Witness for the Defense

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “I'm not saying we hog-tie Melissa and deliver her to the police,” I explained. “Only that we hint at a scenario where she might have killed Weaver.”

  Following yesterday's strategy session, I'd confirmed that Melissa Burke did have use of Ted's Explorer on the night Weaver was killed, and that the car, like Terri's, had sheepskin seat covers. True, it was black rather than dark blue, but at night it might be difficult to tell. She didn't much like Doublemint, though she chewed it on occasion, and had a new pair of dark glasses, she said, because she'd broken the earpiece from her old pair. The night Weaver was killed Melissa had been home watching television. Alone.

  But Terri was having nothing to do with using Melissa as a decoy.

  “If she's as likely a suspect as you,” I explained, “then the jury will—”

  Terri shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She's Hannah's mother, that's why.”

  “You are Hannah's mother,” I said.

  Terri was resolute. “You know what I mean.”

  “Do you think Hannah comes out ahead by having you go to prison for something you didn't do?”

  Terri was quiet a moment. “That's not going to happen, is it?” Her voice had lost some of its starch. “Can't you get me off without implicating Melissa?”

  “I'm working on it. But if we can find another suspect and explanation to hand to the jury, and if the evidence supports—”

  “But not Melissa.” Terri fixed me with a penetrating look.

  I shifted position on the hard wooden chair and leaned forward. “What if she did it, Terri? What if she's the one who killed Weaver?”

  “Then she did it for Hannah's sake. You think I could throw her to the wolves for that?”

  I could see that it was an argument I wasn't going to win. “Okay, we've got time. Let's see what develops.”

  “There must be plenty of people with reason to kill the man.”

  “I'm looking into that, too.” I slumped back into my chair, gathering strength for the next question. “Do you wear dark glasses, Terri?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where are they?”

  She gave a startled laugh. “Not here, for darn sure. I guess they took them when they booked me. Along with my purse, my clothing, my medicines.”

  “Medicines?”

  “For migraines. They let me take the medication, I'm not saying they didn't. Just that I have to ask and get permission each time.”

  I tried to call up a picture of Terri during our drive to the jail. Though my memory was fuzzy, I seemed to recollect a pair of dark glasses. “Do you have just that one pair?” I asked her.

  She nodded. “They're from the optometrist. Good-quality lenses. It really makes a difference. Why?”

  I told her about the dark glasses found at the crime scene.

  “They can't be mine,” she said. “Check with the police. They must have my glasses with my other stuff.”

  One more chip in the prosecution's case. That was good.

  Terri switched the phone to her other ear. “Were you able to work it out so that I can attend the adoption hearing?”

  “Not yet.” I'd tried both the legal route and a personal appeal to the deputy, but the answer was the same. Terri's presence was not legally mandated.

  “Do you think you'll be able to?”

  I hesitated. “Probably not.”

  Terri crumpled. She held her free arm across her middle as if she were in pain. “It's not fair. I didn't do anything wrong. How can they take Hannah from me?”

  “I'm not convinced they can,” I told her. “Not at this point.” The sticky part was that Hannah's adoption hadn't yet been officially ratified. If it had, Terri's arrest would have no impact. But we were stuck in a muddy and untried no-man's-land.

  “What if they do?” Terri persisted. “Shouldn't I be able to tell them how much I want her?”

  “It will be a procedural issue. Your being in court or not won't tip the scale.”

  Her expression was sober. “That other couple, the Coles, they'll be in court, won't they? Ted says they're out to cause problems.”

  I'd spoken to their attorney briefly on the phone. According to her, the Coles weren't so much causing trouble as stepping in to remedy a terrible misfortune.

  “We'd be having the hearing,” I told her, “even without the Coles.” Private or not, all adoptions were regulated by the state. But she was right, the Coles muddied the waters.

  “At least Melissa still favors us over them,” Terri said.

