Bodily Harm: A Novel

CIVIC CENTER COURTHOUSE

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Sloane found the family law department and pulled open the door to a modern courtroom. He wondered about Jenkins’s admonition of having a fool for a client. Maybe—but he also knew that no attorney would be more motivated than he to get Jake back. Jake was all Sloane had left. Lose him, and Sloane lost his only remaining connection with Tina.

Brightly lit from recessed incandescent lighting, the windowless room resembled a courtroom only by its furnishings: a gallery of pews behind a wood railing, and two tables facing an elevated bench. Modern technology provided not only the light, but also a climate-controlled temperature for everyone’s comfort.

Sloane pulled out his notepad and pen and thumbed through the pleadings filed by the attorney for Frank Carter, which, as he had assumed, was not going to be Jeff Harper. He then read the responsive pleadings prepared by Tom Pendergrass, who had done a good job. Legally, Frank Carter had an advantage, being the boy’s biological father, but Sloane would present evidence that it was only genetics. For thirteen years Carter had divorced himself from his son, rarely visiting Jake in San Francisco and never traveling to Seattle. He had rarely attended any of the boy’s school or athletic functions, and had never financially supported Jake. Tina’s will, in which she expressed her desire for Sloane to raise Jake, would confirm Frank was not a fit parent, and Sloane would leave no doubt Frank Carter did not love his son and only sought custody because the Larsens were paying him.

“Mr. Sloane?”

A bear of a man introduced himself as Dean Flannigan, which was the name on the pleadings. With a shock of dirty blond hair and a beard that covered the knot of his tie, Flannigan resembled Kenny Rogers before the plastic surgery. The man was so big Sloane did not immediately see Frank Carter, who stood off to the side dressed like a kid going for a prep school interview in his navy blue suit, white shirt, and tie.

Flannigan had a thick and calloused hand. “Do you have counsel?”

“I’ll be handling the hearing myself.”

Together, Sloane and Flannigan advised the judge’s clerk that both sides were present. The clerk asked them to wait at the bench.

“Where are the Larsens?” Sloane asked. “I subpoenaed them.”

“I don’t know,” Flannigan said. “I represent Mr. Carter. Their attorney did, however, leave me a message this morning indicating they will be here.”

Sloane wanted to call bullshit; he knew very well who was paying Flannigan’s bill, but he decided to let it go. Besides, Judge Marianne Zelinsky had glided into her courtroom.

“Counsel,” she said, “our goal here today is the health and well-being of the child. It is my job, and it is my intention, to find the best living situation for Jake.” With short gray hair and thick black-framed glasses, Zelinsky furrowed her brow frequently.

“That’s everyone’s goal, Judge,” Flannigan said.

Sloane refrained from comment. There would be no need for a hearing if everyone had Jake’s best interests at heart, but he would prove that soon enough. He also suspected that Flannigan, a local practitioner, had previously appeared before Zelinsky.

“You have complied with the temporary restraining order, Mr. Sloane?” Zelinsky asked.

“I have, Your Honor,” Sloane said.

“Mr. Flannigan?”

“I am unaware of any violation of that order, Judge.”

“Good. Then we’ll get started.”

Sloane returned to counsel table, and Flannigan retrieved Carter from the back of the courtroom, whispering final instructions before leading him to his seat beside him. Shortly after nine the judge’s staff filed into the courtroom and Zelinsky took the bench.

“Who will testify today?”

Sloane and Frank Carter both indicated they would testify. Zelinsky asked them to raise their hands and swore them in.

“All right, Mr. Flannigan, you may proceed.”

Flannigan pushed back his chair and stood. The fabric of his suit stretched to cover his ample girth. “Judge, I’d like to ask questions of Mr. Sloane if I may?”

Sloane was surprised. He had thought that Flannigan would open with Frank Carter.

“Mr. Sloane, please come forward and take the stand,” Zelinsky said.

