Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Deciding to check articles at least a month before the fire, she inserted the dates and waited for the computer to respond. Page by page, she scanned the text, her eyes burning as she focused on the small print on the computer screen. By the time her husband stuck his head in the door an hour later, she was ready to give up and go home. “One more page,” she told him, hitting the return key. “I have to do this, Ray,” she added. “If I don’t, Holly will refuse to give me a letter of recommendation.”

  “She can’t do that,” he said, his pleasant expression changing to one of annoyance. “It’s one thing for Holly to ask you to do her work for her, but she can’t refuse to give you a recommendation. You’ve always done a good job for her.”

  “You don’t know Holly,” Janet said, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms over her head. Returning to the text on the computer screen, she said, “Look at this, Ray.” The header read disaster at day school. The article went on to describe how the floor had collapsed at the Happy Day Kindergarten. “This occurred two days before the fire that killed Stella’s parents.” Two children had died and many others had sustained serious injuries. “My God,” Janet said, after reading through the article, “those poor kids. A sinkhole opened up under the foundation. That’s why they think the floor collapsed.”

  Janet reacted to the sorrow of the situation, whereas Ray responded as a reporter. Sinkholes didn’t just spring out of nowhere. Most of them developed for a reason. Natural gas pipelines, landfills, underground wells. Adrenaline coursed through Ray’s wiry body. One of his biggest stories since he had been made a reporter had involved a crude-oil pipeline that had burst underneath a local cemetery. What a lawsuit that had been. Coffins had floated to the surface. In some cases, the bodies themselves had surfaced, covered in an oily black scum. Relatives of the dead had been awarded huge sums from the oil company. Could something similar have happened at Happy Day?

  He quickly nudged Janet out of the chair, replacing her in front of the computer. “Now we have to check all the subsequent articles and determine if there is any mention of Stella’s father or an investigation into what caused the cave-in.” His fingers flew over the computer keys. “I think you found something, babe.”

  “What do you mean?” Janet asked, peering over his shoulder. “Wasn’t this just an accident?”

  “Not necessarily,” Ray said. “I’m not saying someone purposely caused the floor to cave in, but I’ll bet you anything it involved some kind of negligence. Ask yourself this question,” he said, turning to look her in the eye. “Would you have wanted to own the land Happy Day was sitting on?”

  Janet shook her head.

  “Besides,” he continued, “Stella Cataloni is the biggest news in Houston right now. If we can prove her innocence and find the real killer, trust me, you won’t need Holly and her stupid letter. You’ll end up a household name, and I’ll get the story of a lifetime.”

  Janet reached over and tousled her husband’s hair. “I think I’m going to like this,” she said, a broad smile on her face.

  After she called Sam to tell him she was running late, Stella took a quick shower and then dressed in a pair of jeans and a Polo shirt. Sam had told her he was cooking outside on the grill. Even though the temperature would drop a few degrees in the evening, Stella knew it would still be warm, and she wanted to dress comfortably.

  When she arrived at Sam’s house in North Dallas, she knocked on the door and waited. The house was brick and had a colonial-style overhang over the front porch. Built on one level, from the outside it looked enormous, but Stella knew looks were deceptive. Lovely magnolia trees dotted the front yard, and Sam had planted zinnias and pansies along the winding walkway. The mailbox had a little duck on it, not the type of ornament Stella had expected to find in a house occupied only by males.

  The boy came to the door in his swim trunks. He was a good-looking kid, with curly black hair like his father’s. Stella decided he must be tall for his age, since he was only an inch or so shorter than she was. “You must be Adam,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Yeah,” he said, displaying a mouth full of metal braces as he grinned. “Dad’s in the backyard. I just got out of the pool. I have to get changed or he’s going to get mad at me. I’m all wet, see.” He stopped and swiped at his runny nose. Then he darted off inside the house, leaving Stella standing at the door.

