CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jayson studied the face of his precious daughter, who had just closed her eyes. He had promised he would sit next to her until she fell back to sleep, no matter how long it took. Observing the details of her features, he had to acknowledge privately the child did strongly resemble Leslie rather than either him or Renee. Jayson relaxed, sitting in the chair next to the bed where he usually sat when reading his daughter a story.
He enjoyed the serenity the nightlighted room offered, with no noise other than the soft hum of the window air-conditioner. He watched Jennifer’s chest, covered by a short-sleeved, ladybug-imprinted pajama top, rise and fall. She clutched an Asian female doll named Jade, if Jayson remembered correctly. He reached for the soft, purple blanket and slid it up to Jennifer’s shoulders. Jade’s face would be hidden, but he felt confident the plastic girl wouldn’t object.
Jayson reflected on Jennifer’s anguished sobs when he had first entered her room: “I had a bad dream, Daddy,” she had cried. “I heard Mommy yelling.”
He felt no regret for not correcting the girl’s belief that she had been dreaming. Unlike Renee, who occasionally told Jennifer “little white lies for her own good,” Jayson never lied to her. However, that didn’t mean he always volunteered the truth. What purpose would it have served to have told the child, “You weren’t dreaming, sweetheart. Mommy was yelling at Daddy as if she had just lost her mind. Mommy’s just a little upset because she thinks Daddy has ruined her career. But don’t you fret. Daddy was able to convince Mommy he’s not fooling around. He’s just being blackmailed by your birth mother.”
Jayson leaned to his right and whispered. “Jennifer?” No answer. “Jennifer,” he said again. She had fallen back to sleep. He stood and slowly opened the door connecting her room to the hall. A squeak from the lowest hinge made him cringe. For over two weeks he had promised Renee he would oil that thing. He resolved to do so in the morning, then closed the door and walked downstairs to the kitchen. The clock on the stove, partially hidden by a large, stainless steel pan covered by aluminum foil, read a little after nine-thirty. He didn’t stop to peek at the treasure underneath the foil. Although he was very hungry—and made more so by the aroma in the kitchen—he knew he had to face Renee again right away. Dinner would have to wait.
When he returned to their bedroom he saw Renee sitting up in bed reading a book. “She’s asleep,” he reported.
Renee glanced at Jayson, then stuck a bookmark in her book and placed it on the nightstand. “She okay?”
Jayson nodded. “Yeah. She thought she was dreaming.” He handed her a glass of iced water. “I brought you this. Figured your voice would be all raw from overuse.”
“Thank you,” Renee said as she accepted the peace offering and took two large gulps.
“You calm enough to talk rationally or are you going to scare the child awake again?”
Renee sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Jayson sat at the foot of the bed. “Forget it. Make it up to Jennifer.” He opened his hands. “This is very serious, Renee. We have to work together for our daughter’s sake.”
Renee sighed. “I know.” She took another sip from her glass and placed it on the nightstand. “But I just can’t believe you paid that woman money for our baby. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I’d do anything to make you happy,” Jayson replied. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“But to buy her.”
“I didn’t buy her,” Jayson protested. “I told you, we called it money for, um, expenses.”
“Five thousand dollars?”
Jayson frowned. “I know it was wrong, but…” He stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to disappoint you. Remember how you cried for days when you heard we might not get Jennifer? I guess I thought—”
“Don’t you dare try to put it on me,” Renee said, shaking her head. “I never told you to bribe that woman. Now look what trouble you’ve brought on me—on all of us.”
Jayson ground his teeth together. His patience had worn thin. “You can lie to yourself, Renee, but don’t lie to me.”
She grabbed the edge of the sheet and tugged on it, pulling it up to her chest. “What are you talking about?”
Jayson opened his hands. “What the hell did you think happened? You pouted and boo-hooed rivers of tears about losing ‘our baby.’ You took to your bed just like now and demanded I do something, anything. So I left the house one morning and came back with Jennifer that same night. Don’t give me that ‘what were you thinking’ crap.”
