Baby vs. the Bar

by MJ Rodgers

  “Yes. And Nicholas has B-negative blood.”

  “And according to this, so did David, his daddy.”

  Remy looked at the paper Marc held. “I see. Since I have A-positive, the only way Nicholas could have gotten B-negative would be from a B-negative father.”

  “Right. And the instance of B-negative blood in the population is less than two percent. I have the records on the overview of Bio-Sperm’s anonymous donor profile information in my office. It lists the percentage of each blood type. Come on. Let’s go see what it says.”

  * * *

  REMY STOOD IN MARC’S OFFICE as he searched through several boxes of Bio-Sperm records he had dragged in from the file room. His office, like his home, was full of natural wood and light and it, too, was scrupulously neat.

  He was a man who kept everything in its proper place. But what about her and Nicholas? What was their proper place in his life?

  Remy had told herself not to think about these things.

  She looked out the window at the huge black Halloween spider hanging off the Pacific Science Center’s entrance across the street. It reminded her of the nursery rhyme about little Miss Muffet’s tuffet and the spider that frightened her away. Remy understood why Miss Muffet had run. That damn spider had probably bitten her before, and she’d learned her lesson.

  “Perfect!”

  She heard the triumph in Marc’s voice and turned toward him. “What is it?”

  “Bio-Sperm’s records on the donors. They had no anonymous donors with B-negative blood. And, except for David, the other men who were having their sperm preserved, fortunately, all knew their blood type and entered it on their forms. Not one of them had B-negative, either.”

  Remy took a shaky breath and let it out. “If I did receive David’s sperm, that means Colin and Heddy are Nicholas’s grandparents.”

  Marc got to his feet, grabbed her shoulders and gave her a quick kiss. “They are not going to get him, Remy. Not as long as there is a legal breath left in my body. Believe it.”

  She wanted to believe him. But wanting was not enough. Her lessons had been learned too well. “What now?”

  “Well, before we left court this afternoon, Lyton told the judge he has two more witnesses to present. That means he should be resting his case this afternoon. Then it’s our turn.”

  He sat on the edge of his desk as he laid out his strategy, his eyes and voice focused and intense.

  “We don’t have to wait for the DNA results. I’ll have that hospital records clerk take the stand with a copy of David’s blood donation records, proving he had B-negative.

  “Next, I’ll place the records of your A-positive blood and Nicholas’s B-negative blood into evidence. I’ll put a doctor on the stand to verify Nicholas’s father had to have B-negative in order for him to have it. The doctor can also supply the jury with the exact statistics on how few people have B-negative blood.

  “Then I’ll have the Bio-Sperm technician take the stand and let him read into the record how Bio-Sperm had no other sperm from men with B-negative blood on deposit. That means the sperm they gave you had to be David’s.

  “And finally, because I know juries detest the technical—no matter how indisputable—I’ll put Louie Demerchant on the stand and let him narrate as I run the Halloween videotape he took of David as a toddler. Halfway through it, we’ll have Phil bring in Nicholas and let the jury see the indisputable resemblance firsthand.”

  Marc’s eyes flashed to his wristwatch. He slid off the edge of the desk and grabbed her hand. “Come on. We can’t be late for this.”

  * * *

  AS THEY TOOK THEIR SEATS in the courtroom that afternoon, Marc felt primed and eager for Lyton to be finished with his final witnesses so he could begin his defense.

  “I call Carin Coleridge to the stand,” Lyton said.

  Marc looked up in surprise. Coleridge was a leading attorney on living trusts, a woman Marc had consulted himself before preparing David’s.

  Marc had noticed Carin Coleridge’s name among the more than fifty possible witnesses Lyton had listed. But Marc never thought Lyton would really call her. He knew most of the names on Lyton’s witness list were there just to pad it. From the day of the summary judgment, Lyton had made it clear that he would try to win this case by presenting his clients as worthy recipients of David’s money. Which was why Marc had concentrated on those witnesses Lyton would most likely use to try to bolster the reputations of his two clients. Carin Coleridge could hardly do that.

  So why was Lyton calling her to the stand? After she was sworn in and her credentials were given and accepted by the court, Lyton began his questioning.

  “Ms. Coleridge, as an acknowledged expert by this court, have you had occasion to review all the provisions in David Demerchant’s living trust?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that a copy you have before you now?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I call your attention to the exclusionary portion regarding surviving children. Please read it for this court.”

  “I specifically disinherit any person claiming an interest in my estate as my child, the issue of my body, who is born more than nine and one half months (285 days) after my death.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Coleridge. Now, will you please identify and read into the record the other two certified documents you have in front of you?”

  “The first is the death certificate of David Demerchant. He died June 26, two years and four months ago. The second is the birth certificate of Nicholas Alexander Westbrook. He was born April 7 of the following year, or one year and six months ago.”

  “Thank you. Have you calculated the number of days between the date of David Demerchant’s death and the birth of the child?”

  “Yes, I have. Nicholas Alexander Westbrook was born exactly 285 days after David Demerchant died.”