  For a few moments she just stood there, uncertain whether she should wait for the boy to come back or go inside. Finally she stepped through the doorway, spotting Sam in the backyard through the sliding glass door in the den. Wearing a short-sleeve shirt and an apron over his jeans, he was scraping the barbecue grill with a wire brush. She looked around at the furnishings, finding them surprisingly warm and inviting. The sofas were covered in a floral print, video games were scattered on the floor, and one whole wall was covered with framed snapshots.

  Stella walked over and looked at the pictures. Most of the shots were of Adam and Sam, but she saw one photo with a woman that looked older than the other photos. It had to be Sam’s wife, she thought. The woman was lovely. Her hair was a shimmering shade of blond, her eyes a soft blue, and she was cradling a tiny infant in her arms. She looked delicate. Stella wondered if she was already ill when the photo was taken. She was thin and even though she was smiling, her eyes were troubled.

  “Stella,” Sam said, stepping in through the sliding glass door with a plate containing three steaks in his hands, “how long have you been here? Where’s Adam? I’m about to put the steaks on the grill. I hope you like them well done. That seems to be the only way they ever turn out.”

  “He’s getting dressed,” she said. “I was just looking at the pictures. Is this your wife?”

  “Yes,” he said. Placing the plate on an end table, he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, bending down and kissing the top of her head.

  Stella pried his hands off. “I don’t think we should do this in front of Adam, particularly since he thinks I’m a criminal.”

  Sam put his arms back in the same position, holding Stella even tighter than before. “I don’t believe in that,” he told her. “You know, hiding things from my kid. He already knows I care about you. He sees dead bodies on TV all the time. I don’t think he’s going to be traumatized by seeing two adults embrace.”

  “Oh,” she said, not knowing what else to say. She tensed when she heard the boy’s voice behind them. How long had he been standing there?

  “Want to see my room?” Adam said. He had changed from his bathing suit to a pair of neon orange shorts and an Astros T-shirt.

  “Sure,” Stella said, pulling away from Sam. She followed Adam down the hall, glancing in the rooms as they passed. “Is this the maid’s room?”

  “Lois isn’t really a maid,” Adam said. “Dad won’t let her clean up after us. She’s been with us a long time. She used to be kind of a babysitter, but I guess now she’s more of a friend.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m too big for a babysitter.”

  “Where is she?” Stella asked.

  “Today’s her day off. She comes back tomorrow.” He stopped in front of a room, and motioned for Stella to step inside. Against one wall was an oak desk with a computer and what appeared to be a laser printer.

  “So you like computers, huh?” Stella said, taking a seat on his twin bed. “Wish you could teach me to use one. I mean, I know a little, but they still make me want to pull my hair out.”

  “They’re easy,” he said. “If you want, you can come over one day and I’ll show you some things. I’ve had a computer for as long as I can remember.”

  “Well,” she said, laughing lightly, “you come from another generation, Adam. In my day we just had pencils and paper.”

  She turned her head to the wall, shocked when she saw what was tacked up on his bulletin board. All the articles on the Pelham case were there, one of them with Stella’s picture in it. “I-I can’t believe you have these,” she stammered. “Di
d your father put them up here?”

  “No,” Adam said, “I did. I want to be a lawyer, see, but I don’t want to do stupid divorces like Dad does. Who’d want to do that? All those people screaming and yelling at each other all day. No,” he said, “I want to be a criminal attorney like you, maybe even a D.A. I want to put bad guys away like that Pelham guy.”

  Stella was flabbergasted. “You followed the Pelham case?”

  “I follow all the big cases,” he said. “I even have a complete law library on CD-Rom. Want to see it? My dad bought it for me last year as soon as it came out. He has one at the office too. That way, he doesn’t have to have all those books and waste all that space.”

  “Sounds great,” Stella said, standing up to watch over his shoulder as he sat down in front of the computer and booted it up.

  “The steaks are almost done,” Sam said from the doorway.