Sloane complied, feeling odd to be at the other end of an attorney’s questions. Flannigan stepped forward, a paper in hand. He established that Sloane had moved to Seattle with Tina and Jake when she took a job at an architecture firm and that they had subsequently married.

“You otherwise have no other connection to that city.”

“Define connection,” Sloane said.

Flannigan nodded, as if it was a legitimate clarification, but Sloane knew where the lawyer was going with his questions. “You have no relatives in Seattle, no mother or father, no brothers or sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, connections. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“In fact, you have no relatives to speak of anywhere, do you?”

“No,” Sloane said.

“You were raised in foster homes, several of them, were you not?”

“I was.”

“Four to be exact.”

The Larsens were pulling no punches. Sloane didn’t answer, and Flannigan didn’t push him.

“You own a home in Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“And that is where you lived with the deceased and Jake since moving there?”

“Except for a brief time before we bought the home, that’s correct.”

“That is the home that your wife was murdered in.”

Sloane paused. “Yes, it is.”

“Have you been back to that home since that night?”

Damn. The Larsens must have hired a private investigator; Sloane hadn’t considered that. “No, I have not.”

“You haven’t been back to the home at all, not once?”

“No.”

“I see.” Flannigan paced for a moment with a concerned expression. “And have you avoided returning to the home because to do so would be emotionally painful?”

Again Sloane knew where Flannigan was going with his questions but he could not redirect it and he could not avoid it. “Yes, I thought that it might be.”

“And do you think returning would be emotionally painful for a thirteen-year-old boy who watched his mother die in that house?”

Sloane fought to not sound combative. “I know it would be difficult for Jake, and for me. But we would get through that together. We could also sell the house and find another place.”

“And perhaps another school, another set of friends.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Flannigan had made his point. “You have been providing for both Jake and Mrs. Sloane since moving to Seattle. In fact, you make a very good living as an attorney.”

“I could care for Jake very well.”

“Financially I’m sure you could.”

“And emotionally,” Sloane offered.

“You also do quite a bit of legal commentary on television, don’t you?”

“I have.”

“Chicago, New York, Los Angeles. I imagine that takes up quite a bit of your time, in addition to the full-time practice of law. Tell me, Mr. Sloane, how is it you plan on taking care of a thirteen-year-old boy while running a highly successful legal practice and flying around the country as a legal commentator?”

“I’ve hired two attorneys so I could cut back on my hours at the office and I would stop being a legal commentator.”

“And who would watch Jake while you were at work?”

“Jake is in school. He participates in after-school activities. There were many nights I arrived home before him.”

“You try cases, do you not?”

“I do.”

“What would you do if you were in the midst of a trial and couldn’t get home until very late?”

“I would work more at home.”

“But you have no relatives to help you out, to help care for the boy, isn’t that true?”

“We’ve already established that, counselor.”

“Just answer the question,” Judge Zelinsky admonished.

“No, I don’t,” Sloane said.

“So Jake could find himself alone in this house that you yourself have refused to return to because it is emotionally too upsetting, is that right?”

“It would be very rare, and I would take some time off until we both became acclimated.”

Flannigan let it go. “Prior to living with the deceased and Jake for a relatively short period of time—”

“It was two years. More than two years,” Sloane interjected.

“That’s right. Prior to living with Jake and his mother you lived alone, correct?”

“I did.”

“And we’ve already established that you grew up without a father or mother. Is that a fair assessment? I mean you did not establish a parental relationship with any of the foster parents, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, but Jake and I didn’t have that kind of relationship.” Sloane directed his next comments to Frank Carter. “No one was paying me to care for the boy. I love Jake. I love being his father. It’s the reason I intended to adopt him. It’s the reason Tina’s will specified me as his legal guardian should anything happen to her.”

“Yes, well, let’s take a look at that adoption paperwork that you submitted with your briefing, shall we?” Flannigan flipped through a binder at counsel table and produced the paperwork. “I noticed it wasn’t filled out.”

“We hadn’t had a chance.”

“Too busy?”

Sloane bit his lip.

Flannigan said, “I also noticed that Mrs. Sloane never signed the document.”

