Unintended Consequences

by Marti Green

  “Okay. So assume this judge wants to play it safe. I still don’t see how ordering exhumation is risky.”

  “Let’s say he ordered the exhumation, and the DNA test comes back proving she’s Angelina Calhoun. Now the press is all over him for allowing this horrible murderer another chance, for delaying the justice they’ve all been waiting for. Edwards is a coward. He doesn’t want to risk looking like he favors defendants. He knows we’ll appeal, and if he’s right in denying the order, it proves how smart he is. And if he’s overturned, well, then, townsfolk can feel comfortable that he’s a tough judge.”

  Melanie shook her head. Dani knew how she felt: disgusted. She had experienced it many times, both as a prosecutor in the US Attorney’s Office and working at HIPP. Law school didn’t prepare hopeful attorneys for the vagaries of judicial decision. The study of law was devoid of politics, of pettiness, of bad judges and incompetent attorneys. There was a purity to the study of law that Dani loved. Over the years, she’d come to terms with the messiness in the real-life practice of law.

  They headed to Judge Edwards’s office. A young woman sat at a desk outside his chambers. Dani handed her a business card. “Good morning. We just came from Judge Edwards’s courtroom on the People v. George Calhoun case. I’d like to make sure we get a copy of the judge’s decision as quickly as possible.”

  The young woman looked at the card. “I’m sure everyone wants the decision as soon as possible. It usually takes about a week, sometimes longer, depending on his calendar.”

  Secretaries were the gatekeepers. If this one weren’t on Dani’s side, she could delay typing up a decision out of spite. “I appreciate how busy everyone is. But my client is facing execution in three weeks. For a crime we don’t believe he committed.”

  The young woman stared at her and sighed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You are an angel of mercy,” Dani said and thanked her.

  “What now?” Melanie asked as they left the clerk’s office.

  “Now we pray Tommy comes up with something.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  It seemed as if the rain would never stop. Six days in a row of nonstop showers made Sunny feel as if she were lost at sea, with nothing but water wherever she looked and no hope of rescue. Six days of putting together puzzles with Rachel, six days of reading Goodnight Moon over and over, six days of watching Dora the Explorer on the television. She thought she would lose her mind. Eric didn’t understand. He’d come home exhausted in the evening and think Sunny’s life was a breeze, taking care of a three-year-old her only responsibility. He didn’t even demand dinner when he came home: Takeout from the Chinese restaurant or pizza parlor worked as well as a home-cooked meal. Nor did he mind when she hadn’t tidied the apartment, Rachel’s toys strewn all over the living-room floor and the laundry still waiting to be folded.

  Stuck inside the apartment day after day made her feel trapped. Eric promised they’d move away from New York when he finished his residency. Sunny hoped it would be closer to her mother. She loathed being so far from her. She wondered whether Rachel would remember her life in New York City—the noise, the smell, the crowds. She recalled so little of her own childhood. Her first real memory was from when she was six and entering first grade. When she attempted to conjure up earlier events, she’d felt a strange uneasiness, so she’d stopped trying.

  “Mommy, I’m bored.”

  Even her sweet-natured angel had turned whiny after six days of being cooped up.

  “I know, Rachel. I think tomorrow the sun will be back and we can go to the park then. I bet Billy will be there.”

  “But I’m bored now.”

  Sunny understood boredom. It was her daily companion.

  Eric heard the telephone ring first. He often received calls in the middle of the night and, despite his natural tendency to be a heavy sleeper, had trained himself to awaken quickly at that familiar sound. Expecting the hospital to be on the other end, he answered briskly, “Dr. Bergman.” Sunny, finely attuned to the cries of a child, had learned to maintain a state of sleep through those calls, but something in Eric’s tone broke through her sleep.

  “I see,” she heard him say softly. “When did it happen? No, of course, I’m sure you did everything you could.” Quiet, and then Eric’s voice again. “That would be a great help, thank you. We’ll get the first plane out.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sunny asked as she opened her eyes in the darkened bedroom.

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

  “What are you saying? What’s wrong?

  “Your mother. She’s had a heart attack.”

  A state of disbelief seized Sunny. She bolted upright in bed and let herself be pulled into an embrace by Eric. “Is she okay?” she whispered, too afraid to speak the words loudly.

  “No. I’m sorry. She passed away before the ambulance arrived.”

  “But…but…it can’t be true. Mom’s heart is fine. She’s always been so strong.”

  “Sometimes it happens like that. With no warning.” Eric held Sunny tight as the realization of her mother’s death sunk in and her body shook from crying. A loud wail arose from her body. She kept shaking her head and murmuring, “No.”

  Eric stroked her hair until the sobs subsided.

  “What will I do without her? She’s my rock. I need her.”

  “I know.”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Nancy. Your mother called her when she started having chest pains. She wanted to believe it was indigestion, but Nancy insisted she call 911. Only it was too late.”

  Nancy. Her mom’s longtime friend. Almost like an aunt to Sunny.