  “Ms. Coleridge, was Nicholas Westbrook born within the stated time for a bona fide beneficiary based on this death certificate and this birth certificate?”

  “Yes.”

  “If David Demerchant actually died on June 25, could Nicholas Westbrook be considered his beneficiary?”

  “Your Honor, I object,” Marc said. “Such a hypothetical question has no relevance.”

  “Your Honor,” Lyton said. “It has relevance if the court will just bear with me a moment.”

  “All right,” the judge said. “Objection overruled. But connect this up, Mr. Lyton, or I will not be pleased.”

  “Yes, your honor. Ms. Coleridge, if David Demerchant actually died on June 25, could Nicholas Westbrook be considered a bona fide beneficiary according to David’s trust?”

  “No, Mr. Lyton. He could not. Nicholas Westbrook would have been born one day too late to claim beneficiary status in David Demerchant’s trust.”

  “Even if it could be proved that he was conceived from David Demerchant’s sperm and there is no doubt that he is David Demerchant’s son?”

  “That’s correct, Mr. Lyton. The trust clause is very specific. In order to inherit, David’s child has to have been born no later than 285 days after his death.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Coleridge. That’s all I have.”

  “Questions, Mr. Truesdale?” the judge asked.

  “I have no questions for this witness,” Marc said, a feeling of distinct unease swirling inside him. What was Lyton getting at here? The death and birth certificates clearly showed Nicholas had been born in time to meet the trust’s provisions.

  “For my next witness,” Lyton said, “I call Chief Petty Officer Shelmacher to the stand.”

  Marc quickly leafed through several pages of possible witnesses that Lyton had given him. The man’s name was there, all right. Who was he? And what could he possibly have to do with this case? Marc’s unease grew.

  He turned to watch the thirtyish man with a very short haircut and a spotless uniform enter the courtroom. Shelmacher marched to the stand at an energetic clip. After he was sworn in and sat down
with his hat in his lap, Lyton approached him to begin his questioning.

  “Chief Shelmacher, where were you stationed on June 25 and 26, two years and four months ago?”

  “On the Midway Islands, sir.”

  “And what were your duties at Midway?”

  “I was an aircraft controller, sir.”

  “Do you remember receiving a Mayday call from David Demerchant?”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Demerchant had been blown off course by a strong southeasterly wind. He requested permission to land at Midway.”

  “Did you give him permission to land, Chief?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What was his position, Chief?”

  “He gave his position as just on the other side of the international date line, sir.”

  “The other side?”

  “The western side, sir. Midway is on the eastern side.”

  “How long did your radio communication last with Mr. Demerchant?”

  “Approximately five minutes.”

  “What happened at the end of your five-minute radio conversation with David Demerchant?”

  “We lost radio communication.”

  “Did David Demerchant ever make it to the Midway Islands, Chief?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Was a search instigated?”

  “Yes, sir. Several planes and ships were immediately dispatched. They searched the area along the computed flight path.”

  “Chief Shelmacher, what area was this?”

  “A several-hundred-mile radius on the eastern side of the international date line.”

  “Why did these rescue ships and planes search on the eastern side of the international date line when David Demerchant gave you his position as being on the western side?”

  “Because traveling at a cruising speed of six hundred air-miles an hour over the several minutes we spoke on the radio meant that he would have crossed the international date line and crashed on the eastern side.”

  “You feel certain he went down on the eastern side of the international date line?”

  “Absolutely, sir. We plotted out his course and the air-sea rescue teams blanketed the likely area.”

  “Did they find David or his plane?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Chief Shelmacher, do you remember what date it was that David Demerchant’s plane was lost?”

  “Yes, sir. June 25, sir.”

  “How is it you remember the date?”

  “It’s my birthday, sir.”

  “Why is it then that the records forwarded from Midway to the FAA show David Demerchant’s crash to have taken place on June 26?”

  “Sir, it’s a day later on the western side of the international date line. Since Mr. Demerchant’s last known position was on the western side, the official report used the later date.”

  “But which side did the rescue team search as a result of the known flight path, Chief?”

  “The eastern side, sir.”

  “And on which side did David Demerchant most likely crash?”

  “The eastern side, sir.”

  “So since the official search-and-rescue team determined that David Demerchant’s plane actually crashed on the eastern side, on what date did David Demerchant really die, Chief?”

  “June 25, sir.”

  “Thank you, Chief. Your witness.”

  As Lyton returned to the plaintiff’s table, he was positively beaming. And no wonder. He could rest his case with the testimony of this man. All Marc’s well-thought-out presentations to this jury would be to no avail. Proving Pechman and Voyce unworthy meant nothing. Proving that Nicholas was David’s child meant nothing. Not if the jury thought David died on the twenty-fifth of June and not the twenty-sixth.

  Now Marc knew why Lyton hadn’t asked for the DNA results. It no longer mattered whether Nicholas was David’s child. According to the terms of the trust, he couldn’t be the beneficiary. And Lyton had known this from the first. This was the real thrust of his case. He had deliberately been steering Marc in the wrong direction.

  Damn.