“We discussed it as a family just before she died.”

“And I noticed that Mrs. Sloane’s will left all of her personal estate in a trust for Jake, is that correct?”

Sloane struggled to remain composed. “Tina and I made that decision when she sold her flat in San Francisco. Since I was well off financially, I told her to put it in a trust for Jake.”

The examination continued for nearly an hour. When Sloane stepped down he felt drained and was seriously reconsidering his decision to handle the hearing himself. After a brief recess, Flannigan called Frank Carter to the stand.

Flannigan wasted little time painting a contrast between Carter’s and Sloane’s backgrounds.

“How long have you been in the commercial brokerage business?”

“About three years,” Carter said. “I went back to school.”

“How much do you earn?”

“It depends. The last couple of years weren’t very good for anyone.”

“Say on average.”

“Between sixty-five and a hundred thousand.”

“What hours do you normally work?”

“Well, that’s kind of the beauty of the job. I don’t have set hours. I can pretty much make my own. So I’m home when Jake leaves in the morning and when he gets home.”

“Do you drive him to school?”

“Sometimes, but the house is close enough he can ride his bike. There are a couple of other kids in the neighborhood he’s become friends with. They ride together, and I’m encouraging it, you know, so he can make new friends.”

“Do you own your own home?”

“I just bought one.”

“You lived in an apartment before that?”

“Yes, but I thought a house would be a better environment for Jake. He has his own room and a yard. We just got a dog. Plus it’s a better school district.”

The news that Jake had a dog stabbed Sloane in the chest.

“Do you take Jake to school?”

“And pick him up.”

“What happens if something unexpected comes up?”

“I have a lot of help. My parents are close by. I also have three brothers and sisters in the area.”

“Does Jake have any cousins?”

“Seven. A couple his age.”

“And has he spent time with them?”

“Lately he has. It’s been good for him, having a family around.”

The testimony was as positive as Sloane’s was negative, but Sloane simply bided his time. Flannigan could orchestrate Carter’s direct testimony to make him look like father of the year, but he couldn’t protect him once Sloane began his cross-examination. In fact, Sloane thought it a mistake for Flannigan to go to such lengths to paint Carter as the doting father; it would make it that much easier for Sloane to tear down the facade and reveal the man for who he truly was.

After another half hour, Flannigan nodded to Zelinsky. “I think I’m finished, Judge.”

Zelinsky addressed Sloane. “Mr. Sloane, do you have questions of Mr. Carter?”

“I do, Your Honor.”

At the podium Sloane leveled his gaze at Carter, and Frank squirmed in his seat, as if anticipating a punch to the gut. The impact was going to be painful, but knowing it was coming and there was nothing he could do about it must have made it that much worse.

“Mr. Carter, why did you live in an apartment for so many years?” Sloane asked.

“It was just me then.”

“Finances, or a lack thereof, didn’t play into that decision?”

“I don’t understand,” Carter said, though Sloane was certain he did.

“Who provided you with the down payment to buy a $784,000 home in a development in the East Bay?”

Carter twisted his head, as if the knot of the tie had become tight. “My in-laws loaned me the money.”

“The Larsens gave you the money?”

“It’s a loan. I’m paying it back.”

“Just out of the blue they gave you more than two hundred thousand dollars?”

“It was part of Jake’s inheritance. They wanted Jake to have a stable place to live.”

“And the monthly mortgage payment, you’re making that payment?”

Carter squirmed. “Not yet, but I’m going to be.”

“Well, who is now?”

“The Larsens.”

“Is that also part of this loan?”

“I guess. I don’t really know.”

“Do you know whose name is on the title to the house?” Sloane knew the answer, having pulled the title report for the property.

“The Larsens’.”

“So when you say you bought a house, that’s really just a figure of speech, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not really your house at all; the Larsens made the initial down payment and they are paying the monthly mortgage. It’s their house, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, it’s a loan.”

“At what interest?”

“What?”