“I didn’t know you were going to bribe her mother.”
“You didn’t want to know,” Jayson declared, shaking his finger. “And you never asked. You were too happy about getting what you wanted, like always.”
Renee shook her finger back at him. “What? It’s my fault now? It’s my fault I wanted to give a beautiful little girl a better life than she would have had with her birth mother.”
“And I’m damn tired of hearing that song, too.”
“What do you mean, song?”
Jayson scooted closer to Renee. “Adopting a child rather than giving birth to one ensured you wouldn’t lose ground in your career. No morning sickness, no taking months off work. Hell, you hired Magda right after Jennifer arrived. How many days did you take off after I brought her home? A week?”
“How many days did you take?”
Jayson nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We both wanted to be parents without the hassle. But at least I admit it. I don’t go telling everyone we did it for some greater good.”
“You’re so noble,” Renee scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Let’s get back to this woman. Anything you want to tell me before it gets out?”
Jayson raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like have you ever slept with her? You been screwing other women?”
“No, never.”
“But you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”
“Damn, Renee, what man hasn’t thought about it?” Jayson replied. “Especially since we haven’t exactly been carrying on like newlyweds for the last year or so, have we?”
Renee opened her mouth as if she would respond but instead offered no reply. After a few seconds, she changed the subject. “I heard she’s very pretty. Is she?”
“Who?”
“Who have we been talking about? Jennifer’s mother.”
Jayson shrugged. “I guess. Where do you think Jennifer got her looks?”
Renee pointed at him. “And nothing ever happened between you and this woman—this wench who’s supposed to be every man’s wet dream?”
Jayson took in a deep breath. “How many times do I have to say no, Renee? And who told you about me being at that club, anyway?”
Renee scowled and dismissed the informant with a wave of her hand. “Some punk ass intern who’s been bothering me for weeks. When I told him in no uncertain terms I wasn’t interested and mentioned my wonderful husband, he asked me if you’re so wonderful, how come he saw you at some strip club hanging all over some young cutie with tits the size of melons?” She put her hands over her face. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”
Jayson balled up his fist. “Lying son of a bitch. Who is he, this intern?”
“It doesn’t matter. What are we going to do about this heifer?”
“I told you already,” Jayson said. “I’m working on a way to stop her, but if that falls through, when she calls I’m going to tell her I’m not giving her a dime, that I’ve told you everything, and we’re united on this.” He reached for Renee’s hand, squeezed and kissed it. “We are, aren’t we?” He stared at her.
After a very long silence, Renee kissed his hand and returned the gaze into his eyes. “Yes, we are.” She scooted closer and kissed him. “Now tell me what you’ve been working on to stop this bitch.”
•
The day after his conversation with Renee, Jayson, seated at the worktable in his offic
e, examined the package that Rahmani, as promised, had sent concerning the Stone case. It contained the second witness statement from Gregory Morgan and a few follow-up reports. To Jayson they indicated the state’s lack of confidence about some of its forensic tests and witness statements, something he could use to plant reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. Overall, the package held no shocking revelations. Still, Jayson felt annoyed the information hadn’t been turned over without his prodding.
He checked his watch. Nearly seven p.m. Damn. How come Leslie hadn’t called?
He picked up six envelopes that had arrived in the afternoon mail for Brian Stone. He had never before received a letter directed to Stone. Jayson counted one perfume-scented, rose-colored envelope with only the return address; one avocado green envelope with a woman’s name and return address; two white envelopes with no return addresses; and two white envelopes with women’s names and return addresses. Of course Jayson hadn’t opened the envelopes but he could guess their contents. Stone’s interview had yielded initiatives from single women wanting to make his acquaintance. Jayson shook his head and chuckled, recalling his conversation with Tenika earlier.
“I checked with my friend at the jail,” Tenika had said. “She told me they opened seven letters addressed to Brian Stone from women ranging from eighteen years old to thirty. Four of them had sent photographs—two were wearing swimwear.”