  A fact that probably went a long way toward explaining why Terri was reluctant to entertain the notion of Melissa as a killer.

  Terri curled her little finger through the phone cord. “I miss Hannah so much it actually hurts.”

  “But you've seen her, haven't you?”

  Terri nodded, smiled even, although it was a sad smile. “Ted brings her sometimes. So does my mother. But it's not the same as being with her. Most of the time, I can't even touch her because of the glass barrier.”

  And now, on top of everything, the Coles were trying to make Terri out to be an unfit mother.

  <><><>

  “Is that them?” Ted asked me, directing my attention to the man and woman who'd just entered the courtroom. “We'll find out soon enough.”

  The couple, both in their late thirties, hesitated for a moment, then moved to join their attorney near the front of the room. A prune-faced woman dressed all in black. She'd introduced herself to me earlier.

  “Margaret Thatcher,” she'd said, without a hint of amusement. “Attorney-at-law.” She'd actually used that phrase, presenting herself, I thought, more as a business card than a person.

  I whispered to Ted, “It's them.”

  The Coles looked enough alike to be siblings. Both were large-boned and angular with pale coloring and hardened scowls. They glanced about the small courtroom, lighting immediately on Lenore Cross, who held her granddaughter Hannah, swaddled in a blanket. As the couple took their seats, the husband lifted his wife's hand into his own and whispered something into her ear.

  A moment later, Judge Nye entered and took a seat at the bench. He wore the same stern expression he had at the last hearing. After a few preliminaries, Nye addressed those assembled.

  “We are here,” he said gravely, “on a matter that has not only become more complicated since our last meeting, but has taken on new dimensions. It is, to my knowledge, a situation which the courts have not been called upon to address before today.” He paused, then directed his attention to the social worker. “Legalities aside, the child is doing fine, am I right?”

  “Yes. She's being well cared for by Mr. Harper and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Cross. The baby's birth mother also spends time with her.”

  As if on cue, Hannah whimpered from the back of the room. Lenore rocked her gently and she quieted.

  Judge Nye cleared his throat and donned a pair of half-frame glasses. His steely gray hair was close-cropped at his temples. “What we have here is a most unusual situation. Had it not been for Mr. Weaver's claim to paternity, the adoption would have proceeded on schedule, and would be final by now. With his death, the outcome would be the same—except for the fact that the adoptive mother is in jail awaiting trial for his murder. And now”—he turned to the Coles and their attorney—”we have a new wrinkle.”

  Ms. Thatcher saw this as an invitation to step forward. “Your Honor, my clients had initially been selected as the adoptive parents of the child in question, and they are still desirous of adopting her. They can provide a two-parent home and a stable family environment. They have one adopted child already who is five.”

  “The birth mother chose the Harpers,” I said. “That is her right in an independent adoption. Social Services has made the requisite home visits and found the Harpers to be acceptable parents. Nothing has happened that should change that.”

  “Except that the adoptive mother is in jail,” Ms. Thatcher p
rompted.

  I donned an air of reasonableness. “If Terri Harper were in the hospital with pneumonia or had been called for jury duty in a case that required her to be sequestered, the court wouldn't intervene.”

  “But she's not. She is in jail for murder.”

  “She's in jail awaiting trial,” I said. “Surely you, of all people, understand the difference. Or did you miss the lecture on presumption of innocence?”

  Judge Nye turned his gaze in my direction. “Ms. O'Brien, I will not have schoolyard behavior in my courtroom.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor.”

  “I concede that you do have a point, but I'm hard pressed to equate being in jail with being in a hospital.”

  “But that's the fundamental tenet of our judicial system.” It felt funny delivering this lecture to a judge, but I wanted to make sure he followed my argument. “People are presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. Nothing has been proven against Terri Harper. Because she was arrested on a grand jury indictment, we haven't even seen the evidence against her, much less been able to question it.”

