Gone Again

by James Grippando

  “Her role as a witness for the prosecution?” asked Jack. “Or for the defense?”

  “Both. I assume you will be putting Debra Burgette on the stand to testify about the phone calls she’s received every year on Sashi’s birthday since her disappearance.”

  “No question,” said Jack.

  “There you have it. I told her the same thing I would tell any witness for the defense who decides to walk into a courtroom, swear an oath, and try to undo a jury verdict of guilty three years after the fact. The giving of false testimony is a felony, and this office prosecutes the crime of perjury to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “You honestly think she’s lying about these phone calls?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Her cell-phone records confirm that she received calls from an unknown burn phone, and that each call lasted between one and two minutes. She’s not making this up.”

  “I understand your position.”

  “I’m not sure I understand yours,” said Jack.

  “Well, that’s why they call it the adversary system. And that’s what tomorrow’s hearing is for.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow,” she said, searching beneath her sandwich wrapper. “The scheduling order came in about five minutes before you got here. “Ah, here it is,” she said.

  Jack read it. “Nine a.m. Clearly the judge gave a very literal reading to the appellate court’s direction to move forward ‘without delay.’”

  “As he should,” said the prosecutor. “With any luck, your motion will be disposed of before the death warrant expires, and justice will be done right on schedule. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a one o’clock hearing to prepare for.”

  Jack rose, they shook hands, and Carmichael led him down the hall to the elevator.

  “Oh, I meant to ask: How’s your wife, Jack?”

  “She’s doing well, thanks. I had no idea you knew her.”

  “We met at a task-force conference on serial killers. Smart woman. Boy, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you two talk about Dylan Reeves.”

  “To be honest, she’s totally behind me on this one.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact she did.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled and shook her head, as she pushed the call button for the elevator. “Typical husband.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Jack.

  “It’s like the wife who says, ‘Oh, honey, fresh flowers are such a waste of money. You don’t have to buy me roses this Valentine’s Day.’ Only a moron thinks that’s a free pass and doesn’t come home with two dozen roses. And they’d better be red.”

  Jack laughed, but she didn’t.

  “That was friendly advice, Jack. Not a joke.”

  The elevator arrived, and the metal doors parted. Jack stepped inside.

  “See you tomorrow morning,” she said.

  “See you,” he said as the doors closed.

  Jack rode in silence, wondering if it was friendly advice, or if the prosecutor had been messing with his head before tomorrow’s hearing.

  Or both.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was bedtime on Key Biscayne, but Andie wasn’t sleepy. She stepped out onto the patio for a breath of cool night air, but even with a breeze blowing off the bay, late September in south Florida wasn’t all that cool. Heat lightning flashed over the distant Atlantic. It was many miles away, no rolling thunder, just a festival of light. Andie used to think of it as nature’s fireworks display. Tonight, it reminded her of Week 28 and the lovely sciatica that shot down the back of her left leg like a bolt of electricity.

  “When are you due?”

  The unfamiliar voice of a woman startled her. Andie knew that Jack was preparing at home for the nine a.m. court hearing, but she didn’t expect to find the star witness sitting on their patio. Debra rose and introduced herself.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Debra said.

  “That’s okay. Where’s Jack?”

  “On the phone,” she said, indicating.

  Andie spotted his silhouette on the dock, his glowing cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Sit, please,” said Debra. “He’s on with Hannah. Could be a while.”

  Taking a load off her swollen feet sounded like a good idea. The real problem was getting herself out of patio furniture, not into it, but she still had to mind what she was doing as she lowered herself onto the striped cushions.

  “I really appreciate all of Jack’s help,” said Debra.

  “It’s what he does.”

  “I know Sashi appreciates it, too.”

  Andie noted the present tense. “Jack told me about your . . . situation.”

  “Oh, really?” she said with a nervous smile. “Does he think I’m chasing windmills?”

  “No.”

  Debra’s smile faded. “Do you?”

  Not an easy question to answer, but Andie had handled tougher from grieving families and the victims of violent crime. She’d distinguished herself on a multijurisdiction serial killer investigation in Seattle and Washington’s Yakima Valley before transferring to Miami to do undercover work. Her “life B.J.”—before Jack.

  “I can only imagine what I would do in your situation.”

  Debra nodded slowly and looked off into the darkness. “No, you can’t. Don’t take this the wrong way, but until it happens to you, it’s impossible even to imagine what it feels like, or how you might deal with it.”

  Andie laid her hand on her belly. It might have been a kick. Or maybe she was just feeling some of Debra’s pain.

  “Did Jack tell you anything about Sashi?” asked Debra.

  “Some.”

  “Sashi was adopted, you know. Jack tells me you were, too.”

  “That’s true. I was.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but—”

  “It’s okay. No, never met my biological parents.”

  “That’s not what I was going to ask. I was wondering about your adoptive mother.”

  “Wonderful woman. Both Mom and Dad were terrific people. They were an older couple when they adopted me. I miss them every day.”

