It must have been hard, not being able to give him what he wanted.”

“Far harder for my husband,” Evelyn responded, rising to her feet. “As it happens, Kedrick is at the Met now. Let me call and tell him you are on your way over.”