  Sunny tried to be strong, but tears erupted once more. Her father had died six years earlier. On her wedding day, when she walked down the aisle, she’d forced herself to hold back the tears that were so close to the surface because it wasn’t her father by her side. “I have no one left,” she said between sobs.

  “You have me and Rachel.”

  “Yes, but it’s not the same. I’m an orphan now. I’ve lost my history.”

  Eric stroked her arm and whispered comforting words to her. They didn’t even try to return to sleep. He held Sunny in his arms until the outside light streaming through the blinds announced that a new day had begun.

  The taxicab turned onto Aspen Road and Sunny felt her chest tighten. She had expected to return to her childhood home two weeks later for the Easter celebration. Her mother always waited in her plump window-side chair watching for her arrival. Now an empty house awaited her. Instead of a grandmother smothering Rachel with kisses, they’d walk into a deathly quiet home.

  Nancy had made the funeral arrangements and contacted the few friends and family members who were left. Sunny had felt too numb to make decisions and was relieved to turn those responsibilities over to others. Now, as the taxicab turned into her driveway—her mother’s driveway—tears once again began to roll down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, Mommy,” Rachel said. “I’ll kiss the boo-boo and make it all better.”

  Sunny wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and wrapped her arm around Rachel. “You’ve already made it better. See? No more crying.”

  Eric paid the driver while Sunny and Rachel gathered their belongings and got out. The sun’s rays were strong, the glare startling to Sunny. That’s wrong. It should be a gloomy day, not sparkling. Yet everything did sparkle. The house, the lawn, the luxuriant gardens her mother had loved to tend. Holding Rachel’s hand, Sunny unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Pictures of her family adorned the foyer walls.

  Eric came in behind them. “Why don’t you just relax? I’ll call the funeral home and let them know we’re here. We have a few hours before we’re expected there.”

  It seemed surreal. Everything in the house looked the same as Sunny remembere
d: the gingham curtains in the kitchen that she’d helped her mother sew; on the dining-room table, the lace doily they’d picked up at a garage sale; the slipcovered sofa in the living room. Somehow, she’d thought it would be changed, different without her mother’s presence. She walked from room to room, touching items in each. It gave her a sense of connection, connection to her mother, connection to her childhood.

  The funeral service would be held the next day, a graveside service with just a small group in attendance. Her mother had retired from nursing a few years earlier and hadn’t remained in touch with her former colleagues. “I want to travel while I’m still young enough to get around on my own,” she’d said. And she did travel. Her first trip had been to New York, to visit Sunny. From there, she and Nancy flew to Paris. It had always been her dream to tour the Louvre, walk down the Champs Élysées, ride an elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. “It was everything I’d imagined,” she told Sunny on her return. “Don’t wait to travel until you’re old, like me. Do it while you’re young.” She and Nancy had taken more trips after that, but the trip to Paris had remained special to her.

  Sunny wondered if her mother would have begun traveling earlier in her life if she hadn’t had her daughter to take care of. She’d been an older mother when she finally gave birth to Sunny, almost forty. The parents of Sunny’s friends were still in their forties when their children went off to college, young enough to enjoy the freedom that brought. As Sunny walked through the house and fingered the knickknacks her mother had brought home from her travels, she wondered whether she had ever regretted being held down by a child. But as soon as the thought passed through her mind, it evaporated. Sunny knew that she had been the center of her parents’ world, that they had loved every moment of their lives. Her mother had set aside her dream of traveling for something she cherished even more: her daughter. How fortunate I was. She settled onto the couch and looked at Eric and Rachel. She had postponed her own dream of becoming a nurse in favor of motherhood. As she watched her daughter snuggle in her father’s lap, Sunny knew with certainty that she didn’t regret her decision.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Damn bureaucracies! Tommy had spent more than a week being shuffled from one agency to another and he’d gotten zilch. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need to make a trip to Minnesota, but he’d gotten nowhere fast with the phone. Tomorrow he’d hoof it out there. Spring had finally arrived in New York. The incessant rain had stopped, the sun shone, and the golf course beckoned. He’d checked the weather forecast for Rochester, Minnesota, and it stunk. Wet and cold.

  All his efforts had led to a state of gridlock as bad as anything that gripped Manhattan streets during rush hours. No movement forward, just sitting at his desk and twiddling his thumbs. Earlier that morning he’d gotten a call from the lab doing the testing on the note left tucked under his car’s windshield wipers. The good news: The paper had yielded distinct fingerprints. The bad news: no match for them could be found in any of the databases.

  Tommy wondered how Dani and Melanie were doing with their motion. There were only three ways to have certainty in this case: Exhume the body and find out definitively whether the child was Angelina Calhoun; find a record of her death in Minnesota; or find Angelina Calhoun, alive and well. That would be something, he thought, if she were still alive.

