Then they have to make a log-entry to record that yes, at seventeen fifteen hours inmate Marilyn Jamison in Cell 202 was sitting on her toilet.
Or pacing back and forth.
Or reading her Bible.
Or whatever.
If the inmate happens to be sleeping during the checks, the guards have the option of interrupting their sleep by calling their name loudly over the cell’s intercom.
Regulations require inmates to answer immediately when called.
Sadistic guards, or guards who don’t like an inmate for whatever reason, often take advantage of the regulation by calling out to red-carders and waking them up every fifteen minutes.
Yes, it keeps a close eye on suicide risks and keeps them from killing themselves.
Such behavior also makes inmates who weren’t contemplating suicide initially to start thinking about it.
Chapter 36
But Marilyn wasn’t a suicide risk.
Yes, she was declared so when she went through incheck and got booked.
That wasn’t because of anything she said, for she offered virtually nothing other than answering direct questions.
They’d asked her the standard “suicide question” that they ask everybody.
“Do you have any intention or desire to harm yourself in any way?”
She answered, quite honestly, “no.”
They put her on suicide watch anyway, based on her demeanor.
The way she shuffled slowly from Point A to Point B.
The way she didn’t carry on chatter with other inmates.
The way she kept looking at the floor.
The way her eyes were always damp.
The way she just looked depressed.
This particular jail had had three suicides in the previous four years.
And each time they got crucified in the press.
They were going the extra mile to prevent number four from happening.
They were being extra cautious.
They took away her shoes and gave her some ugly gray sandals which had been used by countless inmates before her.
They gave her an orange jumpsuit with snaps, instead of the blue jumpsuit with buttons and a belt.
They told her she couldn’t have a razor, lest she try to use it to slash her wrists.
That part she didn’t care about.
She wouldn’t have shaved her legs anyway. She had nobody she needed to impress.
They even took away her underwear.
Apparently they were afraid she might somehow fashion her bra and panties into a makeshift noose and hang herself.
It was all for naught, because despite her depression she had no intention of harming herself.
No, despite her behavior and the pitiful way she was presenting herself, she was far from a woman who’d given up hope.
Granted, it didn’t look good for her.
In fact, the chances of her getting her baby back were pretty bleak.
But it was all she had left to pin her hopes on.
And she so loved that boy. More than she’d ever loved anyone or anything before in her life.
She held out hope because… well, because when there’s only one thing in your life worth getting up for each day you have no choice but to pin your hopes on it.
She was a realist.
She knew that when they took her fingerprints during booking it would make it easier for Rebecca to find her.
She knew that when they stuck a long cotton swab in her cheek and took a sample of her saliva it would make its way into the nation-wide DNA data base.
And if Rebecca’s people had flagged her name she’d be notified within hours.
Still, as she saw it, until Rebecca showed up at the jail to inform her she’d taken custody of the baby there was still a chance.
There was a chance that AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, was running behind again. Still a chance it would be a few days before it sent a notification to Rebecca’s team there’d been a hit on one of their inquiries.
There was still a chance Rebecca wasn’t checking her secure e-mail account every day. And that the DNA notification might languish in her inbox for a couple of days before she noticed it.
There was still a chance Marilyn would get out in time to make it to Child Protective Services and try to talk them into releasing her baby to her, so she could abscond again with him.
Granted, none of that was likely.
With all the publicity the story had already generated, she suspected Rebecca or her people would be checking several times a day for the AFIS and DNA flags.
She knew Rebecca to be meticulously thorough anyway, and suspected she was more so these days.
She couldn’t make bail, because she had no money. And she knew absolutely no one in Akron who’d give her any.
She knew that to relieve overcrowding judges sometimes released inmates on their own recognizance. “OR,” they called it.
And shoplifting was a minor offense in the grand scheme of things.
So there was that.
The big thing, though, was the birth certificate.
If she was able to get to CPS fast enough, while the case was still fresh in the investigators’ minds, they might remember her as the woman who gave up the cute baby boy with the dark curly hair.
If they didn’t specifically remember her, they’d almost certainly ask her to see the baby’s birth certificate.
That would be game over.
Heck, they’d probably ask anyway.
But she couldn’t give up hope.
It was all she had to cling to.
She sat in her cell, deep in her own thoughts, and a stern voice came over the cell intercom.
“Jamison?”
Jamison wasn’t her name anymore. But it was on the driver’s license she presented upon her arrest.
Once the AFIS report came back and revealed her fingerprints belonged to a Marilyn Petty, Jamison would be added to her list of known aliases.