  “This is amazing,” Stella said. “I had no idea you could get all this on a computer. This is a smart kid you’ve got here, Sam.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, beaming with pride. “Adam can run circles around me. I guarantee he’ll pass the bar on the first try. I don’t know about you, but it took me three times.”

  Dinner consisted of grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and freshly sliced tomatoes. It was simple but delicious. By the time they finished eating, Stella felt as if she had known Sam’s son for years. He was inquisitive, bright, and talkative. Before she knew it, she was telling them about her experience in the virtual reality lab.

  “That’s so cool,” Adam said. “I never thought of them using it that way, you know, to help someone remember. I thought it was mostly just for games and things. Now you’re going to find the real killer, aren’t you?”

  “I sure hope so, Adam,” Stella said, smiling at him across the table. She glanced over at Sam and felt a touch of envy. He might have lost his wife, but he had a wonderful son and had made a good life for the two of them. Feeling her eyes mist over, she excused herself and rushed to the bathroom.

  Sam followed, and she heard his voice through the door. “What’s wrong, Stella? Are you sick? I know my cooking is bad, but surely it’s not that bad.”

  “I’m fine,” Stella said, opening the door. No, you’re not fine.” He entered the bathroom with her and closed the door behind them so Adam couldn’t hear. “What upset you?” He could see she was about to break down and cry.

  “If I hadn’t had a miscarriage, I might have a son like Adam,” she said, leaning back against the sink. “It’s just so hard to imagine. My whole life would have been different.”

  “You’re a young woman, Stel,” he told her. “You can still have children if you want to.” He paused, then asked a question that had been on his mind. “Why didn’t you have a child with Brad? You were certainly married long enough.”

  “He didn’t want children,” Stella said, resentment sparking in her voice. “Besides, we had my brother. Mario was like our son. I can’t really hold it against him, Sam. All the operations I had cost a fortune, and money was tight then.”

  Sam looked over at her and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind having a few more kids some day. Come on, let’s go back outside. We’re having ice cream for dessert.” Taking her hand, he led her to the yard, dispatching Adam to the kitchen to serve the Ben & Jerry’s.

  Stella and Sam curled up on the grass on an old blanket. She leaned back and snuggled her head against his neck. “Adam seems so mature for his age. I felt like I was talking to an adult, not a child. Do you know he has clippings of me in his room?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “He’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Even before I told him I was handling your divorce, he made me take him down to the courtroom to watch you.”

  “Which case?” Stella asked, flattered.

  “Rodriguez.”

  Stella was surprised. “That was a rape case, Sam. You’d really let him watch something like that at his age?”

  “Why not?” Sam said. “Like I said earlier, he sees a lot worse on television.”

  Adam came out and they dug into their desserts. The sun had set and the night was clear. Dozens of stars lit up the sky. The temperature was still in the high seventies, but it was no longer uncomfortable. “Look,” Adam said, pointing upward. “There’s the Big Dipper.”

  “You need to go to bed, kid,” Sam said. “You know, let us grownups have some time alone.”

  “So you can neck, I bet,” he said, laughing and punching his father in the arm. “Are you going to come back tomorrow night?” he asked Stella. “If you bring your swimsuit, we can go for a night swim. It’s really fun when the lights are all off.”

  “That’s enough,” Sam said, shooing him away. “What are you trying to do? Steal my date? Get your own girl, guy. This one is mine.”

  After Adam reluctantly headed off to his room, Sam pulled Stella into his arms and kissed her passionately. “Tomorrow the housekeeper will be back. We’ll go to your place.”

  “Good idea,” Stella said, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his chin. “I was afraid you were going to tell me it was all right for Adam to watch.”

  “I’m progressive,” Sam laughed, “but not that progressive.”

  Stella stood and brushed herself off. “I should head for home.” They held hands as they walked through the house. “It was a great evening,” she said at the door. “I feel almost normal again, as if all this other stuff is nothing more than a dream. Thanks, Sam. I mean it. Not just for tonight, but for everything.”

