by Greg Sisk
Marital Privilege
Greg Sisk
North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.
St. Cloud, Minnesota
Copyright © 2014 Gregory Sisk
All rights reserved.
Print ISBN: 978-0-87839-739-6
eBook ISBN: 978-0-87839-959-8
First Edition: June 2014
Published by:
North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.
P.O. Box 451
St. Cloud, MN 56302
northstarpress.com
This is a work of fiction.
Lest any person with a criminal motive believe he or she might gain any advantage from reading this novel, please know that the descriptions of explosive materials, the use and storage of explosives, the making of illegal bombs, forensic techniques for identifying the source of explosives, and regulations governing explosives are incomplete, used in a fictitious manner, and in some respects purposely misleading.
While the author has strived to be generally accurate in describing the state of the law of evidentiary privileges and criminal procedure, this novel is not intended as legal advice and should not be relied on as such. Moreover, even in the narration of legal doctrine, elements of literary license have been introduced into the storyline.
While the non-residential places in this novel are often real locations, they are used fictitiously. The incidents, names, and characters are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental—with the exception of Tucker the cat, who is quite real.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
More Information
Acknowledgements
At each stage of planning, writing, and revising this novel, I have been blessed by the patience, encouragement, and generosity of many people, including my law school colleagues here and elsewhere: Julie Oseid, Patrick Garry, Mark Osler, Jerry Organ, and Father Dan Griffith; my current and former students, Liz Malay, Alyssa Schaller, Michelle King, Alicia Long, Caitlin Drogemuller, Catherine Underwood, and Nicholas Lebbin; my mother, Roberta Sisk; and, of course, my loving, patient, and artistic wife Mindy and my bright-eyed and bright-minded daughter Caitlin.
“Society has a deeply rooted interest in the preservation of the peace of families, and in the maintenance of the sacred institution of marriage; and its strongest safeguard is to preserve with jealous care any violation of those hallowed confidences inherent in, and inseparable from, the marital status.
“Therefore the law places the ban of its prohibition upon any breach of the confidence between husband and wife, by declaring all confidential communications between them to be incompetent matter for either of them to expose as witnesses.”
—Supreme Court of Florida, 1898
Prologue
[THIRTEEN YEARS BEFORE]
Sitting on his bronze chair with his back to the burnished brown brick arches and stark white columns of Bascom Hall, Abraham Lincoln holds vigil over the quadrangle at the center of the University of Wisconsin campus in Madison. As the long sloping field withers from the burnt brown of summer into the blanched bone white of winter, the martyred president waits serenely for the green resurrection of spring.
The undergraduate who comes to Lincoln on his pedestal prematurely, so the legend goes, will never graduate. But, according to university tradition, the graduating student who abides until commencement day and then confides in the Great Emancipator will realize the fulfillment of her aspirations.
On a Saturday morning in late spring, Candace Peterson joined the line of cap-and-gown-wearing graduates that stretched down Bascom Hill, which now was a luxuriant greensward. Each one waited to climb into the great man’s lap and declare hopes and dreams into his bronze ear. When her turn arrived, Candace gripped the statue’s platform and hauled herself up until she was perched high above the quadrangle on Lincoln’s right leg. Whispering into his ear, she wished for a satisfying career and a loving family, which she frivolously requested be “sweetly tied together in a bow.”
Before climbing down, she leaned over to kiss Lincoln’s metallic-green cheek—and, with her right foot slipping on the metal base, toppled off the pedestal. She avoided a hard landing by grabbing the edge of the statue’s platform with her right hand and by the fortunate presence of the two young men waiting below who eased her descent to the ground. Escaping the fall with nothing more than grass stains on her commencement gown, Candace surrendered her place to the next graduate in line.
On Sunday afternoon, the very next day, Candace was married to Bill Klein. She had returned to her childhood parish in Golden Valley, Minnesota. In the simple sanctuary of Good Shepherd Catholic Church, before a prominent crucifix on an otherwise unadorned wall and beneath simple dark wooden rafters, Candace pledged her love for Bill until “death do us part.”
After the priest had blessed them and pronounced the marriage, while her family and friends applauded, she kissed the man who was now her husband—and would be the father of her child.
Chapter 1
She loved him. God knows, she really did love him. Still.
Why, then, did she have to reacquaint herself with that manifest truth yet again this morning? Why had her waking routine come to include a recitation in her mind of the same mantra of true love, before she could face him at the breakfast table?
Hearing no answer to her self-directed interrogation, Candace Klein rolled out of bed.