But for now the jail only knew her by a previous name.
She lifted her chin and turned her head toward the intercom.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Time for your arraignment.”
From the hack shack, a guard turned a switch and the electronic lock on Marilyn’s door clicked.
She stood, took a deep breath and walked out of her cell and into the day room.
It was show time.
Chapter 37
Marilyn was shackled, hands and feet, and then escorted into a stark room with three other women.
The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a large blacked-out television screen.
One of the jailers briefed them on what was about to happen.
“In a few minutes Judge Taylor Hanson will appear on the screen from his courtroom.
“Be sure to address him as ‘your honor’ or ‘judge’.
“You ladies are lucky. Judge Hanson is considered one of the fairest in the city, and he will allow you to converse with him. Some of the other judges won’t let you speak once you enter your plea.
“Just remember, though, that he won’t take any nonsense. Don’t complain about the jailhouse food, don’t give him an attitude, and be respectful.
“If you treat him with respect he’ll treat you the same way.”
The jailer stood off to the side and waited patiently for the process to begin.
Other than a single cough emitted by the woman at the end of the line, the room was filled with absolute silence.
The television came to life and a judge appeared.
An older white man with thinning hair, he didn’t even appear to be aware he was being watched. He was sitting on his bench looking down, and appeared to be reading something.
The inmates watched as he closed a manila folder and put it aside, then opened another.
He glanced up, noticed the red light on the camera in front of him, and cleared his throat.
“Good morning.”
The jailer said, “Good morning, your honor.”
The judge had the same voice and mannerisms of an old man who lived next door to Marilyn’s family when she was a little girl.
A kindly old man who used to sit in the front yard with her and talk to her every time her parents were fighting.
He told her that no matter what happened in her life, no matter how badly she was treated by others, to remember she was God’s child and to hold her head high and with dignity.
A few days after their last conversation an ambulance came and they took him away in a black bag.
It was her first experience with death, but she still remembered the old man’s face and the words he left her with.
She saw the judge’s resemblance to the man as perhaps a ray of hope.
She was third in line.
The judge started with the woman to her far left.
“Janice Baker.”
On the jailer’s prompting, Janice Baker took one step forward.
“Yes, your honor.”
“You are charged with an offense under city code 45. 371, theft by taking. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
“Very well. Have you retained an attorney?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have the money to hire an attorney?”
“No, your honor.”
“Very well. I will approve an application for free legal counsel. You will be advised of counsel’s name and will be required to contact his office within twenty four hours of your release. I’ll set your bond at three thousand dollars. Do you have any questions?”
“No, your honor.”
“Step back.”
The jailer nodded and the woman took her place back in line.
“Trisha Gonzalez.”
The woman next to Marilyn stepped forward.
“Yes, your honor.”
“Your offense is State of Ohio Code 31.488, abuse of the elderly. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
“I understand the victim was your father, who shares your home with you. Is that correct?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Can you afford an attorney, Ms. Gonzalez?”
“No, sir. I have no money.”
“Very well. I will have an attorney assigned to your case. You must report to his office within twenty four hours of your release.”
“Yes, your honor.”
“This is your third offense under this statute, Ms. Gonzalez. I’m going to set your bond for two hundred thousand dollars.
“I’m also issuing a restraining order. If you are released before trial you are to stay away from your father and his home at all times. If you go near him your bond will be revoked and you’ll be right back in jail.
“Do you understand?”
“But that’s my home too, your honor. I live there also.”
“Not anymore, ma’am. Not anymore.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may step back.”
Without another word the woman took a step back to reclaim her place in line.
“Marilyn Jamison.”
Marilyn stepped forward without prompting.
“Yes your honor.”
“Ms. Jamison, I see by your record you have several aliases. Is Jamison the one you’re currently using?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“You’re being charged with a violation of city code 235.1, shoplifting. How do you plead?”
If Jacob wasn’t a factor in her decision she’d have plead guilty, served her ninety days in jail and been done with it.
But she wanted her baby back, and that couldn’t happen while she was in jail.
“Not guilty, your honor.”
“Do you have an attorney, Ms. Jamison?”
“No sir. I have no money for an attorney.”
“Very well, Ms. Jamison. I’ll make sure you’re appointed one. You’ll have to report to him within twenty four hours after your release.”
“Your honor, I have no money for bail and I have an elderly mother I care for. I’d like to request an O.R. release.”
The judge paused for a moment.
He opened Marilyn’s folder again.
