“Wait a minute, let me get this straight.” Tully was getting angry.
“No, this is not the place to discuss this. Why don’t you both say goodbye to your children, let Ms. Hurtado take them with her and we can discuss this in my office.”
Serena moved swiftly, squatted down and hugged her son. She whispered in his ear and stroked his head. He hugged her fiercely and kissed her cheek. She stood up and went to her daughter as Mr. Tully hugged and kissed his son. Felicia Hurtado reached out and touched Tommy’s shoulder as they waited for Tina. Serena picked Tina up, kissed her and stroked her, and with great effort separated her daughter from her and handed her to her father. She picked up her purse and fled into Reece’s office. Tommy looked past his father at his mother’s back.
Tina was starting to cry and Tom Tully looked at Reece. “How about I take her out to the car. I’ll be back in a second.”
Reece stood in his office and looked out over the top of the curtains. Tully slid Tommy into the car and then disentangled Tina from his neck and put her in the car seat. Without its straps and restraints he might never have gotten loose.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Serena Tully biting into a gloved knuckle as she watched her children pull out of the parking lot as if they had been snatched by strangers and she would only see them on the side of a milk carton.
Tully strode back into the office. “What’s this about her spending time with the kids?”
“Please close the door, Mr. Tully. Just what I said. That’s the next stage of the evaluation. It requires equal time with each of the parents. Considering that Ms. Tully has no place to be with the children, that might prove a problem.”
“I’m going to get a new place today. I’ll get one big enough for me and the children.”
“So you’re leaving Denise’s. She had enough of you, too?”
“No. I’ve got a job and I’ll have a place of my own.” Serena hurled back one lie after another.
Reece slipped back into the conversation, “That’s only part of the problem. The original order gave pendente lite custody to Mr. Tully, but didn’t specify visitation for Ms. Tully. Even in emergency situations there’s visitation. It may require supervision, but there’s visitation. I have to discuss with the attorneys how to address this so I can complete the evaluation.”
Serena calmly asked, “So even though Tom has this custody, what did you call it?”
“Pendente lite, pending litigation.”
“Even with that I’m entitled to visitation?”
“That’s correct. Possibly supervised, but visitation, yes.”
She almost blurted out, “Then why the hell didn’t my attorney get it for me?” but smothered that. She knew for certain that she was changing attorneys and just as certainly that she wanted to surprise the living hell out of Tom Tully and Albert “Mr. Effective” Garfield.
“No way, Dr. Reece. If that’s where this is going, I’m out of here. This evaluation is over. She’s not getting those kids. That’s for fucking certain. I’ll fight you on this in court.” Tully’s jaw was set, his eyes wide. A vein in his scalp throbbed like a snake under sand. He was getting up on his toes, leaning forward, coiled to strike.
Reece stared calmly into Tom Tully’s clenched face. “That’s exactly where this will be decided. I have an order from the court to conduct this evaluation as I see fit. If you or Al Garfield wants to argue about how it’s going to be done, so be it. We’ll go before the judge, let him hear both sides and he’ll decide, not you or me. Until I’m relieved by the judge, I’m in this matter.”
“Not for long, Reece. That’s a fact.” Tully snarled and left, slamming the door behind him.
Serena Tully looked at Reece. “Aren’t you afraid? I’m terrified whenever he gets angry like that.”
“That didn’t frighten me. I’m sure he could if he really wanted to. I don’t know if you’ve got a new lawyer yet, but you’d better hurry. All hell is about to break loose.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Between the steak and cheese and the onion rings, Morgan Reece worked on the Tully file. He updated the rolling ledger of his time and expenses. Dr. Frazier had clipped a bill to the Bricklin and Roberts score sheets. Reece separated it, entered it on the ledger and slipped it underneath. He looked at the Bricklin. It favored the mother overall, with her taking the supportiveness scale, the father the consistency and admirable traits scales and a wash on the competence scales. The Roberts showed a little boy who was feeling overwhelmed with problems and unable to fashion successful solutions. His depression and rejection scales were elevated but he had no maladaptives. Not yet.
Reece punched holes in the sheets and slipped them into the file. He slit open the mail from the previous day. The consents were getting very predictable responses. The school had a form letter attached to the questionnaire. It was from the school board’s legal department. “Absent an order from the circuit court, the school system will not provide written records in domestic disputes. Subpoena duces tecum will be met with a motion to quash. Parental consent is deemed insufficient to release records. Staff has been advised not to respond to verbal requests of any sort. Depositions will be opposed by protective order. If relief is not granted, they will be conducted at the offices of the school board legal department with full representation. All costs to be borne by the moving party.” Reece was not surprised. Cancer metastasizes and spreads and the body fights back. These were legal antibodies.
The pediatric records were just that, six years of raw notes, even though his request was for a summary limited to conditions requiring special care by the parents and a note indicating who brought the child in for check-ups and treatment. No, that was too hard to do, he thought. Too hard to spend the time to read the chart, think about the question or compose a reply. Much easier to send a secretary to the Xerox and let the evaluator spend his time translating the hieroglyphics or calling back to ask questions about the runes. Twice as expensive that way. You didn’t need health care reform to cut costs; just a little old-fashioned health care would do.
