The laminate table top had several etchings. Most were foul and vulgar; the rest were, she assumed, initials. As she sat there her adrenaline started to crash, so she put her head down on her arm and willed herself to stay strong.
They left her in that room for two hours and seven minutes, until yet another pair of detectives entered carrying notebooks and coffee. “Want some?” the shorter of the two asked.
“Please,” she responded.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black,” Darby said.
The detective stepped out and was back in just under a minute. While he was gone the other detective remained mute. It was disconcerting.
He passed her the coffee and said, “I’m Detective Lange and this is Assistant State’s Attorney Matt Johnson.”
He opened a leather portfolio and took out a slip of paper, which he slid across the table to Darby. “These are your rights,” he began.
“I already told you I don’t care about my rights.”
“Then I need you to initial each box and sign it.”
Darby sighed and did as asked and slid the paper back to him.
“Walk me through what happened today,” the state’s attorney asked.
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. The detective got up and stepped out for a minute, speaking in whispered tones to another man Darby could only see in silhouette.
He came back to the table but didn’t sit down. “This interview is over,” he announced. Then looking to the state’s attorney he said, “Her lawyer is here and he invoked for her.”
“What lawyer?” Darby asked.
“David Greer,” he answered and Darby noticed something pass between the two men.
“What?”
“Greer is the best defense attorney in Martin County.”
“I don’t know David Greer and I didn’t hire an attorney.”
“Your husband did.”
CHAPTER SIX
David Greer looked like a stereotypical successful attorney: silk suit and tie, posh leather briefcase, and a Presidential Rolex attached to his left wrist. Darby was definitely not glad to see him, even if he was a complete stranger, because Sean was with him.
Darby braced herself, waiting for Sean to attack. Instead, he came around the table, hugged her awkwardly since her wrist was cuffed to the table, then he kissed her cheek and brushed away her tears. She wasn’t sure why she was crying; she was just so confused by his response.
“They’re going to transfer you to the jail,” Mr. Greer said. “So we don’t have much time. Tell me what happened.”
Darby launched into the events of the day, keeping her gaze on the handcuffs and her voice as calm as possible. “Sean can tell you; I wasn’t a good mother. Mia deserved better, so I sent her to God.”
“Have you always had these religious feelings?”
“No,” Sean answered for her. “As far as I know the last time she was in church was on our wedding day.”
“I couldn’t even feed her correctly,” Darby continued. “She cried a lot and no matter what I did, I couldn’t comfort her.”
“When did these feelings start?” Greer asked.
“When I was pregnant.”
“What?” Sean demanded. “Why didn’t you say something to me?” She could see his temper beginning a slow boil.
She glanced up at him. “I think you know why. What does it matter? I did it and now I have to pay the price.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
Darby nodded. “I saw a therapist for the last two months I was pregnant. And I told my OB/GYN. I think I knew before she was born that I was going to fail as a parent.”
Sean knelt by her, holding her free hand. “You should have come to me,” he said in a tone she recognized as insincere. To the untrained ear, it was that smooth, comforting tone that had first attracted her to him. Only now she knew better. That tone was his gateway into a hellish life with a brutal man.
“I’ll need names and a retainer,” Greer said. “They’ll take you before the judge tomorrow morning and I’m going to try to get you out on bond.”
“Really?” Darby asked, terrified.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Darby. Beautiful, wealthy professional kills baby and tosses her body in a canal is a press wet dream. I don’t think a judge is going to grant bail in your case. But we might have another option.”
“Which is?”
“Let me talk to your doctors. We might be able to work on a diminished capacity defense.”
“I knew what I was doing,” Darby insisted.
Greer placed both his palms down on the table and leaned toward Darby. “And you have to stop saying that to anyone and everyone. Do not discuss your case with anyone. Okay?”
She nodded.
“My checkbook is at the house but if you can bring it to me, I’ll be able to pay you.”
Then Sean said, “We should probably do a Power of Attorney so that I can pay your legal bills or whatever comes up while you’re…indisposed.”
“I can’t think about that now,” Darby said. And hell will freeze over if he thinks I’d ever give him Power of Attorney.
Sean gave her a hug and as he did, he whispered into her ear, “You’ll pay for this.”
* * *
Darby was taken down a dark hallway to a row of cubicles. A metal stool was in front of each cubicle. The deputy had her stop at one, then said “Sit.”
Darby did as she was told and found herself staring at a bored-looking woman in uniform at a computer terminal. The handcuffs were removed.
“Full name?”
“Darby Hayes Grisom.”
“Address?”
Darby answered every question while absently rubbing her wrists. The questions seemed endless and pointless. What did her financial information have to do with anything?
“Do you have an attorney?”
“Yes.” She gave the woman Mr. Greer’s information.
Next she was taken to the shower room, where she was strip-searched by a female deputy, then provided with a pair of orange scrubs, white panties and a white sports bra. She was crying as she stepped into the shower as commanded and got out when the deputy called her name.