He said, “There’s no mention of that on your booking sheet.”
“I mentioned it to them, your honor. I guess they forgot to write it down. Right now my elderly mother is home alone, with no one to care for her and to administer her medications.”
He quickly reviewed her records.
“Where does your aged mother live, Ms. Jamison?”
“At 125 Willow Bay Road, your honor.”
He hesitated.
She pushed.
“Your honor, I’m sure my record shows I’ve never skipped bond before, and I’ve always showed up for my court appearances.”
“Yes indeed, I see no defaults.
“Very well, Ms. Jamison. I’ll grant your request because I don’t want your mother to suffer for your mistakes.
“Is the Willow Bay Road address where you’re staying as well?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do not let me down, understand?”
“I won’t, your honor.”
“I’ll have my clerk appoint an attorney for you. As soon as you’ve been notified of his name you’ll be released on your own recognizance.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
Marilyn had never been to 125 Willow Bay Road.
In fact, she didn’t even know if there was a house at that address. For all she knew 125 Willow Bay Road was a vacant lot.
She’d just made note of the street’s name from the back of the police car as she passed the street sign on her way to jail.
Conning the judge who would likely preside over her trial was a very bad idea.
But she was a desperate woman.
Chapter 38
“We’ve had a hit in AFIS,” Rebecca began her phone call to Hannah.
But Hannah didn’t have a clue what she meant.
Rebecca was like a lot of career law enforcement officers and spoke the lingo of her trade, forgetting that civilians weren’t always familiar with it.
Hannah responded, “A hit? AFIS? I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry. AFIS is the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It’s used nationwide.
“A hit means her fingerprint just showed up in the system. We’ve found her.”
Hannah squealed with delight.
“Oh my God! Where is she?”
“She was arrested in Akron, Ohio on a shoplifting charge.
“We’re processing a request to hold her for the United States Marshal.”
“Where’s my baby?”
“We don’t know yet. If she had the baby with her when she was arrested he’s likely in the custody of child welfare officials.
“If she left the baby in the care of someone else before she was arrested we’ll have to question her to find out who.
“Don’t get your hopes up just yet. But we’re a big step closer than we were an hour ago.”
Hannah was trying her best not to get excited.
But it wasn’t easy.
“What next?”
“I’m flying to Akron myself to oversee the operation. I’m headed to the airport.”
“But the flights are backed up. It might take you days to get there by air.”
“Honey, we’re the second biggest government agency after the Department of Defense. We’ve got our own planes.”
“Would you let me know when you find out where the baby is?”
“Of course.”
Tony had heard her squeal from the kitchen and came running.
He could sense there’d been a break in the case.
He looked at Hannah inquiringly after she hung up the phone.
“What? What happened?”
“Marilyn got arrested. We need to pack. We need to pack right now.”
> She flew into the bedroom, her husband close behind.
“Where are we going?”
“Akron, Ohio.”
During the next hour things were hopping on three different fronts.
Hannah and Tony hastily packed a bag and threw it in the trunk of their car.
They called Jeff, Tony’s best friend, and asked him to watch over the house in their absence.
They weren’t going to wait for him. He already had his own key to their place and he needed no instructions.
He’d watched the place before and loved it.
They always had a fully stocked refrigerator and a good supply of beer.
They were in such a rush they forgot to lock the front door.
An hour after she talked to Hannah Rebecca was getting comfortable on a C-20 passenger aircraft assigned to the Department of Homeland Security.
It wasn’t her personal aircraft.
She was a high-ranking DHS official, but even she didn’t have that much weight.
She did, however, have enough weight to coax the pilot into modifying his flight plan and to make an unscheduled stop to pick her up.
She’d be in Akron in three hours.
Marilyn was released from jail and was making a beeline to Child Protective Services. The lawyer she should have been going to see would have to wait.
And finally, the United States Marshal Service arrived at the jail just after Marilyn’s taxi pulled away.
Told she’d already been released, they were now making their way to 125 Willow Bay Road to apprehend her.
They’d be disappointed to find out that 125 Willow Bay Road was a fast food restaurant.
But at least they’d be able to enjoy a hamburger while they plotted their next move.
Chapter 39
“What do you mean, I can’t have my baby? How can you just steal my baby and refuse to give him back?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jamison. Please calm down.
“Once again, we’re not refusing to give you back your baby. But we do have procedures in place to ensure the safety of the children in our custody.
“We cannot release Jacob to you unless you pass a drug screening and produce a copy of his birth certificate.”
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