“No problem at all, Todd. It’s nice to meet you. And you, Tony.” He extended his hand to the wide-shouldered man with the scowl and immediately wished he hadn’t. His knuckles cracked under the pressure of the man’s grip.
“Please come on in and meet my wife, Millicent. I’ll be honest, we were surprised to hear from you, considering you are representing her.” He swung the door open and waved them in, but Reid caught the unsavory note in Todd’s voice as he said the word her.
“I’m not here today as her representative in her federal court hearing. I’m actually just wanting to talk to you and your wife about Wylie. I was hoping we could have some open dialogue about his future.” Upon Todd’s urging, Reid took a seat in the first room they came to.
“What about Wylie?” a tall thin woman with dark brown hair and matching tired looking eyes asked as she cut into the room quickly, a chubby child perched on her hip.
Reid shot to his feet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Olden, and this must be Wylie,” he announced, tipping his head politely.
“My friends call me Millicent; are you my friend, Reid?” There was pain and anger twisted in her face, though the forced smile she wore hid it partially.
“I’d like to hope we could have a friendly conversation, ma’am.” He knew his way through traps. That was a skill a lawyer had to master. Answer the question without boxing yourself in.
“I told Todd not to take your meeting. Just so you understand which of us is welcoming you here. We’re in the middle of a battle and fraternizing with opposing counsel is never a good idea. But we’re trying to be godly. We keep our door open to those who knock. With that said,” her sternness melted away slightly as she looked him over from head to toe, “what can I get you to drink?”
“I’m fine, ma’am, but thank you. I’m not actually going to be representing Tara in the custody case. That’s not my expertise. I think it’s important you know that.”
“Right, so you’re the defense attorney trying to get her off for the heroin thing?” Millicent asked, twisting her mouth as though she’d just tasted something bitter. She whispered the word heroin as if it would mean anything to Wylie if he heard it.
“That’s why I wanted to come here today. I shouldn’t share this with you, but I want the focus to be on Wylie and his future. With that in mind, I wanted to disclose that the standings of the felony charges are not strong. We’ve built a good defense, and I don’t believe Tara is a drug addict or that she’ll be convicted of felony neglect.” It was a bit early to be calling the latter, but he needed to appeal to the Oldens’ reasonable side. It would be easy to want to take a child from a drug addicted mother, but if that wasn’t the case, wouldn’t they be more openminded?
“The case is not going to stick?” Todd asked, freezing in his tracks, hovering for just a moment over the chair he was about to sit in. The room had dozens of chairs, all arranged in little pockets for small groups to gather and chat. It was clearly the room you put people in when you don’t want them going any farther into your home.
“And without those charges the only thing keeping Wylie from being back with Tara is your petition for custody. I’d like to talk with you about that. Maybe we can discuss and brainstorm ways for you to be in Wylie’s life and provide more of a support role for Tara.”
“I notice you don’t call her your client,” Millicent snapped. “We’ve looked into you; she can’t afford your bill, so how exactly have you arranged this relationship?”
“Tara and I were friends when we were young. I knew her when we were children, and she called to let me know there had been some kind of mix-up and she needed help.” Reid straightened his back as Tony, the security man, paced outside the sitting room. “I can assure you there is nothing unpropitious about our relationship. I am representing her because I believe she is innocent.”
“A mix-up, is that what she’s saying that was? How do you accidently do heroin?” Millicent scoffed and whispered the word heroin again, this time while covering Wylie’s ears. “This is nonsense. We will not sit here and talk about reunification or any other agreements. Let the courts decide.”
“Reid,” Todd interrupted, now sitting with his legs causally crossed as he seemed to take in the situation from all angles. “We love Wylie. He’s been out of our lives for some time but that hasn’t changed anything. He’s our grandchild and if you look around, and I welcome you to, you will see we are doing everything we can to provide him a happy, safe, and healthy environment. It’s what we’ve done for dozens of foster children over the last couple of years. It’s even more important to us now, considering he is our flesh and blood.”