Before she got dressed, the deputy had catalogued her belongings—dress, shoes, undergarments, ring, a cell phone, bracelet, etc. As soon as she was dressed, she was handed a bedroll and pack of personal items and told to follow the deputy. She was taken to a large dorm with double tiers and an open center with chairs and tables bolted to the floor.
“Take bed three,” she was instructed.
Darby went to bed three and tried not to notice the attention she was garnering from the other inmates. Several yelled, “baby killer” in unison and then an alarm sounded.
The inmates immediately got on their beds and Darby did as well. Several deputies came in the unit, one directly to her. “Get your bedroll and your things.”
Darby did as told and the chants and jeers continued and grew louder as she was escorted out of the dorm. “We’ll put you in a segregation cell,” the deputy said. “Obviously your reputation has preceded you.”
Apparently there was a pecking order in prison, and Darby realized she was low woman on the totem pole. She was already worried but having more than a hundred women yelling and spitting in her direction turned that worry into abject fear.
Darby was put into a small cell with a small glass window. It smelled moldy and musty and there was some black gunk staining the air vent on the ceiling. But it was better than being in that hellhole with those other women.
Darby cried softly. It was one thing to know she had made the right decision, but an entirely different thing to have to live with it. She didn’t have a watch, but she guessed she’d dozed off from sheer exhaustion sometime near dawn. She was awakened moments later when a trustee arrived with her breakfast tray.
The least offensive of the offerings was the instant coffee with powdered no-dairy coffee light
ener. She preferred black coffee but figured this cup would need a little help. The remainder of the tray consisted of a scrambled egg, juice, two strips of turkey bacon and two slices of white toast. There were no condiments, not even salt and pepper.
Given that she was terrified of what the day would bring, Darby settled for the rancid coffee and sipped the juice. She learned an important lesson, too. The same person came around to collect the tray before she’d even finished the juice. Apparently one didn’t linger over meals in jail.
Darby looked in the plastic baggie she’d been given and found a toothbrush and toothpaste. She went over to the sink, which was bolted to the wall next to the commode, and held her hair back with one hand while she brushed her teeth. The baggie also contained a small, cheap black comb that took her several minutes to pull through her tangled hair. Technically speaking there was a mirror above the sink, but previous residents had scratched off the reflective surface. The last items in the baggie were a rough, worn washcloth and a small bar of no-name soap which she moistened and used to wash her face. It left her skin feeling tight and dry. Apparently there was also no moisturizing in jail, either.
Just as she was finishing up, the guard appeared and told her to stand up and walk backward to the door. She slipped her hand through the narrow slot and felt cuffs being snapped in place. “Where am I going?” she asked.
“Court,” the guard replied.
It wasn’t exactly a direct route to court. First she was put in a holding cell, then she was escorted in through a side door, to a hallway where she joined another half dozen shackled women. They formed a single line, then boarded a dark green bus for the short trip to the courthouse.
They went in a back door and each woman was placed in a single cell. Darby’s nerves were frayed to near breaking by the time her name was called and a deputy led her into the courtroom. Compared to what she’d seen on TV and in the movies, it was small and darkly paneled, with an impressive bench for the judge. That seat was vacant when she went and stood, knees week, next to her attorney.
Darby was nervous and rattled by the press in the gallery. As she walked into the courtroom, it seemed like a thousand cameras were pointed her way, including television cameras from the three local channels. She shuffled to the long table with the defense placard on it, nearly tripping several times. It wasn’t easy to walk with her ankles and wrists shackled. She was wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and her hair was tucked behind her ears.
The judge entered. Everyone rose and then sat down once the judge was seated, and her case was called. “State of Florida versus Darby Hayes Grisom.”
“Your honor,” Mr. Greer began immediately as he rose and buttoned his jacket. “Mrs. Grisom is a suicide risk and as such, defense moves to have her transferred to an appropriate mental health facility for observation. In addition, the defense believes Mrs. Grisom is and/or was suffering from a mental illness at the time of the crime and asks the court for a competency hearing prior to the defendant offering a plea.”
As she looked around the gallery, she was stunned to see Jack Kavanaugh among the vultures. He was in the back row and his eyes followed her like tractor beams, but she couldn’t read his expression. Had Sean already discovered the changes she’d planned for the trust? No, she decided. Sean wanted revenge and part of that revenge would be finding a way to get to her money. If he knew she had already changed the document, he never would have gotten her a lawyer and be playing the bereft yet understanding husband.
Darby watched him on the news the previous night, through the thin sliver of window in her cell overlooking the common area. Sean had insisted that she was not guilty, but rather suffering from postpartum psychosis. Here was a twist she hadn’t expected, a deviation from her plan. Darby had hoped that setting the stage by seeking help for depression she might, just might, get a lighter prison sentence, allowing her to reunite with Mia. She never dreamed her actions would become a plausible defense. Nor had she thought Sean would be leading the charge.
