Sins of the Mother

by B K Johnson

  Although the couple had been separated since Geoff learned of Samantha’s infidelity with Daniella, Geoff had obtained a court order that allowed him access to the couple’s home. Not only had he been seen entering and leaving the residence within the days prior to Samantha’s death, but he was in possession of the keys to the mansion when he was finally arrested. Of course, he had been released on bail, even though the case was a 1st degree murder charge. Geoff had lived in San Francisco for over 40 years and was not considered a flight risk. He had never been convicted, much less arrested, for anything but running a red light, 20 years ago. He also put up one million dollars for bail assuring the court he would return for the trial.

  The attorney chosen to represent him in the criminal matter was Bradley B. Bianchi, a well-known celebrity attorney who maintained offices in Hollywood, San Francisco, and Sacramento. He had been dubbed the “busy bees” by the press, and it was not unusual to see him pontificating before the press in any one of those cities, often on the same day. Bradley repeatedly acclaimed Geoff’s innocence, and something in the way he confronted the cameras with unwavering self-assurance and flamboyance convinced more than one prospective juror that there was no way Geoff Gage would have been stupid enough to commit the murder of his own wife, in his own home, with his own weapon. It just seemed too contrived.

  Even Tommy was sure that Geoff could not have killed Samantha. She knew he was smart and calculating, and could not see him flying into the rage the police suspected him of. Though she had been surprised to find out in Clay’s office that Geoff was such a raving chauvinist, she was touched that he still professed his love for Samantha. He was her client, however, and she felt terribly guilty that information she’d supplied him with had been the fuel behind his rant on Samantha’s voicemail. He was still her client. Clay had retained her with $50,000, and Brad agreed to the arrangement. She was well aware her allegiance was to Geoff, no matter what kind of sexist asshole he might be, and she would not shirk either her responsibility to him or the confidentiality she owed him, no matter who paid the bills.

  Exhausted after three days of meeting with police, paid informants, and neighbors to the Gage’s, Tommy leaned back in her recliner in the loft living room, and willed herself to rest. She lifted a cold glass of carrot juice to her lips like it was white wine, and sipped gently from the crystal. She admitted to herself that this investigation was taking a toll, and that she really needed to get to an AA meeting, if just to alleviate a little of the stress. She had declined invitations to party from both Trish and Nadine, and Rod was more than a little dismayed that she couldn’t even bring herself to chat with him on the phone, much less get together. Dave had called from Hawaii to brag about how well his relationship with Loke was progressing, and she had cut him so short she knew he’d be offended.

  So when the phone rang in her home and abruptly forced her to jump up to answer its shrill ringing, she was not a happy camper. She answered, “What,” so abruptly that she heard the gasp on the other end of the line.

  It was Jerilyn, Brandolyn Brown’s mother, whom Tommy had continued to respectfully call Mrs. Brown. Jerilyn had repeatedly requested Tommy to call her Jerilyn, since it hurt her too much to be reminded of the “Mrs. Brown You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter” song hit from the 70’s. Tommy had given Jerilyn her home number out of compassion, and told her she would always be willing to talk with her. Tommy knew how horrible it was to lose a daughter and not have anyone to talk with about the emptiness and depression. So Tommy jerked herself into awareness, and said, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Brown. I was just in the middle of something and didn’t mean to offend you.”

  After having been reassured by Tommy that she truly wasn’t bothering her at an inopportune time, Jerilyn went on to discuss the $100,000 civil settlement on the table. She said they wondered if they shouldn’t get a personal injury attorney instead of accepting the offered sum, and sue Judge McCaffery civilly. It wasn’t that Jerilyn wanted more money. She knew no amount of blood offering would ever return their baby to her, nor assuage their great loss. But she wanted McCaffery to have to answer to them, and to respond to questions their attorney could ask him, like “How does it feel to run down a baby on a bike and continue on like nothing ever happened?”