  He pulled Stella’s head over and whispered in her ear, “Save your gratitude for tomorrow, okay?”

  Stella laughed, waving at him over her shoulder as she headed down the steps to her car.

  As soon as Stella arrived at the office the next morning, her secretary told her Holly Oppenheimer was on the line.

  “We found the missing evidence,” Holly said. “Someone misfiled it in the evidence room.”

  “Good,” Stella said. “Can we test it right away?”

  “Be my guest, but I won’t allow you to take evidence out of Houston. Name a lab here and I’ll get Winters to take it over and wait while they perform the tests. There’s such a thing as chain of evidence, Stella, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  ‘Til have to call you back,” Stella said. “We’ll have to locate a lab in Houston.”

  “Either you take it and test it,” Holly said, “or I’m going to send it to our lab this afternoon. Don’t expect me to just sit on it while you figure out what to do. We have time constraints here, you know. I’m being more than cooperative.”

  Holly’s voice was so shrill and her tone so demeaning that Stella had to bite down on the inside of her mouth to keep from saying something she would later regret. “You know what really chaps me. Holly?” she said, unable to remain silent. “Remember all the court appearances I made for you when you were going through your problems with Growman? You know how many hours I was working back then? I hadn’t been on the job that long, and some of the things you asked me to do were beyond my capabilities. I could have been fired, and you never even thanked me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Stella,” Holly said, “that was years ago. I was appreciative. Maybe I didn’t say it, but—”

  As Holly’s voice trailed off, Stella sensed an opportunity. “Tell me about Mario’s case,” she said. “Are you still planning to file it as a felony? He’s never going to cooperate with you, Holly. I don’t know how you could ever think that he would. He’s my brother. Besides, he doesn’t know anything incriminating. You’re wasting your time.”

  “You’re reaching,” Holly barked. “If you want to know about your brother’s case, ask your damn brother. You know I can’t release confidential information.”

  “You could if you wanted to,” Stella shot back. “Don’t tell me you haven’t done it before, because I know you have. You leaked information to me about Randall’s statement that day in your office. Have you forgotten?”

  �
��Up yours,” Holly said. “You may pull this shit on Growman and all your other little pals, but you’re not pulling it on me.” She stopped and sucked in air. “I wouldn’t worry about Mario. I’d say your brother was the least of your problems. Victor Pilgrim positively identified you from a photo lineup about thirty minutes ago. The game is over, Stella.”

  Stella continued holding the phone to her ear, even though Holly had disconnected. She listened to the incessant drone of the dial tone, unable to separate it from the rushing sound inside her head. Finally she opened her fingers and let the receiver fall, placing her head down on the desk.

  Stella could see it all unfolding. Victor Pilgrim, former police officer, slowly turning his head on the witness stand, his eyes cold and accusing. Then she saw his finger go out, the trump card every prosecutor dreamed of possessing, as he positively identified the person who had killed Tom Randall.

  Lifting her head, she fingered the paperwork on her desk. She couldn’t concentrate on her work, not while her future was leaning toward a jail cell. They had charged her with three separate counts of homicide, along with an additional count of arson. If she rolled the dice, she could spend the remainder of her life in prison.

  Perspiration appeared on her forehead. Her chest felt constricted, and acid bubbled back into her throat. How many times had she negotiated plea agreements, looked into the tired eyes of defendants as their attorneys explained the risks inherent in a jury trial. How many of these poor souls had been innocent, the system squeezing them until they gave in? Stella had never given it a second thought. Was she really any different than Holly? Hadn’t it always been the conviction that mattered, foreshadowing any concern she might have over the defendant’s guilt or innocence?

  Even though she found the thought repugnant, Stella knew the time was coming when she would have to contact Fitzgerald and take a long, hard look at her options. What would they offer her? Voluntary manslaughter? Only one charge of murder instead of three? She cringed, picking up her purse and walking out of her office.