Most people loathed Monday mornings, as the pleasures and relaxation of the weekend commuted into the toil and grind of the work-week. For Candace, the close of each weekend—with its long hours spent side-by-side with Bill (or, increasingly, spent in the same house but in separate rooms)—was becoming something of a relief.
Returning each Monday to a busy and minutely scheduled daily agenda made it easier for Candace to suppress her personal disquiet. Everything seemed normal when she could scan through her computer planner and see each portion of each day parceled out in a series of classes to teach, committee meetings to attend, appointments with students, and time reserved for scholarly writing projects.
Yes, of course, she loved him. They were a happy family. Until next weekend.
• • •
Candace had passed her thirty-fifth birthday a couple of weeks earlier. She was an attractive woman, much prettier than she thought (when she bothered to think about her features at all). Her wide and inquisitive eyes and her easy smile long had captivated anyone fortunate to see her, even when she had made only a limited appearance.
Once, that enchanting smile had played across her face without need for rehearsal, touching an audience ranging from the barista filling her coffee order in the morning to the suit-wearing office worker waiting next to her for the light to change at the crosswalk. Now, while that genial flash of teeth still made a regular appearance, the stage had first to be set with friends, faculty colleagues, her students, and, especially, her beloved boy.
Still, the warm light of in
telligence that illuminated her capacious eyes had not faded. Even now, at least by the end of each morning, that penetrating radiance could burn away the lingering fog of melancholy. As she returned each week day to her professional world, where her bright mind would be bathed with the sunlight of scholarly thought, distractions could be banished into the darkness . . . at least during the work hours.
Like many girls, beginning in middle school, she had been convinced her nose was too big or her hair too plain in color or her hips too wide. When she reached her junior year of high school, she experienced a sudden boost in personal confidence, that she had to admit had more than a little to do with the fact that boys began to notice her. As more time passed—as the high school years wound down and she entered adulthood—Candace had become increasingly comfortable with herself as a person, not as an object of cosmetic evaluation by others.
At her seventeenth birthday party, she had announced to her close circle of friends that “my face has finally grown into my nose,” as she laughed self-deprecatingly. Although she had meant the remark as a joke among girlfriends, she found as time went by that she had come to believe it. She decided for herself that she had matured into a “not so bad looking” young woman. She had come to accept herself as reasonably attractive. But she couldn’t quite think of herself as pretty.
To be sure—even after she had escaped the cruel and minute examinations and appearance rankings imposed by teenage peers—she remained perpetually disgruntled with her hair. It wasn’t light enough to be called blond. And it wasn’t dark enough that brunette was fully descriptive either. She thought of it as plain and colorless. But by the time she had passed from high school, she had become too impatient with an emphasis on superficial looks to bother with artificial coloring for her hair.
At the end of the day, Candace’s bright eyes were the one physical trait that perfectly reflected what was inside her head—an energetic and stimulating mind.
From the time she could remember, the world of ideas had been her personal world as well. When other kids had lavished their free time on television and video games, Candace had read—no, devoured—books. Sure, she had read her share of silly teen fiction novels. But she had read the “Great Books” as well—and not only when assigned in high school English Literature class. Before high school graduation arrived, she had turned increasingly to non-fiction, frequently on political and historical themes.
The fundamental questions of the ages on the meaning of life and liberty and justice, the ancient discourses on the nature of humanity and human society, the historical events that had set the stage for the modern world, the political debates of the present day—all had found welcome passage from books into her inquisitive mind through the open portals of her wide eyes. As she moved through college and into professional school, she discovered that the study of law wedded together the philosophical inquiries with a practical means for the deliberative resolution of problems.
For more than thirteen years now, Candace had directed those bright eyes and applied that bright mind to the study and practice of law.
And now she had become a Professor of Law (well, an Associate Professor of Law—not tenured yet), a blessing and a privilege she could hardly believe had come her way.
In her work life, she was one of the lucky ones. She had found her calling, had found happiness.
Now, she could not help but think, if only that were still true of her personal life.
• • •
Looking to the other side of the bed, Candace confirmed that, again this morning, she had been left alone in the master bedroom. As usual, Bill Klein had risen before her. He undoubtedly was already at his favorite chair in the kitchen nook downstairs, eating his bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, drinking his first cup of coffee, balancing the newspaper on his knee, and flipping through the channels on the television parked at the corner of the kitchen countertop.
Candace could hear the sound of the TV wafting up the long curving stairway from the kitchen area at the rear of the house on the first floor. The faint but discordant noise echoed down the second floor corridor to the master bedroom near the front of the house.
The Klein house was in Eden Prairie, a small city to the southwest of Minneapolis. The face of this suburb was speckled with lakes, ponds, and puddles of varying depths, sizes, and shapes, like freckles on the cheeks of a red-headed child.