  The Coles' attorney scrunched her face tight. “Your Honor, we have to consider the welfare and happiness of the child. An innocent baby. Doesn't she deserve a mother's love and attention?”

  “The child is not being abused or neglected,” I pointed out. “In fact, she is being well cared for by people who love her. If she were the Harpers' natural-born child, the court would have no grounds to intervene.”

  “But she isn't!” Margaret Thatcher's tone was growing heated. “The adoption isn't yet final. The child is still, in a sense, a ward of the court.”

  Our exchange reminded me of childhood scuffles with my sister. Judge Nye must have had daughters himself, because he rapped his gavel and gave us both a cold stare.

  “Enough. Both of you.” He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then slipped them back on. “I have given this situation a good deal of thought. I've reviewed the record and read the briefs submitted by both sides. I am mindful that a child's welfare and happiness are at stake here.”

  Ted's hand formed a fist under the table. “No,” he whispered under his breath. “Please, no.”

  “If I were charged with reaching a decision simply on what is in her best interest,” Nye continued, “I might well reach a different decision. But this is a matter of law, and I must, however reluctantly put the law before my own personal feelings.”

  He paused. The silence in the courtroom was deafening.

  “I'm going to hold this case over until after Mrs. Harper's trial. The adoption will remain open and the case worker will continue to monitor the child's care, but unless circumstances change, the child will stay with Mr. Harper during this interim period.”

  Ted's fist uncurled and he slumped back in his chair. Behind us, I could hear Lenore Cross let out a breath of relief.

  The Coles looked as though they'd been struck. Margaret Thatcher frowned darkly and bent across the table to mutter something for their benefit. A moment later, Mrs. Cole turned to look at me. Her eyes were filled with hatred.

  Ted leaned over and offered a heartfelt thanks. “Terri will be so happy. I can't wait to tell her.”

  Lenore, also, was ecstatic. “I don't know what I'd have done if the judge ruled against us.” She tucked in the yellow flannel blanket around Hannah's feet where she'd kicked it loose.

  Hannah liberated her feet again in short order. She focused her gaze on me with eyes wide open and alert—and the brightest robin's egg blue I'd ever seen. I felt a tickle of something in my chest, and wondered how Terri had managed the loss of her daughter as well as she had.

  Lenore handed Hannah to her dad.

  Ted kissed her tiny forehead. “Ready to face the press, Hannah?”

  “You're going to make a statement?” I asked. Although reporters had been barred from the courtroom, they were present in force outside. We'd already waded through the cameras and microphones once on our way in.

  “A short one. You think it's a bad idea?”

  “No.” It was probably a good idea in fact. Nothing warmer and fuzzier than father and infant daughter. Defense strategy wasn't supposed to concern itself with PR, but sometimes what happened outside the courtroom was almost as important as what went on inside. “Just keep it positive.”

  Ted propped Hannah against his broad shoulder with the ease of someone accustomed to caring for an infant.

  Lenore touched my arm. “Things are moving along on Terri's trial, aren't they?”

  “September 15.”

  “That's a long time still.” She seemed lost in thought.

  “Come on,” Ted said. “Let's get out of here.”

  Lenore lingered a moment, as though there was something more she wanted to say. Then she followed Ted.

  I found a quiet corner, pulled out my cell phone, and called Steven, as I'd promised I would.

  “You know,” he said after I'd told him the good news, “the Coles had a motive for seeing Weaver dead, too.”

  “To get the baby, you mean?”

  “Right. If you think about it, it's a pretty good plan. Eliminate the birth father, and at the same time, make it look like the adoptive mother is the killer. You get rid of both obstacles in one move. Very efficient.”

  “Sounds risky, if you ask me. They might not end up with the baby in any event, and more importantly, they might get caught.”

  “Don't rule it out too quickly, okay?”

  I remembered the hostile look on Mrs. Cole's face after the judge's ruling. Maybe Steven's suggestion wasn't so improbable after all. “I'm game for anything that will help Terri.”

