“Some old friend.”
“Well, I guess Ray and I have some mutual acquaintances.” Cal glanced at Jamie and winked.
“However you got it, this is terrific stuff. If it all checks out, I think the custody change is going to be easy. We may even have enough here to get more than a custody change. We may be able to have that bastard put away!”
“Right. And there’s more. Wait’ll you hear what I found out in the desert.” He gave her a full account of the evidence he’d found in the desert east of Sharperville. “The Feds ought to be interested in that. Experts would have no trouble connecting up those tire tracks to Ray’s van.”
Elaine grinned, looking over the notes on her pad.
Her energetic mind was already putting it all together.
“Cal, can you put me on speaker? I want to talk to you both.”
Cal put the phone on speaker and in the staccato, highly concentrated style that was typical of Elaine French when she was going into action, she laid out her plan.
“First of all, I’ll do a little digging to verify Edna Nixon’s condition. That’s protected information, of course, but I’ve got some friends up at the hospital.” She smiled to herself. She had connections and contacts everywhere, and when she needed to have the rules bent a bit, she usually could get a little help from her friends. “I’ll have to get it documented, but I think I can handle that. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She flipped over to a new page on the yellow pad and made some more notes. “Next, I’m going to locate the judge who’s replaced Judge Joyner. Hold on a minute.” She reached into the credenza behind her and pulled out a state Bar directory, flipping quickly through the pages. “Let’s see. You’re in the Sixth District. That’s Judge Amos A. Prescott. I’ll call him right now and tell him we need a temporary restraining order. Immediately. Let’s hope he hasn’t gone fishing for the weekend.” Even as she was copying out the judge’s address and office number into her notes, she added, “Don’t worry. Even if he has gone fishing, I’ll find him. I’ll call you back as soon as I know when and where we can meet with him to get the order signed. Give me a number where I can reach you.”
Cal gave her Harvey’s number and she added it to her contacts. Then she looked at her watch and compared the time with the crystal-mounted gold clock on the bookcase across the room. “Let’s see. It’s almost noon. It’ll take me about two, maybe three hours to get everything together here, talk to my people at the hospital, do the paperwork, and contact Judge Prescott. Depending on where he can meet us, I’d expect to need about four or five hours’ driving time. So it’ll be maybe seven, eight o’clock. Around sundown. I’ll let you know as soon as we have it arranged.”
“We’ll be there,” Jamie said. “Wherever you tell us to be, we’ll meet you.” She liked Elaine’s take-charge style, but things were happening so quickly. “Just one thing, what does that mean—temporary restraining order?”
“It means we go directly to the judge, right now, wherever we can find him, without waiting for a formal court date, and convince him that Mandy is in danger of serious, immediate harm if she stays with Ray.” That’ll do for a simple explanation, she thought to herself. “We really do need to get her away from Ray as quickly as possible.”
The harsh words came from Elaine so plainly, so unemotionally that Jamie felt as though she’d been dropped suddenly and painfully from a height, and she gasped, reacting involuntarily. Elaine couldn’t see that Jamie was momentarily dazed, that she had made an abrupt stop in her slow pacing around the room and had leaned her head against the window, steadying herself, with her eyes closed. But Elaine did hear Jamie’s gasp and she brought herself up short.
It wasn’t the first time she’d been so preoccupied with her own rapid-fire thoughts and her typically super-charged level of activity she’d forgotten she was dealing with real people, people who had feelings, people who sometimes needed to be treated with consideration. She needed to remember not to just lay all this tough stuff on them—boom-boom-boom—without giving some thought to how it sounded from their side. After all, she reminded herself, Jamie is Mandy’s mother. To Jamie, the idea of her daughter being in real danger was not simply a significant legal development. It was a crucial, life-and-death matter that touched her where she was most vulnerable, and she, Elaine, needed to remember that.
She slowed herself down a couple of calibrations on her activity dial.
“I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mean to say it so coldly. But that’s precisely the point that we have to get across to the judge. Mandy is facing imminent and irreparable harm. Those are the words we have to use and I know that’s tough for you to bear, but first of all, that’s the truth, and second, for that very reason, it’s what will convince the judge that he has to get Mandy away from that sonofabitch and back to you.”
“I know. It’s just, hearing you say it like that, just right out there.” Jamie’s hands were sweating and her stomach had gone sick. “I just can’t help being scared.”
“Of course. Perfectly natural. It would be crazy if you weren’t scared. You’re right to be scared and that’s the whole point of the affidavits I’m going to prepare for both of you now.”
“Okay.” Jamie took a deep breath and steadied herself down. “What comes next?”
“Later, after we’ve convinced the judge to sign that order and Ray hands Mandy over to you, then the next step is to bring a full action to modify the decree, to make it permanent.
“And now, Cal,” she continued, turning her attention to him, “there are a couple of things I want you to do, help me save some time.”
“You betcha,” he said. “Anything you say, ma’am.”
“First of all, I want you to contact the local drug enforcement agents. There’s a couple of DEA guys stationed downstate and I’ll give you their names. Give them all the information you have. Tell them you’re working with me, and if there’s any problem, they should call me here at this number. Also, I’ll give you the number of my cell phone, in case I’ve already left my office.”