Reece spent the next hour reading and underlining the record to determine that the children were healthy, and he still had no idea who brought them to their appointment although telephone calls were always identified as the mother’s.
The therapist who treated Serena Dilworth as an adolescent had no records of her treatment from that long ago. He went on to note that he was now retired and had no recollections of her at all.
The second hospitalization and treatment records hadn’t arrived yet. Reece noted the date on the “tickler sheet” and filed the responses. He put his session notes into the chart and looked at the faxed response from Simon Tepper.
Reece stopped, picked up the phone and called his answering service. “This is Dr. Reece, did you receive any calls this morning?”
“No, sir.”
“No one identifying himself as me, or with a message from me.”
“No, sir. The incoming board is clear.”
“How about calls out? Any calls to a Serena Tully?”
“No, sir. Outgoing is clean, too.”
“Thank you.”
That didn’t prove anything. The calls could have come from elsewhere, or there could have been no call at all.
Reece filled his coffee and started to read Simon Tepper’s notes. Twice he stopped to think about calling Lindsay Brinkman. Once he even uncradled the phone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Serena Tully got only a quarter of what the Baume & Mercier retailed for, but it was two thousand dollars more than she had. She wasn’t sure how much Stuart had used up already. She decided to keep half the money as a retainer for a new lawyer and hope she got a job pretty soon. The other half would go to rent a two-bedroom suite in a motel so she’d have a place to stay with the kids. By four o’clock she had a place in an all-suites motel out on Route 7 just before the Dulles Access Road. Two down, one to go. If she was on her own, she’d have thoug
ht about a job as a topless dancer. She’d always heard that the money was good and it was cash. Her bruises wouldn’t matter. Nobody’d be looking at her face anyway. Not an option if she wanted her kids. Tomorrow she’d go down to the lobby, get a Post right off the truck and start her search in earnest. She checked the car clock: four-fifteen. May as well get to Denise’s, pack up and leave. Do it before Denise came home from work. That way she could cry if she had to.
Serena slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open. She went upstairs to the guest room. First stop was the bathroom. She gathered up her stuff, put what she could in the plastic makeup case and filled her arms with the rest. She dropped it all on the bed in the guest room and turned to get her suitcase from the closet.
He was on her like nightfall, silent, black and everywhere. Falling back she tried to scream through his gloved fingers but couldn’t even mumble. On the bed she tried to wriggle free. An enormous hand closed on her throat, his thumb pushed on her windpipe like it was a cutoff switch. Her arms flailed weakly. Her legs trembled and shook. This was it, the end. The black ski mask faded out of sight.
“See how easy that was.” The voice boomed in her ears. She was coming back. She gasped for air and gulped it down her throat, past the burn. Her eyes watered, but the huge black knitted head stayed right in front of her face. She was afraid to test her limbs, that he might think she was resisting and he’d turn her off again. She felt dead from the neck down. Her mind was filled with the faceless head in front of her.
“You hear me? Nod your head.”
Serena nodded.
“Good. Now just listen.” His voice was softer now. “See how easy that was. One second you’re fine, the next you’re dead. Terrible, how close at hand death really is.” He shook his head in sympathy. “I can come back and visit you any time I want. You didn’t hear me this time; you won’t hear me next time. Next time is the last time. You want to see your kids again, sign the papers. You can’t hide from me, either. I know where you’ve moved to. Nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to raise kids there. You understand me?”
Serena tried to speak, but the hand over her mouth muffled it.
“No. Don’t talk. Just nod. You understand me?”
Her head bobbed up and down.
“Good. I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It’s late in the day. I expect you to sign those papers first thing tomorrow. If I find out that you haven’t, I’ll be back. Promise. Now, I’m going to let myself out. You just lie here and think about what you’re going to do tomorrow. Count to a thousand. Then get up, take a shower, change your clothes. You’ll feel better.”
The big man lifted a leg over Serena’s body, swiveled on one knee and stood up. He put a finger to his lips, turned and left.
She lay there, rigid with fear, tears running down the sides of her face. Exhausted by her trip to death and back, she couldn’t fight any longer.
In his car, the messenger chuckled and whistled a happy tune. Maybe it wasn’t too late for a career change.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Serena Tully hoped that Lou Carlson had a class as she walked down the hall towards his office. If his office was empty she’d just put the books on his desk. If it was locked she’d find the department secretary and leave them there. What to do if he was in was not an option she’d considered.
Outside the door, she leaned forward to listen for voices. A phone call or needy student would be very welcome. The office was silent. She gently gripped the doorknob and turned it, hoping it would catch. When it didn’t, she pushed it open slowly and leaned her head around the edge. Empty. She slipped in, went around his desk and put the books in plain sight. She stepped back and surveyed the chaos. No, even in that mess he’d see them. Maybe he wouldn’t remember who they were from. She ripped off a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note of thanks. She placed his coffee mug on top of the note and books.