  Steven was silent for a moment. “Are you by any chance free for dinner tonight?” He was trying hard to pull off a casual, spur-of-the-moment invitation. But I heard the tremor in his voice.

  “I thought we weren't going to go there.”

  “Dinner, Kali. I didn't say anything about a roll in the hay.”

  I felt my cheeks grow pink. Had I read too much into a friendly overture?

  “If you prefer,” Steven added, “you can meet me at the restaurant.”

  “I ”

  “If it makes you happy, we can get a table for six and sit at opposite ends.”

  I bit back a laugh.

  “And I'll eat with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “I, uh...” It was a good night to be out. Dottie and Bea were cooking dinner for Murray Parsons and one of his pals. They'd invited me to join them, cajoled me in fact, but I didn't really feel like being a fifth wheel, especially at a table where the conversation was more likely to revolve around hearing aids and hemorrhoids than things close to my heart.

  “So, how about it?”

  “Sure,” I said, with the same casual offhandedness. And the same tremor.

  CHAPTER 20

  I gave serious thought to canceling. To calling Steven and pleading illness or a last-minute client deadline. Or even telling him the truth—that I'd been out of my mind to agree to have dinner with him.

  That he'd been out of his mind to ask.

  Instead, I snapped at Jared, slammed file drawers and cabinet doors, then left work early for the gym. There, at least, I could put my irritation to good use.

  With an hour's workout behind me, I was calmer if no less confused.

  What was I doing jumping into the fire pit a second time? Not a problem, I told myself. Steven was no longer a married man. The heavens echoed with laughter. Not married because his wife was killed while you were sleeping with him. It's still not the same, I argued. Maybe not the same, a little voice argued back, but ill-advised nonetheless.

  Why wasn't I willing to leave well enough alone?

  That one was easy. Because I was attracted to Steven. Something about him tapped a reservoir of feelings I usually tried to ignore. The only other person who'd had the same effect on me was Tom. Also married.

  <><><>

  Steven had suggested a relat
ively new restaurant near the Rockridge BART station in Berkeley. Neutral territory since neither of us had eaten there before. It had recently been written up in the Chronicle so I was surprised he'd been able to get a reservation on short notice.

  I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes late, on purpose. Steven was already seated, sipping a glass of red wine, but he rose when I approached, clearly torn between a hug and a handshake. In the end, he offered a nervous smile and sat down again.

  The tables were filled and the room was noisy, but we had a relatively secluded table in the corner by a window.

  “I didn't order a bottle,” Steven said, “because I wasn't sure what you wanted. Still drink red with dinner?”

  I nodded.

  He signaled the waitress and she took my order.

  Steven looked good. Maybe it was the soft lighting of the restaurant or the gaiety of the people around us, or maybe it was that I'd finally allowed myself to really see him. To be present with the man he was today.

  There was a touch of silver at his temples, and his face had filled out a little in the years since we'd last had dinner. He was wearing a teal silk shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes.

  “To Hannah Harper,” he said when my glass of zinfandel arrived. “Lenore says you did a terrific job.”

  “The law was on our side. It's likely to be a different matter if Terri is convicted.”

  “I don't even want to think about that possibility.”

  “It's a real one, though.”

  Steven's face was a solid wall, suddenly unreadable.

  I swirled the deep red liquid in my glass. It shimmered with reflected candlelight. “There are a couple of things that worry me,” I said after a moment.

  “Such as?”

  “Terri's trip to Mendocino, for example.” It was one of those things that made sense and yet didn't. An ink drawing that was a rabbit one minute, the profile of a woman's face the next.

  “You don't believe her?”

  “It's not that.” In fact, I'd spoken to her friend, Robin, and he'd confirmed Terri's visit pretty much as she'd described it. In answer to my questions, he'd conceded that she probably had appeared somewhat distracted, but not particularly upset.