  Tommy told Jerilyn that, if a question like that were ever asked in a civil deposition, the attorney for the Judge would object on numerous grounds, instruct McCaffery not to answer, and simply suspend the deposition. Then, he or she would enter on the record that the Browns’ attorney was asking argumentative questions in an attempt to harass, intimidate and demean the Judge, instead of seeking any probative, relevant information. The attorneys would then have to file pleadings with the court in order to get parameters under which the deposition could be conducted. All of this would take an inordinate amount of time and the case could drag on for years, especially in light of the huge caseload awaiting trial in San Francisco courts.

  What Tommy wanted Jerilyn to understand was that during those years of depositions being taken of everyone even peripherally involved, filing of pleadings including the complaint, demurrers, answers, interrogatories, accident reconstruction, and motions to dismiss and/or for summary judgment, she and her family would have to relive the circumstances of Brandolyn’s death repeatedly. Tommy had seen other families be ripped apart because they were never allowed to mourn and heal, but were continually forcer to pick at the festering scab of irreparable injury.

  Tommy concluded her conversation with Jerilyn saying, “If you think of nothing else over the next few days regarding your desire to file suit, reflect on how a civil action will affect Jeremiah. As the only actual witness to Brandolyn’s hit and run, he will have to be questioned in a deposition and possibly again at trial. You could ask that the deposition be videotaped to spare him from trial testimony, since he is so young, but it still means he will need to meet with the attorney and have to go over his testimony before he gives it. And then he will have to repeat it, and answer written questions, and be cross-examined over every detail. Is that really something you want to have Jeremiah live with for the next several years when he ought to be able to heal and try to get on with being a young man getting an education?”

  Jerilyn’s sob caught in her throat. She cried, “Oh, how could I do that to him? Then I would lose two children, one to the accident itself and the other to its devastating effect on my son.”

  Tommy agreed, also saying, “You originally thought you could use the $100,000 to get Jeremiah some counseling. If you were to pursue this idea, not only would you not have the $100,000, you’d have to pay several thousand dollars yourselves out of pocket.”

  “How come?” questioned Jerilyn. “Lots of personal injury lawyers advertise they don’t charge any fees, just take 30-40% of whatever you win.”

  “That’s true,” responded Tommy, “but many firms require that you advance the fees for costs such as depositions, videotaping, filing fees, expert witness fees, and the like. Only the huge firms who have lots of money to advance these costs don’t ask you to give the money up front, but rest assured, all of those expenses come right off the top of any judgment you might get from a court of law. And I hate to say it, but some people are going to question what Brandolyn was doing on a tricycle in front of your home, even though she was on the sidewalk, without a parent supervising her.”

  “Oh, God, why hast thou forsaken me,” mourned Jerilyn. Tommy heard the phone drop to the floor, and when she heard the next voice it was Bo Brown, the Mr. Brown to Jerilyn’s Mrs. Brown.

  “Thank you, Tommy. Don’t you worry about Jerilyn. I’ll take care of her, and I’ll make sure Jeremiah is looked after, too. You haven’t told my wife anything I haven’t already tried to tell her, except all of that legal stuff. I was listening on the other phone, and I have never wanted to file suit. Her friends just try to make her think we should get millions instead of thousands, and they want the Judge to fry. I don’t want money or revenge, and I know I
can’t get my little girl back. I just want my boy to be happy, and my wife to start loving me again. I thank you for your time, Tommy. I know we didn’t pay you much, but God will give you recompense for all you have done for us.”

  He hung the phone up gently, and Tommy breathed at long last. She hated having to remember all the personal injury cases she’d tried, and how unsatisfactory the resolution was even when the judgments were high. She knew she’d done the right thing in taking on this case as an investigator, though, and would have to leave it to the Browns’ higher power to guide them to the resolution they needed. Her higher power dictated that she get her butt out of this chair and lay down for a much needed sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dave was more than a little miffed that Tommy had been so short with him in their last phone conversation. She also hadn’t returned the last two of his messages. All he could figure was that, either she was really involved in her caseload and had little time, or that she hadn’t found a soul mate like he had and was more than a little jealous. Dave had been Tommy’s best male friend for the last 13 years, and she had never before shined him on. Usually, when he was wrapped up in one of his affairs, Tommy would not only listen but also give him pointers on how to treat the current woman in his life. He had always valued her advice.