“I understand,” Reid said calmly. “But the courts normally favor reunification. If you know the system, you know that. I’m not here to broker some deal or pull any strings. I’m just here to talk about a long-term solution that might be right for everyone. Including this little pumpkin.” Reid winked at Wylie and watched his tiny ears perk up and a smile form as he looked around.
“I’m blown away that she isn’t going to jail. What plausible argument can you make that she is innocent? She left this child out in the cold.” Millicent’s voice was in a whisper again as she discussed the details while Wylie played happily with a loud singing toy.
“I can’t go into all the details but there is more at play here,” Reid said, trying not to get off topic. “Would you both be willing to say if Tara is not a drug addict you would want her to have a relationship with her son? Would that be within reason?” He was starting low, hardly asking very much of them at all. But the gasping noise that came from Millicent was not promising.
“Wait right here. Tony, please take Wylie into the kitchen for a snack.” She dashed out of the room as Tony came in and scooped the child up with a tickle and a monster noise. The boy squealed and shrieked happily, chirping the word snack as they walked away.
A moment later Millicent returned with a stack of papers in her hand. She slammed them down, mostly for effect he could tell, on the coffee table in front of Reid. “This is the information that has been provided to us from our lawyers and investigators for the custody trial. You seem like a reasonable man, a good man really. I’m sure in your line of work you are frequently stuck defending people who are just plain guilty. And a good man would struggle with that. Do you struggle with that?”
“There are cases,” he began, but she cut him off before he could qualify his statement.
“Do you have a relationship with God, Reid?” she asked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she swallowed back her emotion. Her mascara streaked dramatically down her face as she cried.
“I think we’re losing the reason for this conversation,” Reid tried, but she cut in again.
“I’ll take that as a no. Well, I do. And I cannot in good conscience lay my head on my pillow again if this child is placed back with that girl. I think you are a good man, so I believe if you knew the things on those papers you wouldn’t be here. You’d never try to give Wylie back to her if you knew.”
The pile of papers in front of him took on a life of their own. They were a twister, willing his hands to them, pulling him in. The lawyer in him needed to see what kind of case the Oldens were building against Tara. But the friend in him, the one who wanted to believe everything Tara had told him, was reluctant to look. As it had for most of his adult life however, logic trumped emotion. He lifted the stack and glanced at various documents. All were compiled neatly and court ready.
“She’s shared with me about her babysitter. Tara told me she’s young,” Reid began, taking note of the first few sentences of the top sheet. “But girls of that age do babysit.”
Millicent could hardly catch her breath as she struck with her argument. “Wylie touched the hot stove while she was babysitting. The little girl was cooking something on the stove. Ludicrous. And instead of taking him to the hospital for the burn the woman upstairs treated it. She’s a dental assistant. Not a nurse. Not a doc
tor. He should have been taken to the emergency room. It left a scar for goodness sake.” She gestured animatedly, pointing on her own hand where the scar was on the boy. She paced so quickly Reid had to snap his head around to keep up with her as she bumped from one elegant piece of furniture to the next on her way across the room.
Reid flipped a few more pages, trying to scan them as quickly as possible. “A neighbor found him wandering the hallway of the apartment complex?” he asked, looking at the list of names corroborating the story.
“Yes,” Todd finally chimed in, but his voice was less accusing and more pained. “It was in the middle of the night. Some drunken man coming home saw him on the first floor, playing with a bunch of cans from the recycling bin. Tara was asleep.”
“Or high,” Millicent interjected coolly.
“Was it reported to the police?”
“No, the man knocked on all the doors until someone recognized Wylie, and they woke Tara up. Think about what might have happened if the wrong person would have found him first. Or if he’d fallen down all those stairs. It’s a terrible neighborhood she lives in. Have you seen her apartment? It’s squalor. Uninhabitable. There are pictures.” She pointed at the stack and urged him to look.