The Klein’s Tudor Revival style house at 3732 Dunnell Drive lay to the east of small and kidney-shaped Eden Lake, to the north of the larger but thinly stretched Neil Lake, and to the west of the shallow and meandering expanses of the Anderson Lakes.
Is J.D. up yet? Candace wondered, as she stretched next to the bed.
Probably not.
Their nine-and-a-half-year-old son was staying up way too late for a third-grader. But now that he had taken so joyfully to reading, she found that she just didn’t have the heart to insist that he put his book away and turn out the light when the clock reached 9:30 p.m. After all, J.D.’s teachers had not reported that he had been tired or grumpy at school.
Until a couple of months ago, J.D. had always been up before Candace. In those days, she would find him sitting downstairs, eating cereal, and watching TV with his dad. But the habit of early rising had been broken when J.D. had discovered that books could transport him to another place each night. It may not yet have affected his school work, but the later sleep time and delayed waking certainly was generating a morning rush to get ready for school.
Because the master bedroom was the one closest to the stairway, she stepped to the top of the passage and listened carefully. She could hear that the TV was on to the Fox News “Morning Edition.” That meant J.D. had not yet arrived at the breakfast table. If J.D. had gone down earlier, Bill would have switched over to the Family Channel or Nickelodeon.
Candace walked down the hall to J.D.’s bedroom. Sure enough, she could see his little form under the blankets, his round head covered over and near the foot of the bed. Only one foot was sticking out from under the covers, pointing toward the headboard. J.D.’s body routinely made a 180-degree turn during the night.
A little “meow” issued from a small lump next to the larger shape under the blankets, telling her that Tucker had spent the night with J.D. again. Tucker was an orange tabby cat, with a pure white belly. The white fur colored half of Tucker’s long slim front legs, resembling boots, along with a snowy daub on his lower jaw.
Candace liked Tucker, but she didn’t adore him. The cat would tolerate a minute or two of petting, if she came across him in the house and leaned down. But he wasn’t much for snuggling or jumping up to sit on a lap. In fact, she was a little leery of the cat, because he might well nip her on the hand if she caught him in a disagreeable mood when she reached down to stroke his back.
But not with J.D. If he leaned over to caress the cat or even pick him up for a petting, J.D. never came away with a bite on the back of the hand or a scratch on his cheek. Tucker was more than willing to cuddle next to the boy in bed. J.D. never brought out Tucker’s cantankerous side.
“James Daniel,” she said lovingly but firmly. “It’s time to get up. The bus will be here at 7:45.”
“Okay, Mom,” J.D. said, and slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
She pulled out clean underwear and socks from the chest of drawers in his bedroom. She reached into his closet and took his uniform blue pants and button-down shirt off the hangers. That J.D. was required to wear a uniform at St. Gregory’s Catholic School made it simple and easy to lay out his clothes each day. No arguments about what to wear in this household, she thought with a satisfied smile.
• • •
Returning to the master bedroom, Candace washed her face and applied her makeup. She sat back on the bed to slide on her jeans. Casual dress would become her daily style now that the law school semester had concluded.
If only her father had been a baker or a plumber or a doctor, maybe things would have unfolded differently. Maybe they’d be somewhere else now, living different lives, happier lives. Or at least Bill wouldn’t be working for her father.
She knew this rueful self-reproach was an unhealthy habit, but one that she was indulging more and more often in recent weeks. She tried to be stern with herself. She should clear her mind of negative thoughts, arrange a smile on her face and march downstairs to be with Bill and J.D. for a few minutes before she drove into downtown Minneapolis to her office at the University of St. Thomas School of Law.
Although this particular Monday morning fell in the middle of May, Candace already was on a summer schedule at the University of St. Thomas. Law school classes had ended at the beginning of May, followed by two weeks of exams and then commencement ceremonies for the graduating third-year students, which had been held just last weekend. Starting today, Candace could trade her professional dress, which she always wore to class, for her summer jeans. For her, this was the day on which she could turn her thoughts full time to writing projects for the next three months.
But summer had not yet come for her boy. J.D. had about three more weeks of school, with St. Gregory’s Catholic School letting out for the summer at the end of the first week of June.
So Candace knew she could afford only a few more minutes to commiserate with herself before she had to get J.D. out the door and to the school bus on time.
Yes, coming home to Minnesota three years ago after nearly a decade with Bill in Chicago had been a big, big mistake. Oh, the problem was not the Twin Cities, which she liked very much and was perfect for raising a family. Nor was there any problem with her work as a law professor at the University of St. Thomas School of Law, which she adored.