Jayson separated the six envelopes. Three seemed a bit heavy; they probably contained photographs. He wondered what kind of woman would write to a man in jail, charged with murdering a child, and all but offer to be his girlfriend? He supposed loneliness could drive a person to do strange things. He had seen such weirdness more than once in his ten years defending accused criminals. He had once defended a tall, handsome, well-read Italian man who wrote poetry. Before being convicted of armed bank robbery, the charmer had received about a hundred letters from interested women, some all the way from Italy.
Jayson checked his watch again. Still no call from Leslie. “Bitch,” he muttered.
He reflected on his own mixed feelings about Stone. He didn’t understand the man. Initially he had found his young client absolutely repulsive, but after working with him on his defense strategy he had also found him to be intelligent, lonely, confused—and guilt-ridden. In his line of work, Jayson had met sociopaths who displayed not even a hint of compunction about their crimes. Stone’s attempted declarations of remorse—which Jayson had repeatedly interrupted—hadn’t totally fallen on deaf ears. Jayson believed the man had done a terrible thing but hadn’t intended to hurt anyone.
Jayson’s mother had often advised him that when he encountered people accused of committing sometimes heinous crimes, he should take the time to think about how they would have turned out if their pasts had been different. He could hear his mom’s voice: “You were brought up in a God-fearing family with people who loved you. What if those people sitting next to you in court had had the same good fortune?”
Beatrice Cook’s advice notwithstanding, Jayson tended to adopt Seth Greenberg’s philosophy: “Never get emotionally involved with a client one way or another, especially a client of the opposite sex. Don’t go cluttering up your minds with distractions. Your job is to provide them with the best criminal defense possible within the law. If you start wondering what makes them tick and try to analyze them, you’ll lose your objectivity and your ability to do your job. Leave their souls to the clergy and concentrate on keeping the state honest by representing their bodies.” Jayson had seen numerous television programs in which defense attorneys agonized over the innocence or guilt of their clients, and had met a few public defenders, fresh out of law school, who did the same. He never did. He concentrated on his job: to keep the state honest by providing the best defense for his client.
Why hadn’t Leslie called?
He grabbed another set of letters that had been piling up over the past two months: his hate mail. He counted twenty-six in all, five new ones since his recent television appearance; nothing overwhelming. Fortunately, people were too lazy to write letters these days, Jayson assumed. They preferred to pick up the telephone, utter a few profanities, and hang up. He had grown immune to rantings by telephone or by letter. Tenika allowed the letters to upset her. Connie found them amusing. Victor, initially shocked, came to dismiss them when he saw the numerous spelling and grammatical mistakes they contained.
Jayson opened one letter signed by a “fighteen year old.”
“Dear Mr. uncle Tom oreo cookie,” the writer had opened. “I seen you on tv last night with that man who killed the black girl and wonder what kind of black man would help a white devil destroy our peeple. Does it make you feel proud to be on tv and betray your peeple? My father is in jail because the white devils like to put black men in jail. Why dont you help innosent black men like him insted of getting on your nees on tv and sucking some white man’s—”
Tenika rescued Jayson from further insults by knocking on the door and entering. She carried two paper cups filled with iced diet soda. “Jayson, I don’t want to pry,” she said solemnly, “but are you okay?”
Jayson let go of the letter like a live wasp and covered the pile with a folder. He didn’t want Tenika to see it. “Huh? Sure, I’m fine.”
Tenika approached his table. “No, you’re not. You’ve been sitting in your office for two days now and moping around like you just lost your best friend.” She put her hands on her massive hips. “Now I want to know what’s going on.”
“It’s personal, Tenika,” Jayson replied dryly. “I know you won’t be in tomorrow until noon. I said you don’t have to stay late, so go lock up and let me get back to work.”
Tenika sat down at the table as though she hadn’t heard him. She pushed his papers aside, slid one cup toward him and folded her hands. “Any time you’re ready.”