  This case bothered him and not just because it involved a child. He’d been so convinced that this guy had handed them a load of baloney. Now he had doubts. Even if Calhoun had told the truth—and this was a big if—wasn’t he still guilty of something? It must be a crime to abandon a sick child. Maybe if he hadn’t, he would have found some way to get her medical treatment. Maybe she would have lived. And then there was that damned note on his car. What the hell was that about? There’d been no more nasty missives since he’d been back.

  He looked at his watch and saw that it was after one o’clock. He sauntered to Bruce’s office and stuck his head in. “Want to grab some lunch?”

  Bruce looked at the clock on the wall and then at the papers strewn over his desk. “I probably shouldn’t, but yeah, let’s go. The weather’s too nice to sit inside all day.”

  As they waited for the elevator, Tommy asked, “You ever miss not having kids?”

  “Sometimes. When I’m at my sister’s and her kids are running all over the place, all laughing and happy, I miss being a part of that.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s great when they’re young like that. You know, watching them at Little League and soccer, tumbling around on the floor with them, all that stuff. You can’t believe how fast that changes. One day they’re dependent on you for everything, and the next thing you know, they’re embarrassed to admit you’re their parents.”

  “Ah, the teenage years. I remember them fondly.”

  “Tommy Jr. is heading off for college in the fall. I don’t know how Patty is going to handle that. She already gets weepy when she thinks about it.”

  “How about you? You ready for that?”

  Tommy shook his head. “I remember what happened when I left for college. It was the beginning of moving out of the family into my own life. I know it’s good for him. I know as parents we’ve got to let go, but still, it’s hard to do. I guess that’s why I’m so troubled by this Calhoun guy. I’m having a hard time letting Tommy Jr. fly the nest, and he’s almost eighteen and healthy. How could Calhoun let go of his sick four-year-old? I just don’t get it.”

  Bruce nodded. “It’s hard to put ourselves in the minds of other people. We bring to these cases our own circumstances that make us the people we are. But we shouldn’t judge decisions made by others who’ve had different life experiences. Unless they’ve broken the law.”

  “Well, the book is still out on Calhoun, as far as I’m concerned.”

  The elevator reached the lobby and they headed out the door into bright sunshine. “Well,” Bruce said, “maybe after you get to Rochester, the answers will be as clear as today’s weather.”

  “Maybe. I sure as hell hope so.”

  Tommy’s plane landed at Rochester International Airport ten minutes early despite the driving rain. He wound his way through the airport corridors to the car-rental desk and then retrieved a Toyota Camry from the parking lot. He planned to check into his hotel and then start making visits. The first would be to the county Vital Records Office. He’d called the office, of course, one of the many fruitless calls he’d made. No death certificate could be found for an Angelina Calhoun. But she wouldn’t have gone by her name. Maybe the first name would be the same, but if George had been truthful, he’d purposely stricken her real name from the medical records he’d hung around her neck.

  Forty-five minutes later he stood at the front counter of the Vital Records Office. “Is Helen here by any chance?” he asked the heavyset woman standing before him.

  “Just left on a break. You can wait for her over there.” She pointed to a bench against the wall.

  “How long do you think she’ll be?”

  The clerk shrugged. She looked as if a smile would cause her face to crack into little pieces.

  “Well, Anne? That’s your name, right?” Tommy said, noting the name tag pinned to her shirt. “Maybe you can help me until she gets back. I need to check through your death certificates for a white female child between the ages of four and seven, dating back between sixteen and twenty years ago.” Based on what Doc Samson had told him, Tommy figured that should cover the gamut of possible dates of death, assuming she’d succumbed to leukemia. It wasn’t a perfect calculation, but there just wasn’t time to expand the search.

  Anne stared at Tommy with a blank expression.

  “So, how ’bout it, Anne? Can you get me started on that?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope. Deadly serious.”

  “See those forms over there? Fill one out with what you’re looking for. A
search like that, figure six months or so. Maybe a year.”

  “I think I’ll wait for Helen to get back,” Tommy said and turned and walked to the bench against the wall. Goddamn clerks. Do they go to school to learn how to drive people crazy?

  Ten minutes went by before a shapely young woman with straight black hair down to the middle of her back walked in. As she approached the front desk, Anne pointed at Tommy. “That man there was asking for you.”

  Helen turned and smiled warmly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “I’m Tommy Noorland. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. Remember? About the little girl with leukemia?”

  “Yes, of course. Come on back to my desk and we can talk there.” Tommy followed her through the swinging door in the front counter to a desk in the back of the room. The first thing he noticed was a picture of Helen with a guy and a baby. The good ones are always married, he thought.

  “As I told you on the phone, I’m not sure how much help we can be to you without more definitive information,” Helen said as she settled into her chair. “You don’t even know the child’s name.”

  “Please tell me your records are computerized,” Tommy said.

  “Of course, back fifty years. Before that we’d have to go through the archives.”

  “Does your software have a search function?”

  Helen nodded. “But I’ve never used it for anything other than searching a name.”

  “Could you try? You know how important this is.”