Reid picked up photos in crisp colors, like those taken by a real estate company in an effort to sell the property quicker. But instead of highlighting the magnificent features of the place it homed in on the disarray. There was a stack of laundry overflowing two hampers. The bed had broken, and slanted sharply to the left. Dishes overflowed in the sink and piles of droppings, probably from a rat, were photographed as well. It wasn’t quite a house of horrors, but the photos told a story.
“He was covered in bites,” Millicent said in hoarse whisper. “Some kind of bug. Bedbugs, I’m sure. There’s more, plenty more for you to see. Just look at the notes from her pediatrician.” Reid skipped ahead through some papers and found what she was talking about. “He has been pushing her, when the girl bothers to show up for appointments, to schedule Wylie for surgery for his ear infections. It’s a simple procedure with tubes. It’ll stop all his suffering, but she can’t be bothered. They even have records that she hasn’t been filling his prescriptions for the antibiotic. She just lets poor Wylie’s eardrums burst.”
“I think it’s honorable you came here today, son,” Todd said, standing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t what you were expecting to hear, I’m sure. But now that you have, I hope you can see why we’re going to fight so hard to keep Wylie here with us. And maybe rather than focusing on convincing us we should help Tara, you should convince Tara she should help Wylie.”
“She doesn’t deserve a thousand chances at his expense just because she gave birth to him. There’s a story in the Bible; I’m guessing you haven’t opened yours in a while.” Her unnatural penciled-in eyebrow sprang up judgmentally. “I don’t challenge the good book very often, but maybe you’ve heard of the judgment of Solomon.”
“Cutting the baby in half,” Reid replied smartly. It wasn’t because he’d spent his life in a church but because the story had been brought up in one way or another in more ways than one would imagine in the modern day courtroom. It was meant to be some kind of example of infinite wisdom of an impartial judge.
“Yes,” she replied unimpressed. “I don’t intend to tell the world to give Wylie back to his mother just to keep him in one piece. Considering how she’s mothered him over the years, I think it’s just a matter of time before he’s gravely injured. I will fight for this boy. I will use every penny and every contact to make sure he stays with us. We will hire the best lawyers; we will do whatever it takes to keep him from her. It’s not because we feel he can have a better life here. It’s not because we are selfish and want him all for ourselves. It is simply because we don’t think he stands a chance with her. And if there is even a part of you that believes the same thing then shame on you for helping her.”
“Millicent,” Todd scolded. “The boy is just trying to—”
“No,” she snapped back, waving a hand at her husband angrily. “No, I know it’s part of your job to sit next to people, bad people, and try to gain their freedom. Even if they don’t deserve it, even if you know they are guilty and they might reoffend. That’s what you get paid to do. I’m looking at you and I see it. I see it in your eyes. You’re tired of it. You are sick about it. So stop. Stop fighting for the wrong side.”
Reid felt violated in her assessment of him, in the accuracy of it. “I should go,” he asserted, standing quickly and already halfway across the room.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Todd apologized, mopping sweat from his forehead and seeming to ignore the tiny hum of protest from his wife. She clearly didn’t agree with his take on the situation. “You’re a good man for coming here, and we too have been shocked by how bad this really is. If we had known, we would have acted sooner. But now that we do know,” he said, extending his hand for a shake and waiting for Reid to take hold before he spoke again, “we can’t turn a blind eye to this.”
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Reid said with a dodgy glance out the opened front door. “Have a good, um, I will just . . .” He let his words trail off and hurried down the steps and out to his car. He’d heard the expression seeing red before. It had actually come up in court plenty of times. A defendant’s excuse that upon learning or witnessing something they were so overtaken with emotion or anger that their senses were washed with a blinding red hue. For the first time Reid could not dismiss the notion as some lazy excuse for lack of self-control. Because as he slammed his car door shut and forced the key into the ignition everything in front of him was a hot red cloud. There was so much she’d left out, and he had let her do it.