“Most banks charge interest on a loan, Frank. Surely you know that in your line of work. What interest are the Larsens charging you?”

“I don’t really know,” he said.

“You don’t know?”

“They have all the paperwork.”

“Then I’ll have to ask them. But you seem to have done pretty well in this deal. A new house, no mortgage payment, no rent. Did you get anything else, a car, boat?”

Flannigan stood, speaking as calmly as a country lawyer. “Objection, Your Honor, counsel is badgering the witness.”

“Sustained.”

Sloane returned to counsel table to consider his notes. He was about to take Frank Carter apart for his lack of interest in Jake over the past thirteen years when the door to the courtroom opened and the Larsens entered, Jeff Harper at their side. Bill Larsen glared at Sloane, but Terri looked away. Sloane was about to turn his attention back to Frank Carter when another figure stepped through the doorway, giving him pause and bringing a lump to his throat.

Jake wore a pair of khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt, the tail only partially tucked in at the waist. It used to drive Tina crazy when he wouldn’t fully tuck in his shirt. Hands thrust in his pants’ pockets, Jake had his head down. His hair had grown long enough to cover his eyes. But as he entered the courtroom Jake looked up at Sloane. For a brief moment, his face was a blank mask. Then the corner of his mouth inched into an impish, “I’m not supposed to do this but I can’t help it” grin.

Sloane felt his heart skip a beat. He fought to retain his composure, taking a deep breath.

“Mr. Sloane?”

Sloane took a drink of water from a cup on the table. “Yes, Your Honor, I’m sorry.” He returned to the lectern, took another moment, and continued his cross-examination. “How large is this house that you live in, Frank?”

“It’s three bedrooms. Jake has his own room.”

His throat still dry, Sloane turned to pick up the glass of water and his eyes again found Jake, now seated between the Larsens in a pew, and this time it brought a different recollection—that of a six-year-old boy sitting next to his father in a San Francisco courtroom staring up at a photograph of his mother’s battered and beaten body. The trial had been Sloane’s last before moving to Seattle. Emily Scott had been raped and murdered in her office when Sloane’s client failed to provide proper security. Like Emily Scott’s young son, Jake’s lasting image of his mother would be a horrific snapshot of her lying on her back, choking on her own blood.

“Mr. Sloane?” Sloane turned back to Judge Zelinsky, who looked down at him with a wrinkled brow. “Do you have more questions of Mr. Carter?”

Sloane had planned a forty-five-minute cross-examination that would expose Frank Carter for what he was, a lousy father who had never showed any love for his son and who was now only interested in Jake because the Larsens were paying him to take the boy. Sloane had no doubt he could do it; he had been fixated on getting Jake back, at all costs, since the confrontation in Jeff Harper’s office. Now, all he could think of was that Jake had already lost his mother, and Sloane was about to take his father from him as well.

“Mr. Sloane?”

Sloane turned back to the judge. “Just one more question, Your Honor.”

Frank Carter looked first to the judge, then to Dean Flannigan, seemingly uncertain and confused about this unforeseen development.

Sloane left the podium, stepping closer to the railing, obstructing Carter’s view of his attorney. When he leveled his gaze, Carter leaned back.

“Do you love your son?” Sloane asked.

Carter’s eyes narrowed, as if considering whether it could be a trick question. He searched Sloane’s face for any hidden malice.

“Do you love your son, Frank?” Sloane asked again, his voice soft.

Carter looked past Sloane to where Jake sat. “Yes. I love Jake very much.”

Sloane did not have to turn to know Jake was smiling. He could see it in the smile on Frank Carter’s face and the tears pooling in the man’s eyes. He knew it intuitively, as a father.

“I know I haven’t been much of a father in the past. But I hope to change that,” Carter said, looking up at Judge Zelinsky. “I hope to have a second chance. I wasn’t expecting one, but here it is, and I intend to make the most of it. I intend to do better.”

Sloane nodded. “I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

AFTER DISMISSING FRANK CARTER, Judge Zelinsky sat back, surveying her courtroom, no doubt pondering what had just transpired. After nearly a minute she sat forward. “I’d like to talk with Jake. Young man, would you join me for a moment?”