She waited while Cal took down all the names and numbers. Then she added, “And the other thing is, don’t do anything with the pics you took. Text them to me and I can get them printed up here to have them available for trial. I think, by the time we’re finished with Ray Nixon, he’s not going to be interested in harassing Jamie anymore. Now, that’s it, sweetie pie. I got to get going on this. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch soon.”
That was all the goodbye they got.
She had too much to do to spend time on cordialities. There were calls to make. Papers to draft. Motions, affidavits, covering memorandums. And she’d have to change her outfit. On Saturdays, she usually wore casual clothes to the office—jeans and running shoes—but there was always a change of clothes on reserve in her closet, in case of an unexpected court appearance or, like today, a meeting with a judge. She checked quickly—pantsuit, blouse, pumps, handbag—everything there, ready for her. The weekend staff was in the office and she alerted the off-hours word processors to be ready for the affidavits and other papers she’d be drafting. Then she got busy on the telephone.
* * *
Cal hung up and went over to Jamie standing at the window, staring out across the field. She turned and looked at him as though he’d roused her from a sleep.
“She’s some dynamo, isn’t she?” Cal said.
Jamie wasn’t listening. “Cal, I’m so scared. I’m so damned scared.”
“Sure you are.” He put an arm around her. “But we’re going to get Mandy back. You’ll see. It’s going to be all right.” He led her to the desk, and took his arm from her only long enough to dial the numbers Elaine had given him.
“I’m calling the drug enforcement people,” he said. He held her close the whole time he talked on the phone.
* * *
In his cluttered office, the DEA agent swiveled his chair away from the stack of files he was working his way through, and grabbed the phone.
“Yeah?” It was no greeting, but Jerry Metzger didn’t have much time to give away.
“My name is Cal Cameron. I’m calling from Sharperville and I have some information for you.”
“Okay. What have you got?” Wearily, Metzger picked up a pen and started to take notes. He figured the call to be just another piece of routine citizen contact. Then he heard who made the referral.
“You’re working with Elaine French?” He sat right up in his chair. When Cal was finished, the agent was already in motion.
Sometimes, Metzger was thinking exultantly, it all comes together just right, like God decided to do you a favor and got everything organized just for your benefit.
If they moved fast, this would tie right in with the simultaneous bust they had just finished setting up in several western cities. Six months they’d been putting it together and here was an important piece, just falling into place, like a gift from heaven.
“We’ll get right on it,” Metzger said brusquely. “We’ll dispatch a team in there right away, Mr. Cameron. Give me a number where we can reach you. And you stay in touch with us, okay?”
“You bet,” Cal said, and he had barely hung up the phone when Elaine was back on the line.
“We’re in business!” she said. “I got hold of the judge. He’s over in Garrison County this week, and he’ll meet us in Flintlock. That’s the county seat. You know where the courthouse is?”
“I don’t, but maybe Jamie does. Don’t worry, well find it.”
“Good. Now, let me talk to Jamie.” As soon as Jamie had taken the phone, Elaine said, “The courthouse in Flintlock. On Main Street. Be there at eight o’clock tonight. The judge will meet us at the front door and let us in. Any questions?”
“Is there anything I need to prepare? Anything I should bring?”
“Not a thing. I’m having the whole file faxed to Judge Prescott so he’ll have had a chance to review it before tonight. And I’m preparing the affidavits and all the other papers now. You just show up on time. Go on home, if you need to change your clothes. I want you to look tidy and responsible. That’s all we need. Be ready to answer any questions, tell only the truth, nothing more, and follow my lead. I’ll do the rest.”
And the phone went dead in Jamie’s hand. She looked up at Cal. “Well, it’s all set.”
“That’s right, darlin’. If all goes well, we’ll have Mandy in your arms before morning.”
Chapter Nineteen
The parking lot outside the Garrison County Courthouse was usually empty on a Saturday night, but Judge Amos Prescott’s Land Rover was already there when Jamie and Cal pulled in at about a quarter to eight. They parked next to the big black SUV and Cal used the extra fifteen minutes to run across the street to a cafe to pick up a couple of cartons of coffee and some doughnuts. Earlier, when they passed through the town of Jimson, he’d insisted they stop for dinner at the town’s combination motel and diner, but Jamie had only picked at her chicken salad, mostly just pushing it around on her plate.
Now, she was pacing back and forth in front of Cal who was leaning against the truck’s front fender, drinking his coffee. She came to a stop in front of him.
“The last judge was such a jerk. How do we know this one won’t be as bad?” She looked down and saw the doughnut he had put into her hand. She raised it, about to take a bite, and then forgot it just as quickly. “How do I know Elaine will be able to convince him? Maybe he’ll believe what’s in the record about me. Maybe he won’t see any reason to take Mandy away from her father.”
They’d been over this a hundred times already, through every mile of the drive from Sharperville, and Cal knew it was her nerves talking.
“Eat your doughnut, Jamie. You haven’t had anything all day.”
She looked at it and made a face. “I can’t,” she said. “It would make me sick. Here, you eat it.” She handed it to Cal.