  Debra looked away again. “I didn’t mean to insult you by saying you can’t imagine what it’s been like for me. Being adopted, and a mother-to-be, maybe you could relate, at least a little, to what I’m feeling. What I’ve been feeling, since Sashi went missing.”

  “I can try.”

  “I’m not going to pretend that I had the perfect relationship with Sashi. It was difficult, especially at the beginning. But I tried. I really tried. I even took a special trip back to the Russian orphanage to see if I could find out more about her.”

  “Did that help?”

  “Honestly, it felt like a dead end at first. No one at the orphanage could tell us much of anything about Sashi before the adoption. But there was one caregiver who seemed to be holding back something. When I went back, I found her.”

  “Did she tell you anything?”

  “She did. The woman was from Chechnya, and she was convinced that Sashi was Chechen. The orphanage was in Moscow. That’s a long haul for a girl who’s barely a teenager—and her little brother.”

  “How did they get to Moscow?”

  “The woman couldn’t say for sure. But she had some, shall I say, interesting views on it. Adoption doesn’t have a long history in Chechnya. The tradition is for extended family or neighbors to care for orphans. When President Putin passed the law banning adoption by U.S. citizens, he pointed to Chechnya as an example of why international adoption is unnecessary. But Gavin and I adopted years before that law was passed. Things were different then. Two wars had practically destroyed the country and left thousands of orphans.”

  “So Sashi was probably a war orphan?”

  “Possibly. But because she ended up in an orphanage so far from Chechnya, and because
she was so absolutely beautiful, this caregiver had another theory.”

  Andie was almost afraid to ask. “Which was . . .”

  “That Sashi was stolen from her parents.”

  “What a horrible thought.”

  Debra took a breath. “It haunts me. And here’s what else she told me: Chechens believe in the power of dreams.”

  “What did she mean by that?”

  “Here’s the example she gave me. Thousands of people disappeared in the Chechen wars. Families never found out what happened. No confirmation of death. To this day, if you go there, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of families who will be outraged if you even suggest, let alone assume, that their brother, their cousin, their child is dead. And the reason is dreams. So long as anyone in the family goes to sleep at night and has a dream about a missing family member, they firmly believe that he or she is still alive.”

  “Why would she tell you such a thing?”

  “She wanted me to know that if Sashi was stolen, and her parents are alive, they will never stop looking for her as long as Sashi is still in their dreams.”

  Andie felt chills, and then another thought jarred her. “Are you suggesting that Sashi was taken back by her biological parents?”

  “No. I think her parents are dead. I have to believe that. But what I’m saying is this: I still have dreams of Sashi. Sometimes those dreams are nightmares. But she is still in my dreams. And as long as my daughter is there—and she is my daughter—I will keep looking.”

  Their eyes met and held. Andie felt crushed by the weight of Debra’s stare—her determination.

  “Sorry that took so long,” Jack said as he returned.

  “It’s okay,” said Debra. “Your wife and I were having a nice talk.”

  “Help me up, Jack,” said Andie.

  He knew the drill, but this time the rise from deck-chair abyss ended with a surprise. She hugged her husband tighter than he might have expected and kissed him a little longer than the usual kiss good night.

  “What’s that about?” he asked.

  “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “Good luck tomorrow.”

  And then she said good night.

  CHAPTER 16

  Mr. Swyteck, call your first witness,” said the judge.

  Thursday’s hearing began at nine a.m. sharp before Judge Frederick, a silver-haired ex-Marine who had served on the bench for nearly four decades. He was a smart jurist who stuck to the facts and followed the law, which meant that he infuriated liberals and conservatives alike. Jack considered that a plus.

  “The petitioner calls Dr. Emmitt Pollard,” said Jack.

  The “petitioner” was Dylan Reeves, who was not in the courtroom. A habeas corpus proceeding is a civil action, not a criminal prosecution, in which the prisoner brings suit against the warden, claiming that he is imprisoned illegally. Hannah was seated at Jack’s side, and it was their job to convince Judge Frederick that their client was wrongfully convicted in violation of his rights. Barbara Carmichael sat at the mahogany table to Jack’s left; with her was a lawyer from the State of Florida Office of the Attorney General, Bureau of Capital Appeals, the specialized division that represented the state’s interest in postconviction proceedings in death-penalty cases. The jury box was empty, of course, since this was not a trial; the judge alone would hear the evidence.

  Dr. Pollard swore the familiar oath, took a seat in the witness stand, and stated his full name for the record. He was a tall, thin man with a head too large for his narrow shoulders, and as he leaned forward, he bore an odd resemblance to the long and spindly gooseneck microphone that would amplify his testimony. Jack questioned him from the lectern.

  “Dr. Pollard, what is your profession?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist.”

  “Have you ever treated Sashi Burgette as a patient?”

  “No, I have not. But I have reviewed her medical records.”

  “How did that review come about?”

  “Three years ago, the state attorney’s office asked me to do so in connection with the criminal case against Dylan Reeves.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “It was stipulated by the parties that the victim suffered from reactive attachment disorder. ‘RAD’ for short. I was asked to express an opinion as to the likelihood that a seventeen-year-old-girl with RAD would engage in consensual sex with a total stranger like Dylan Reeves.”