  He hadn’t realized how much he had come to depend upon her, or she on him. He had listened, commiserated and counseled her on all of the matters relating to her marriage to, and divorce from, Robert. Dave also testified at the hearing to disbar Tommy, and was undoubtedly her best character witness. Most importantly, he had flown her out to Honolulu after CeCe’s death, and held her and reassured her that she was not at fault as best he could. He tried everything to nurse her through her deep depression. And so he felt he had a right to be more than a little hurt that she was taking so little interest in the love of his life.

  Dave and Loke had been spending every other evening going out together. He found her to be very companionable, and she was, oh, so very easy to look at. Her skin was velvety soft, and her warm brown eyes made his heart melt. She was so voluptuous that he had difficulty restraining himself from making mad, passionate love to her whenever they kissed. He had tried to take it very slowly, because the other Asian and mixed-Polynesian women he had dated seemed very seductive on the outside, but were actually quite shy and virginal. His dates with Loke usually ended with chaste kisses that were lengthening in time and heat, and soft caresses that were sliding quite naturally into the nether areas. These clandestine touches had occurred only in the privacy of his car or on Loke’s doorstep to date.

  He was getting so excited about tonight that he had really wanted Tommy to encourage him to take his relationship with Loke to the next level. Loke was preparing a mini-luau for him at her home. She called him earlier in the day to let him know the menu consisted of lomi lomi salmon, poi, roasted pork, gravy, steamed rice, kim chee and haupia, the sweet coconut dessert. All he had to do was bring the wine and himself. It pleased him immensely that she was so willing to prepare all of this food just for him, and to serve it to him in her home. Dave was anticipating having both his taste buds and his loins stimulated. After all, her bedroom couldn’t be far from the dining room, could it?

  While he took his time showering and dressing with care, Loke spent her afternoon preparing the delectable foods she would offer Dave. She cheated quite a bit by picking up the kim chee at the Korean deli in Kailua town, and having the roast pork and poi delivered from a local Hawaiian restaurant. Dave wouldn’t know that, though, because she put the pork in a baking pan, intending to heat it in her oven later, and hid the carton it came in. The kim chee went in one of her glass dishes, and she took the haupia she had made the night before out of the refrigerator. She sure didn’t want to place the kim chee in the refrigerator and have that strong pickled cabbage smell getting into her haupia.

  Loke spent quite a bit of time massaging the salmon to make the lomi lomi herself, and would steam the rice and fix the gravy after Dave arrived. She set the table with her sister’s beautiful china on top of an embroidered lace tablecloth she had picked up in Shanghai. Crystal wine goblets sat next to heavier water glasses, and the silver wear was sterling. Cloth napkins were folded origami style and placed on top of the plates. When everything was ready, she would soak in the bath with perfumed oils and soften her feet and elbows with a special pumice stone she’d found in Hong Kong. She would dress in a low-cut sheath, exposing an enticing expanse of leg and bosom for Dave to ogle.

  But as far as Loke was concerned, the coup de gras had taken place the day before. While her father had been Catholic, he had died when she was quite young. She attended the Catholic church on occasion out of respect for her father. But having been raised by a Hawaiian-Chinese mother who clung to the old ways, Loke was well versed in the traditions of Hawaiian heritage, pre-missionary days. Her sisters went to a Pentecostal Hawaiian church to which they had been exposed. They also honored the spirituality of the easy, Hawaiian faith, which grounded their mother and allowed them to accept all things created by God while revering the mercurial Pele.

  Loke had drifted a long way from both her Catholic upbringing and the island spirituality, which was a way of life for her family. She remembered all of the blessings bestowed by kahunas upon her family and friends throughout her life. Usually, these blessings were prayers for the good fortune of a new business or office, or health and harmony of a home, or fidelity and procreation in a marriage. The good kahuna, for Loke well knew there were “bad” kahunas, would use salt and maile leaves and Hawaiian chants to exorcise ghosts and evil spirits from the building or home. But this kind of blessing was not what Loke had in mind for Dave Lee.