Jake looked to his grandparents, who encouraged him out of the pew, then stood to follow. Judge Zelinsky stopped them with an outstretched palm. “Just Jake,” she said. “Alone.”

At the front of the room she put a robed arm around the boy’s shoulders, and together they walked through the door to the left of the bench.

Thirty minutes passed before the door reopened. When it did, Jake emerged with his head bowed, but Sloane could see from his red and swollen eyes that the boy had been crying. Jake removed a hand from his pocket long enough to wipe his nose as he shuffled between the two tables, never raising his head or taking his gaze from the floor. Sloane pressed his lips together and squeezed shut his eyes, teeth clenched.

Then he felt him.

Jake wrapped his arm around Sloane’s shoulders and buried his face in Sloane’s neck. Sloane held him tight, feeling Jake’s tears on his cheek and neck.

“I love you, Dad,” he whispered.

“I love you too, son.”

Judge Zelinsky gave them a moment. Then she said, “Mr. Sloane, Mr. Carter, I’d like to see you both.”

Flannigan did not protest being left out.

Jake released his grip and stepped back. Sloane held him by the shoulders. “Remember my promise? I’ll always be there for you. I’ll always do what’s best. Now go on back with your grandparents,” he whispered. Then he followed Carter into the judge’s chambers.

Judge Zelinsky’s furnishings were modest, a leather couch along one wall beneath a nondescript print, a functional desk, two chairs. Nobody sat. The judge waited near windows that framed City Hall’s glittering golden dome, brilliant in the bright sun. Sloane and Carter stood just feet apart.

“I think you both probably know what Jake would prefer,” she said, looking to Sloane. “And I have no doubt, Mr. Sloane, that you love that child as much as any father and would do a tremendous job raising him. What just transpired in my courtroom this morning was one of the most selfless acts I have ever witnessed. Anyone who would do what you just did . . . Well, your love cannot be questioned.”

Sloane could only nod.

“Too often I watch families tear themselves apart,” Zelinsky counseled. “Parents belittle and degrade each other, then wonder why their children don’t respect them. So while I know you would raise Jake just as selflessly, I have to look at all of the circumstances, including the boy’s living situation, relatives, the disruption to his life. You are a successful attorney, Mr. Sloane, and I know what it takes to maintain a law practice.”

“Judge,” Sloane interrupted. “I’m withdrawing my request for custody. I recognize that what Jake needs now more than ever is stability. He needs a family. I can’t give Jake what I don’t have. I can’t conjure up grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.” He smiled. “Maybe a dog, but . . . While I have issues with the motivation behind much of this, I can’t deny there is a group of people out there who love Jake and want him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him, to be in a place where he knows he is loved.” Sloane faced Frank Carter. “Did you mean it, what you said in that courtroom?”

Frank Carter nodded. “I was young, David. And the longer I stayed away, the more embarrassed I became. I saw that Tina loved you and that Jake loves you. So I stayed away. It was wrong of me, and I realized it these past weeks living with Jake. I’ve been given a second chance and I intend to do better.”

In his head, Sloane heard Jenkins talking about second chances, even when it isn’t deserved. He spoke to Judge Zelinsky. “If it’s all right with you, Judge, I’ll say my good-byes to Jake and be going.”

“David?” Frank Carter extended his hand. “Anytime you want to see Jake you let me know and I’ll put him on a plane to Seattle. That’s a promise.”

“What about the Larsens?”

Frank Carter shrugged. “They don’t think much of me, David, but they love their grandson. They’re not going to do anything to hurt their chances of seeing him. That’s why I hired my own attorney. I’ve filled out the paperwork for a loan to pay them back. My parents will help. I’m not going to let them dictate how I raise Jake.”

Maybe Carter had grown into a man after all. Sloane hoped so, for Jake’s sake.

“How about tomorrow?” Sloane asked. “Jake and I have something we need to do.”