Now she was terrified of getting out of prison. After his whispered threat, she knew he’d kill her if given the chance.
A deputy was stationed behind her; Sean was in the front row. It seemed like the judge was taking an inordinate amount of time deciding what to do with her. Then he removed his glasses and looked at her and said, “Mrs. Grisom, based on the affidavits provided to the court as well as a sworn statement from your husband, I believe a competency hearing is in order. Therefore, I am ordering that you be transferred to Green Haven for observation and assessment by the state’s psychologist.”
“Excuse me, your honor?” Greer said.
Clearly the judge didn’t like to be interrupted. “Yes?”
“The defense respectfully requests that our own psychologist be able to monitor that evaluation as well as any evaluations the defense may require.”
“Fine,” the judge said, then he looked at the state’s attorney. “Do you wish to add anything at this time?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“We’ll set this matter for preliminary hearing after such time as the mental health professionals have had an opportunity to examine the defendant.”
Darby startled when he slammed his gavel on the desk. “What does that mean?” she asked Greer.
“You’ll be transferred to a secure mental health facility.”
“I don’t have to go back to jail?”
Greer put papers in his briefcase and said, “Yes.” He turned to the deputy behind them and asked, “Hey, Fred? Can she get a hug from her husband?”
He shrugged. “A quick one.”
Sean came around through the swinging doors and wrapped his arms around her. He grabbed her and since she was off balance because of the shackles, she practically fell into his embrace. Darby quickly regained her balance and put as much distance between her and her husband as was humanly possible. Yes, she might have been the one who sent Mia away, but he was the reason she’d been left without a choice. At that instant, Darby tensed automatically, and realized Jack Kavanagh had witnessed the awkward moment.
“That’s enough,” the deputy said, taking Darby’s arm.
“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” Sean said in a whisper.
“Please don’t,” Darby countered softly. “After what I did I can’t even look you in the eyes.”
He offered a menacing smile. “I know. Why do you think I’m doing it?”
Darby was led back to the holding cell adjacent to the courtroom. It was in a series of small cells, each with a sink, commode, and table with attached seats. Everything was bolted down, stainless steel, and smelled of sweat. Darby sat on one of the benches, rubbing her arms where they’d been cuffed for the hearing. She was only there for a few minutes when the guard came and told her that her attorney was here.
“Mr. Greer?” she asked, confused.
“Guy named Kavanaugh.”
“Tell him to go away.”
The guard disappeared, then returned and said, “He said to tell you either you could talk to him or he could talk to your husband.”
Darby sighed. “Okay.”
In minutes, Jack was let into her cell then locked in. Darby was still having trouble getting used to the sound of the metal bolt as it slid into the locking mechanism.
Unlike Greer, Jack carried a backpack, not a briefcase; and he was dressed in his normal casual style. Not that she was in any position to discuss style; she was wearing an ill-fitting tangerine jumpsuit.
“You are full of surprises, Mrs. Grisom,” he said as he took the seat across from her.
“I killed my own baby.”
Jack shook his head. “No you didn’t.”
“Please keep your voice down,” she insisted.
“Then explain to me what’s going on because right now I’m getting the sense that you’ve involved me in some sort of conspiracy.”
“Which is why I didn’t want to see you. But since you’re here, do you have the Trust papers?”
“Yes.”
“Let me sign them.”
“Not until I know what’s going on.”
“I killed my daughter and now I’m going to jail. I want you to use the family trust for Lyssa Chandler. Send her whatever she needs whenever she needs it. And Peggy from my office might call, too. Give her what she needs as well. I don’t have any other relatives so this is what I want done with the money.”
“You have your husband.”
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “The only thing I want from my husband is a divorce. Can you do that? While I’m in here?”
“Sure. But you have to come clean with me. I’m your attorney, remember. I can’t repeat anything you tell me in confidence.”
Darby raked her fingers through her hair.
“You can trust me,” he prodded.
“Right. Why should I?”
“When I saw the news last night I knew something smelled fishy. I saw you with that baby. No way did you kill her.”
“They found her blood on the pillow I used to suffocate her before I threw her in the canal.”
“Bullshit.”
“Sean doesn’t think so.”
“Your husband is a dick. Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I did,” she said as she felt tears sting her eyes. “I told my parents. The next day they were dead.”
“And no one looked at Sean?”
“I don’t know how he did it, but he had his whole alibi in his jacket pocket. The police thought I was being hormonal and dismissed me. All I could think of was how long it would be before Mia did something that made him angry. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Well, you certainly came up with a creative and complicated way to keep that from happening. I’m sure I’m not the only one who saw the bruises. Why not get a divorce and a restraining order?”
“Because we both know Sean would have gotten some sort of visitation. I couldn’t risk that. Now I can divorce him.”
“Actually, you can’t. Not without revealing that Mia is alive. Otherwise it’s considered a fraud upon the court.”
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