“Hi, there. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.” Carlson’s voice startled her and she flinched. Spooked, her eyes flicked from side to side, looking for a way past him and out the door.
Carlson knew something wasn’t right. She looked guilty, like she’d been caught taking something she shouldn’t have.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve got the names of some lawyers who …”
“That’s okay, Mr. Carlson. Really, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I won’t need those names any more.” With each word Serena moved from behind Carlson’s desk until she was between him and his bookcases, with the open door only two steps away.
He looked at her closely and revised his opinion. Panic, not guilt, was what she radiated.
“Are you okay, Ms. Tully? You don’t look very well.”
She put a hand quickly to her throat, felt the turtleneck and smiled weakly. “No, I’m fine, Mr. Carlson.”
“Did you and your husband settle?”
“Yes. I signed the papers this morning. The lawyers are down at the courthouse trying to get a judge to sign the order today.”
That was odd, Carlson thought. Why not wait until motions day? What was the hurry? Expensive too, running down there with only one order to get signed.
“Things must have changed quite a bit. I guess Stuart did better for you than you thought he would. What kind of settlement did he get?” Carlson was curious at what Al Garfield had to give up. He rejoiced at every setback he experienced, even if he didn’t personally administer it.
“I, I, I …” she began to sob and pressed her hands to her face, “… don’t know.” She hadn’t even read the papers in Stuart’s office, her fear compressing each letter, each shape, into a series of black lines on white paper with no more meaning than a seismograph.
She tried to slide past Carlson and out of his office when he reached out and grabbed her by the upper arms.
“Wait a minute, what do you mean you don’t know?”
Carlson tried to turn Serena to face him. Her face was contorted trying to suppress her sobs. Her arms were up as if to fend off a blow. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go.”
Carlson looked at his hands gripping her arms as if they were snakes with fangs sunk into her flesh.
“I’m sorry. Please sit down.” He steered her into one of the chairs in front of the desk and took the other. The one closer to the door.
“You signed a custody agreement and you don’t know what it says: There is something terribly wrong here. A few days ago you came in here and wanted someone to help you stand up to your husband and Al Garfield. Now this. Talk to me. What’s happened to you?”
Serena had her face buried in her hands. Gasping for air between the waves of anguish, remorse and self-loathing that broke over her, her words escaped one at a time.
“I can’t. He’ll kill me. I had to sign it.”
“What do you mean, he’ll kill you? Who? Did your husband threaten you?”
Serena’s head bobbed up and down. Carlson wasn’t sure which question she’d answered.
“Okay. One at a time. Someone threatened you?”
Serena nodded.
“Your husband?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You don’t know for sure?”
More nodding.
“Someone threatened to kill you?”
She shook her head no. Carlson started to relax. Then she nodded yes.
“He didn’t threaten to kill you or he did?”
Serena wiped at glistening cheeks. Mascaraed tears zigzagged down her face. Carlson searched for a box of tissues in his office. Without surrendering his position he reached over to his bookcase, hooked a box with two fingers, pulled it down and handed it to her.
“Your husband?”
“No. Someone else. He had a mask on. I didn’t recognize the voice. He jumped me in Denise’s house. I was packing to go to my new apartment. He choked me until I blacked out. When I came to, he told me to sign the papers or he’d come back and kill me. So I did.” Sobs explo
ded out of her. “I gave my kids away.”
Carlson sat back and ground his teeth. His gut churned. His chest tightened. He needed Maalox. He needed a nitro. He played mental chess with human pieces. He saw Serena, himself, his wife, Lori, Serena’s children, his, Tom Tully and Albert Garfield, Agent Orange. Lou Carlson moved each piece in turn, exhausting their repertoires. They were in the end game and checkmate was everywhere. He rubbed his brow as he contemplated the next move, the only one left on the board.
“Not yet. Look at me. We’ve run out of time and choices. I’m going to ask you some questions. Think very hard before you answer. There is no going back. What happens to you and your children is going to be decided here and now. This is it. No second chances, no do-overs, no appeals, no excuses, no explanations.
“Do you think your husband would try to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he should be raising your children?”
“No.”
“What do you think is best for the children?”
“To be with me.”
“Are you ready to risk your life to do what’s best for your children?”
Serena started to answer. Carlson held up his hand.
“Don’t answer that. I don’t mean here, now, in the light of day in my office. I mean back in that house when you were going under. Are you ready for that?” Carlson tapped a finger on the desk. “Take your time.”
Lou Carlson propped his chin on one palm and watched Serena Tully search for the courage that had eluded her for her entire life.
“Mr. Carlson, I’m ready for that. That was just death. Let me tell you it’s nothing compared to how I feel when I think about giving my kids away to someone who can’t take care of them.”
“Take a deep breath and say it again. I want you to be sure.”
She’d made the wrong choices so many times. How would she know if this was right? She usually felt much better right after each bad decision. A sure sign of wishing instead of thinking. This time she was still afraid.
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