Chapter 24
“This guy’s a tweaker for sure,” Willow said as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and leaned against the brick wall of the pharmacy, waiting impatiently for Tara to hand over her coffee.
“I spilled half of it on the way here,” Tara admitted sheepishly. “I was shivering to death.” The words were like a cork in a bottle, plugging up her throat. The thought of Wylie shivering in that dark parking lot alone flooded her the way it always did when she forgot to push the vision out of her mind.
“It’s fine, I hate coffee anyway. It’s a necessity, not an indulgence, for me,” Willow admitted, folding her hands around the paper cup and letting it warm her slightly. “I need something to do while we watch Dante Yule doing a bunch of nothing.”
“What exactly are we hoping to find by standing over here and watching him?” She squinted to see better across the street and try to make sense of this stranger’s weird mannerisms. “What exactly is he doing?”
“He’s letting people walking by know that he’s got product to sell without overtly implicating himself. That pat of his coat pocket and the quick bend of his arm tells them it’s heroin.”
“Since the first day I found out TJ was using, I’ve been trying to answer this question: Why would anyone do that to themselves?”
“I’m married to a man who faces it every day. He’s a physician at a clinic that specializes in drug use and overall quality of life for patients. I feel so guilty some days for dragging him up here. He’s just a country bumpkin who loved living in sleepy little Edenville, North Carolina, delivering babies and eating at the local diner. But I needed to be up here; I needed to be doing things like this for my own sanity, and he’s made it work.” Willow took a sip of her coffee, never letting her eyes drift from Dante.
“That’s incredible dedication to each other,” Tara said, burying the envy she felt beneath a smile. “So does Josh know the answer to that question? Why would they do it to themselves?”
“My husband is a clinical man. He’d tell you the list of things that heroin does to a body, how the addiction is incessant and biological. But I know that’s not what you’re asking. My answer to that question is always different than his. Why does the person put that
first needle in their arm? What did they need; what were they desperate for? Release? Escape? The rest of us are stuck facing all the horribly unfair, seemingly insurmountable piles of bullshit the world throws our way. There is no way around it, only through it. So we grab on to the people we love and plow forward. But remember the guy in the alley trying to sell to us, remember his pitch. Three seconds to rush. That’s just how close the escape is. The shelter from all of it. Just three seconds away. It’s street slang, but if you were desperate to be someone else, to feel like someone else, and you knew it was that close, maybe you’d grab it. Now the drug is cheap and accessible in a way we’ve never seen before. It’s reaching more people and that proposition of a way out just three seconds away is too much for some to turn down.”
“I guess for some people it’s tempting,” Tara sighed, still not willing to admit the tradeoffs could be worth it. “What’s he doing now?” she asked, shooting off the wall to see better.
“Could you be a little less obvious?” Willow begged, tugging on Tara’s sleeve. “We’re supposed to be observing, not tackling the guy if he makes a sudden movement. Look, he’s got a customer.”
“We should do something,” Tara said, feeling her heart thudding against her chest. “We can’t let him sell drugs to someone right in front of us and not do anything.”
“Of course we can,” Willow said, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “The point of this is to try to see who he’s associated with and why he was at the scene the night you were found.”
“I’m still not sure why you think he was,” Tara admitted, forcing herself to lean against the wall again and sip on her now lukewarm coffee.
“He’s not that bright. He made the 911 call on a burner phone. That’s great for anonymity if you ditch the phone. Figuratively burn it. But this idiot is still using the thing. You’re supposed to buy it with cash too, which you’d think a drug dealer would have plenty of, but he used his prepaid debit card and bought it at a store that had some pretty high-tech cameras. Once my friend did a trap and trace on the number that made the emergency call, it was pretty easy connecting the dots.”
[Piper Anderson 01.0] Three Seconds to Rush Page 13