After a long period of silence, Jayson closed his eyes, then opened them and took a deep breath. “I’m in big trouble,” he confessed, and told Tenika the entire story about Leslie.
Tenika shook her head. “Sheesh, I had no idea. So today’s doomsday, huh?”
Jayson nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I guess I didn’t want anyone to know what an idiot I am.”
Tenika squeezed Jayson’s hand. “Nonsense. You’re one of the most brilliant men I know.” She put her hand to her chin. “I’ve got to confess, all this time I thought you were just another man messin’ around on his wife. I should’ve known better.”
Jayson shrugged. “What else could you have thought, the way I’ve been acting?”
Tenika hung her head. “I’m kinda resigned to the reality I’m never going to get myself married.” She patted her meaty thighs. “There ain’t a lot of men looking for fortysomething-year-old women my size.”
“You never know, Tenika. God can—”
“Yeah, I do,” she retorted. “But I wanted to ask you something: I was wondering if you might recommend someone who handles adoptions. If I can’t make some man a good wife, maybe I can make some child a good mother.”
Jayson flashed a broad smile. “I think you’d be a wonderful mother. Um, you sure you want to take advice from me?” He burst into laughter.
Tenika laughed too. “Of course.” She checked her watch and stood. “It’s late, almost seven-thirty, but I’ll stay here with you until that witch calls if you want me to.”
Jayson shook his head. “No, you go on home, and I’ll have a couple of names of some good adoption attorneys for you in a day or two.”
“Take your time,” Tenika said. She ambled toward the door but stopped when the telephone rang and turned around, displaying widened eyes. “Do you think it’s her?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Tenika darted over to Jayson’s desk and picked up the receiver. “Cook Law Office…One moment please, I’ll see if he’s available.” She put the caller on hold. “It’s Samira Rahmani. She said she’s got impor
tant information about that special project.”
Jayson felt his heart pounding and finished his drink. He bounded out of his chair, stepped to the other side of the desk and took the receiver. “Stay here, please,” he asked. “Hello?…You sure?…Um-hmm.” He sat down and switched the receiver to his other ear. “What happens now?…I understand. I’ll call you at home tonight. Thank you so much.” He hung up.
Tenika stepped closer to his desk. “Well?”
Jayson smiled. “I got a reprieve. Samira told me Leslie and a male companion—probably the man who tried to follow me yesterday—got picked up by Immigration.”
“Immigration?”
“Yeah. Leslie’s illegal,” Jayson said. “She’s from Costa Rica. I needed help so I called Samira and she called a friend.”
“So are they going to deport her?”
Jayson shook his head. “Not right away. Unfortunately for her, that companion, who’s Colombian, had several pounds of marijuana and a few handguns in the trunk of his car, so they’re holding them both in a detention center under federal anti-terrorism statutes.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say.”
“How long can they hold her?”
Jayson shrugged. “Seven days without charge. After they’re charged, I don’t know.”
Tenika stood. “At least you’ve got seven days. Maybe more to—” The telephone rang again. She grabbed the receiver, repeated her routine and put the caller on hold. “It’s Michelle What’s-Her-Name from Channel Eight.”
Jayson took the receiver. “What’s up Mich?…Really? What happened?…Okay. I’m on my way.” He hung up. “Must be my lucky day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Michelle wants to see me right away. Said she’s got some news that could possibly change the whole dynamic of the Stone case.” He pointed at his suit jacket on the coat rack near the door. Tenika grabbed it and handed it to him. He spoke rapidly while slipping on his jacket. “I’ll call Renee from the car and tell her about Leslie.” He paused. “I don’t like you locking up by yourself.”
Tenika nudged her boss with her right hand. “It’s still daylight, but I’ll have one of the guys from the restaurant down the street come over. Go.”
“Well, be real careful. Thanks for everything,” Jayson said. He snatched his briefcase off the floor near his table and left Tenika standing in the middle of his office.
* * * * *
Guilt by Association Page 20