He gave up trying to get some food into her and scarfed it down himself.
“Where’s Elaine?” She was fidgeting with the edge of her coffee cup, picking at the rim with her fingernails. “She said she’d be here by eight.” She squinted down the broad, untrafficked expanse of Main Street.
On a Saturday night, the Main Street in Flintlock was pretty quiet. There was a movie theater in town, but it didn’t do much business anymore. All the stores closed early, except for the big Kmart, but that was down at the other end of town, where Main Street curved around to join back up with the freeway, and it wasn’t even visible from the courthouse parking lot.
Even as Cal was about to say that if Elaine said eight o’clock, she’d be there by eight o’clock, a dusty swirl appeared in the distance, coming off the freeway, and only moments later the silver Lexus was rolling toward them. It turned sharply into the parking lot and pulled up to a fast stop next to Cal’s truck.
Elaine French, looking crisp in black patent pumps and black pantsuit with a white silk lining, got out of the car. She smoothed the jacket neatly in place over the white silk blouse and walked around to Jamie’s side of the truck. She was carrying a black leather attaché case and she lifted the case for them to see.
“I have your affidavits here. We have a few minutes before our meeting. Read through these papers and if everything’s okay, sign them.” She opened the case, resting it on the hood of Cal’s truck, and handed the documents to them. Then she removed her notary stamp and seal from the case. “As soon as you’ve signed them, I’ll notarize them. Take your time. I’ll wait here and check out the local scenery.”
* * *
It had been two years since Jamie had been in a courthouse but this time it was different. First of all, this time she had a fighting team with her. They flanked her, Cal to her right and Elaine to her left, as they entered through the big glass doors at the front of the building. Second, the man who opened the door for them and introduced himself as Judge Prescott was not old and crabbed and tired, as Judge Joyner had been. This was a much younger man—not more than forty years old—and he had close-cropped reddish hair and a wiry mustache, which gave him a bristly, lively look. He was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a plaid shirt, and he led them down the carpeted hall to his chambers at a brisk pace. They passed the glass doors of the clerks’ offices and a drinking fountain and wooden benches that had been varnished to a super shine. The judge stopped them in front of an unmarked door, just beyond a huge historical painting that depicted the early settlers’ arrival in the area.
“Hold on just a minute,” Judge Prescott said. “I’ve got to get my court reporter. The poor woman thought she could get away from me at least for the weekend, but when you called, I dragged her away from her rose garden. No one in this county grows roses like Betty Burnitz.”
He opened the door and they had a brief glimpse of a lounge area, with more gray-patterned carpet and dark gray couch and a coffee urn. A fifty-ish woman with tightly curled, auburn-dyed hair, looked up at them. She was about to put her cup onto the low table in front of her.
“We’re ready now, Betty. Bring your coffee if you like.”
“That’s okay, Judge,” she said, leaving the cup behind. She followed them to chambers.
In the years to come, Jamie would not be able to describe the interior of the judge’s chambers, except that she would remember the blue and gold state flag standing tall behind the judge, who had taken his place behind a very large desk, and the American flag near the window, where the drapes had been closed against the setting sun. The judge pointed to chairs across his desk for Elaine and Jamie. Cal took a seat near the window. They all waited a few minutes while Betty set up her computer. At her signal, Judge Prescott began.
“All right,” he said. opening the file and crossing his hands over it. “We’re ready to begin.”
In a mechanical tone that reflected the many hundreds of times he had done this, he read off the case name and docket number, and Betty’s fingers began their flight over the keyboard. Then he looked up at Elaine who
was facing him across the desk.
“Okay, counselor. What have we got here?”
Elaine had the affidavits and other motion papers ready for him. She closed her case, put it on the floor and put the papers on his desk.
“We’re moving for a temporary restraining order, Your Honor. Although custody was originally awarded to the plaintiff—that is, the father, in this case—the affidavits will show that the child is now threatened with immediate and irreparable injury if she is required to remain with her father.”
Elaine’s tone was modulated, direct, competent, experienced. She was comfortable with the language of the law. By contrast, Jamie was sure everyone in the room could hear the rapid thumping of her own heart and see her fingers, gone white at the knuckles, gripping the brass-studded leather arms of her chair. She felt the cold sweat of the worst case of nerves she had ever known.
For the record, Elaine told the judge what he already knew, that in this state the fundamental principle in custody matters was that the best interests of the child are always held to prevail over all other considerations. Then, in a less formal manner, she reviewed the highlights of the evidence contained in the affidavits, emphasizing the dangers that Mandy was being exposed to. Then she moved on to the next element of the motion.
“In addition, Your Honor, as the affidavits state, there has been a material change in the circumstances of the parties since the decree was entered two years ago.”
Jamie’s hand started to tremble and she put it in her lap, hoping to keep it steady. Her eyes were locked on Judge Prescott’s face, searching for a clue to what he was thinking, but except for his first quick glance at her as Elaine began her statements, she couldn’t see that he paid her a lick of attention through the whole proceeding. He put a few questions to Elaine while he skimmed through the papers, and it seemed to Jamie that her lawyer and the judge were speaking a private, technical language.
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