  “What was your opinion, Doctor?”

  “In Sashi’s case, highly unlikely. After reviewing her medical records, it was my opinion that she might well manipulate strangers with charm, and even inappropriate signs of affection, but that if a stranger acted on those signals, she would resist aggressively. Perhaps violently.”

  Jack made a note on his legal pad: Smiled at DR/kicked in nuts.

  “Briefly, can you please describe to the court what RAD is?”

  “RAD is a mental disorder rooted in childhood experience. The child exhibits markedly disturbed and developmentally inappropriate ways of relating socially. A false belief that he or she is incapable of being loved continues through adolescence and into adulthood.”

  “What causes it?”

  “Generally speaking, severe neglect or abuse early in life. The most serious cases are orphaned children from war-torn countries. But it might develop in less dramatic circumstances where there is an abrupt separation from a caregiver, frequent change of caregivers, or a caregiver who simply ignores a child’s needs and the child’s attempts at communication.”

  “In the case of an adopted child, like Sashi, what are the main challenges faced by the adoptive family?”

  He sighed, as if not sure where to begin. “That’s a hard question to answer. There are so many.”

  “Let me break it down. What would likely happen if a mother tried to hug or kiss her adopted daughter?”

  “A child with RAD would typically reject physical contact, even from those closest to her.”

  “In terms of disciplining, would it make sense to tell a girl like Sashi to go to her room?”

  “No. Parents with younger RAD children make that mistake when they use a ‘time-out.’ Being alone gives a RAD child the emotional space he or she craves. It just vindicates their belief that they are alone in this world.”

  The prosecutor rose. “Judge, I feel compelled to point out that this hearing is limited to new evidence that has come to light since the trial and sentencing of Mr. Reeves. All I’ve heard so far is repetition of the testimony that the state of Florida presented at trial, which convinced the jury that the DNA found on the victim’s clothing most certainly did not result from her consent to sexual activity with Dylan Reeves.”

  The judge nodded. “Yes, Mr. Swyteck. This hearing is not a ‘second bite at the apple,’ as the saying goes. It would better serve your client to stick to new evidence.”

  “I’ll get right to the point,” said Jack. “Dr. Pollard, isn’t it true that before her disappearance, Sashi Burgette ran away from home numerous times?”

  Carmichael was back on her feet. “Objection. Again, this is not new evidence. The fact that Sashi was a frequent runaway was made known to Mr. Reeves’ counsel long before trial.”

  “Judge, I’ve read the trial transcript. Not a single witness testified that Sashi ran away from home.”

  “The fact that she ran away from home was clearly referenced in the medical records of Dr. Wurster, which Dr. Pollard reviewed before he testified.”

  “True,” said Jack. “But those records were described in a very general way as background information that Dr. Pollard relied on to form his opinions. The actual records of Dr. Wurster were not offered into evidence at trial.”

  “Well, if they weren’t presented to the jury, the only person to blame is Mr. Reeves’ lawyer,” said the judge.

  “I understand,” said Jack. “But for purposes of this hearing, I still urge the court to treat Sashi’s frequent runaways as newly discovered evidence. I didn’t even see
this evidence the first time I went through the trial record. I heard about it from the Burgettes’ neighbor. Then I went back and sifted through about a thousand pages of scholarly journals, notes, medical records, and other materials that Dr. Pollard claims to have reviewed before he testified.”

  “The fact that Mr. Reeves’ trial counsel failed to dig out that evidence, or simply made a strategy decision not to present it to the jury, is not the state of Florida’s fault,” said Carmichael.

  “Let’s not go round and round on this,” said the judge, and then he turned to face the witness. “I’ll allow a simple ‘yes or no’ question: Dr. Pollard, based on your review of the medical records, are you aware of the fact that Sashi Burgette ran away from home on multiple occasions prior to her disappearance?”

  “Yes,” said the witness.

  “Fine,” said the judge. “Continue, Mr. Swyteck.”

  That one word—yes—was a huge victory. Jack needed more: he needed to convince the judge that she would run away and stay away for three years.

  “Dr. Pollard, as the expert witness in this case, can you tell us whether a RAD child would likely feel any remorse about running away from home?”

  “The brain of a RAD child is not really programmed to feel remorse.”

  “And if she did run away, would she find herself pining away for Mom and Dad?”

  He shook his head. “Not likely.”

  “Would she be capable of manipulating strangers to give her money or provide other needs?”

  “RAD children can be quite manipulative.”

  “In fact, it’s common for adolescents to seem charming and helpless to outsiders, while being quite the opposite at home. Isn’t that true, Doctor?”

  “That is very true.”

  “RAD children are also known to be effective liars, are they not?”

  “They can be. I’ve had parents tell me that the only time their child looks them in the eye is when she is lying.”

  “They steal?”

  “Some will.”

  “They cheat?”

  “Again, some will.”

  “And they will do these things without a second thought—as you said, without remorse.”