  Marc knew he couldn’t let a technicality invalidate Nicholas’s claim. He was going to have to do something—and quickly. As he rose to his feet and approached the witness, his mind searched for the right way to challenge this man’s testimony.

  “Chief Shelmacher, you testified that you spoke to David Demerchant for approximately five minutes before you lost radio communication, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did his plane ever appear on your radarscope?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you speak to David on the VHF radio frequency?”

  “No, sir. On high frequency only.”

  “Which means David had to be farther than two hundred miles away from Midway, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What part of his plane was malfunctioning?”

  “I don’t know that his craft was malfunctioning, sir.”

  “You said he placed a Mayday call. What was the trouble?”

  “Mr. Demerchant seemed to be having mental difficulties.”

  “Mental difficulties?”

  “His speech was thick and slurred. He became less and less coherent during the course of our radio communication.”

  “Please explain.”

  “At first I thought he was drunk. He mentioned drinking a toast. But then the other stuff...”

  “What other stuff?”

  “He babbled about having to land soon or King Neptune was going to get him.”

  “Couldn’t that just have been his way of joking to ease the tense situation?”

  “No, sir. He said that King Neptune was sitting on the control panel and laughing at him. I believe Mr. Demerchant was having hallucinations. I believe he was under the influence of some drug.”

  Marc stared at Chief Shelmacher. The man couldn’t be making this up. What motive would he have?

  “I don’t remember reading anything about drug-induced hallucinations in the report that went from Midway to the FAA concerning David Demerchant’s crash.”

  “It wasn’t in the report, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “The quality of Mr. Demerchant’s radio communication disintegrated rapidly. Under the circumstances, my commanding officer did not deem it appropriate to include my subjective impressions on the official report.”

  “Even though your communication with David contained evidence crucial to his cause of death?”

  “I object,” Lyton said. “Argumentative and irrelevant.”

  Marc turned toward Judge Swellen. “Your Honor, I request a week’s continuance to pursue the implications of this man’s testimony concerning the reasons for David Demerchant’s crash.”

  “I object,” Lyton said, coming to his feet. “It doesn’t matter to this court whether David Demerchant died from taking drugs while flying or—”

  “Your Honor,” Marc interrupted, “David Demerchant never took drugs in his life, much less when he was behind the controls of a plane. Something is wrong here, very wrong, and until I have an opportunity to investigate the true reasons behind his crash and death, I submit it’s impossible for this court to know whether this matter has an effect on this case before it.”

  Swellen shook his head. “Mr. Truesdale, we don’t have time for you to go investigating some airplane crash—”

  “Your Honor,” Marc interrupted firmly, “if I am forced to forgo pursuing this important new lead that could profoundly affect the disposition of David Demerchant’s billion-dollar estate, I assure you that any unfavorable verdict from this trial will be instantly appealed to a higher court on the grounds of judicial misconduct.”

  Judge Swellen glowered at him. Marc could almost see the unfavorable headlines popping before His Honor’s eyes—and right before his reelection bid, too. “Attorney for Billion-Dollar Baby Claims Judicial Misconduct.”

  “You have the rest of the day, Mr. Truesdale,�
�� the judge said with a scowl. “Use it wisely. Court adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Where are we going?” Remy asked as Marc hurried her out of the courtroom.

  “We’re going to find out how and why David died.”

  * * *

  TO REMY, LOUIE Demerchant’s mansion had that enormous, ostentatious, old-money feel. Outside, it was all white with Corinthian columns and impeccably kept grounds. Inside, beautiful Oriental rugs graced the floors and antique tapestries draped the furniture.

  Louie received them in the drawing room, surprised but not looking disappointed at their unannounced visit. Both Marc and Remy took an offered seat but shook their heads when Louie gestured toward a drink.

  “Mr. Demerchant,” Marc began, “some things have come up in the trial today that I must speak to you about. You told me once that you and David had not parted on the best of terms before his trip to Guam. I need to know what happened between you.”

  Louie’s eyes clouded as he moved toward the liquor cabinet. “Why are you asking that now?”

  “Because I need to know now,” Marc said.

  Louie turned around to face them, half a glass of wine in his hand. “David wanted to move out, I wanted him to stay.”

  “David always told me he’d hate to live alone,” Marc said. “What suddenly changed his mind?”

  “Colin and Heddy were always after him to give them more money, just like they’re always after me. David had had an argument with them earlier that day. He was probably tired of their constant demands.”

  “He told you that was the reason he was moving out?”

  Louie took a sip of wine. “No. He just said he had to. When I realized he was serious, I lost my temper. I accused him of being an ungrateful bastard. I was just afraid of losing him. He was all I had after his grandmother died. Not a day goes by that I don’t curse myself for saying those words. This old place is damn empty without him.”

  “Colin and Heddy still live here with you.”

  Louie’s lips tightened. “Like I said, it’s damn empty.”

  “Where are Colin and Heddy now?”

  Louie exhaled a long, deep breath. “Out at an antiques show, trying to acquire more English enamel boxes. Look at them.”

  He paused as he pointed to an enormous display case that must have been eight feet high and ten feet long, its glass shelves full of the eighteenth-century pieces.