  She requested a meeting with Hiwa Hookano, the most reclusive and despised evil kahuna in the islands. Hookano’s methods were considered unorthodox, and not condoned by any other living kahuna. Still, he did a thriving business in the revenge market, and, unlike good kahunas, profited substantially from his activities. For the sum of $3,000, he conducted a special ceremony in Loke’s converted garage. He entwined seaweed taken from Maui’s Hana coast around the two metal chairs bolted to the cement floor of the garage. Dave’s and Tommy’s pictures were then placed on the seats of the chairs, and black sand from the Kona side of the big island filtered through Kahiwa's hands onto the pictures while he chanted.

  Then he took two items that Loke had given him. One was a cotton jacket Dave said Tommy had left in his home the last time she visited. The other was a pair of Dave’s shorts Loke had stolen from the back seat of his vehicle when he had gone in to the classroom to pick up some papers he’d forgotten. Hiwa carefully lifted two small pieces of smoldering lava he had taken from Pele’s Mauna Loa. One went into the pocket of Dave’s shorts and the other into the pocket of Tommy’s jacket. The clothing was then folded around the backs of the chairs.

  The kahuna knelt before the enshrined chairs as if at an altar. He invoked Pele’s name, closed his eyes, and placed his hands on the pictures of Tommy and Dave while he conjured up their likenesses in his mind. He envisioned bolts of lightning aimed for their brains, and hot lava spewing from their mouths and anuses. His cheeks and lungs filled with the Oahu air, and he blew his breath over the clothing so fiercely the sleeves of the jacket and legs of the shorts trembled violently. Rising from his knees and opening his eyes, he took the bottle of silted brackish water obtained from the Wailua river on Kauai and flung it from his hands in spatters resembling blood, which clung to the clothing.

  The entire time Loke watched unobtrusively, enthralled and excited. Hiwa Hookano looked otherworldly in his swirling purple velvet cape bordered with peacock feathers, his long black hair writhing like a snake on an island where snakes are unheard of. His deep black eyes when opened were opaque, and when he closed them, his weathered lids danced maliciously. His every motion and exclamation caused all of the items on the garage shelves to shake as if experiencing an earthquake. Finally, spen
t, the kahuna said, “It is done.” He looked at Loke and she shivered, not from fear but anticipation. It wasn’t until Hookano left that Loke began humming softly to herself in her kitchen while she completed her own preparations.

  Now, the following day and fresh from her bath, Loke tiptoed out into the garage au natural. She took a quick peek to make sure the table setting was the same as she had left it the night before. She certainly didn’t want to disturb anything yet. She clasped her hands together like a child at Christmas, ready to open the gaily-wrapped presents gathered under the tree. Backing out of the garage, resisting the temptation to touch anything, she returned to the dining room for a last minute check. “Each of the tables has been set,” she mused, “much like communion Sunday.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Hi, my name is Tommy and I am a grateful, recovering alcoholic.” This was the first AA meeting Tommy had attended in over a month, and she was desperate for the solace she felt when surrounded by other drunks who hadn’t taken a drink in a long time. This was really the only group in which she felt like sharing what a bitch she had been when she drank. Tommy was only a happy drunk for the first few hours of drinking. Thereafter, her Irish temper would get the best of her, and her Indian heritage left her so allergic to alcohol that she often had blackouts.

  She’d had fistfights in bars she couldn’t remember. She’d had one-night stands and woken up in the morning next to a man she would never have looked at twice while sober. She had been arrested twice for DUI, but only convicted once. Still, with all that dysfunction and horrific consequences, she hadn’t quit drinking. It seemed to be the only way she could turn off her mind and emotions and not repeatedly drown in doldrums over her daughter’s death, subsequent divorce from the love of her life, and voluntary loss of her license to practice law. Her daughter, her marriage and her legal practice had been the motivating forces for good in her life, and now all three of them had been taken from her.