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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Twenty-Six

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The phone woke her at six next morning instead of her alarm. She had drunk enough the night before to give herself a headache, and she thought about not answering. But it might be Jim. And it might be another emergency with Alexa. So she rolled over and picked up the receiver and said, with great effort, “Hello.”
“Good morning, Ms. Knight. I believe it’s morning where you are. It’s lunchtime in D.C. This is Coleman Reed.”
Sarah sat up and forced her hung-over self to concentrate. “What do you want, Justice Reed?”
“Well, first to congratulate you. I heard about Ms. Jacobs’ debacle yesterday. Clearly she did’t graduate in the top of her law school class.”
“Actually she managed to pass the bar after going to an unaccredited law school, so she isn’t stupid. I’m not convinced discussing Tara’s educational shortcomings is the purpose of this call.”
“You’re very acute, Ms. Knight. I remember you in oral argument in the Lewis versus New York case, three years back. Fourth Amendment. Illegal search. You won for your client.”
“No thanks to you, Justice Reed. You wrote the minority dissent in that case.”
“Like I said, you’re very acute. Talented, even. Your work in the Joey Menendez case is legendary. As you know. And you turned six of my colleagues against me in the Lewis case. Because of you, Myron Lewis, an international drug dealer, walked away a free man. It’s too bad they appointed you to defend my daughter-in-law. You’re going to lose and that will tarnish your considerable reputation.”
“I don’t think you called to discuss my standing in the legal community.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”
“Let’s get to the point.”
“You might not like that.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You can’t win against me, Ms. Knight. Haven’t you figured that out, yet?”
“I have to do my job, Justice Reed. You know that.”
“And how do you define ‘do you job’?”
“This isn’t oral argument. I don’t have to answer that. Go read the Sixth Amendment.”
“‘A criminal defendant is entitled to the effective assistance of counsel.’ I know what it says. But ‘effective assistance’ doesn’t mean you have to commit professional suicide.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means don’t go prying into matters that don’t concern you.”
“As in your son’s bank records?”
“As in those and in Ronald Brigman’s.”
“You can’t stop me from seeing Brigman’s.”
“I realize that. And that’s why I’m calling you this morning.”
“I’m listening.”
“I could send a fleet of Alan Warrick’s best against you tomorrow to quash your subpoena for Michael’s bank records.”
“I’m not afraid of Warrick, Thompson attorneys, Justice Reed.”
“Of course, you aren’t. You cut your legal teeth with Hollis Craig and his partners.”
“Get to the point.”
“Okay. I can stop you where Michael is concerned. You know that. But I have no authority over Brigman’s financials.”
“And if I get Brigman’s, I’ll know about his dealings with Michael?”
“Right. So I’ve called to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
“Withdraw your subpoenas. Leave the bank records alone. And stop defending Alexa like an angry pit bull. I don’t want her out on bail.”
“I don’t think the Sixth Amendment allows me to do that.”
“Of course, it does. Trevor Martin told you what to do in this case. Just go through the motions. File a few in limines that you will lose. Do some cross-examination. Make it look good. But don’t try to win. No one expects you to.”
“Throwing a case is not my job, Justice Reed.”
“What if your life depended upon it?”
“I’m sorry. Is that a threat?”
“You can call it what you want. No one will ever believe it came from me. Back off, Ms. Knight. I understand your business hasn’t grown much in San Diego. I can get you a partnership at Warrick, Thompson.”
“I’ve already turned down Alan Warrick’s offer of partnership in the firm. I like having my own shop.”
“Well, then, I still have a number of clients using Warrick who are loyal to me. I can send them your way. Alan and I aren’t seeing eye-to-eye right now over Alexa. I would love to damage his bottom line on your behalf.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“It is right now because you’re representing Alexa. But you are not going to be her attorney forever, Ms. Knight. The sooner she’s tried and convicted, the better for all of us.”
“If you’re offering me a bribe not to look at Brigman’s bank records, it’s a safe assumption there’s something there that will help Alexa. If anyone found out I’d made a deal with you to ignore exculpatory evidence for my own financial gain, her conviction would be overturned on habeas corpus in a heartbeat. And I’d be disbarred.”
“You know, Ms. Knight, I’m going to have to give you some advice. You and Alan take the Rules of Professional Responsibility way too seriously. The Law Offices of Sarah Knight will go down in flames if you play by the ethics rules. You aren’t in a Wall Street firm any more where you can afford to dither about what the State Bar thinks. Things are different in the local bar as Hal Remington has probably told you. Business is based on who you know. If you don’t play the game right, no one is going to send you any work, and an attorney’s bread and butter is referrals from other attorneys. If you aren’t a team player in that community, you’re going to starve. What the State Bar wants you to do for Alexa Reed, and what the legal community wants you to do, are two very different things. I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams, Ms. Knight. Your solo practice could grow into a firm as big as Craig, Lewis, or Warrick, Thompson. Or bigger.”
“In exchange for Alexa’s life?”
“She’s already a dead woman. Save yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Justice Reed, is that a threat?”
“It certainly is.”
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty-Five

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jim waited impatiently all day to hear from Sarah. His anger mounted as the hours rolled by, and his phone remained silent. They were a team. Why wouldn’t she call to tell him how things had gone in court that morning?
Afer Alexa was settled for the night, he headed to Sarah’s place only to find a black, Porsche 911 S Turbo Cabriolet in her drive. Stay calm, he thought. You don’t know who it belongs to, and you have no right to be upset. But he headed for home tired and preoccupied.
He was surprised when his phone went off just as he parked in his garage. It was Sarah.
“I was wondering where you were,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for news.”
“It looked like a victory, but it wasn’t. And things since then have been complicated. Are you still at the hospital? Can you come by?”
“Actually, I just got home. But give me a few minutes, and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
She was wearing black leggings and a gray hooded sweatshirt that seemed to have swallowed her when she opened her front door for him twenty minutes later. The night air was unseasonably chilly, and she invited him inside quickly to keep out the sharp wind.
She looked uncharacteristically shaken by something, and he wondered what had ruffled her normally unflappable exterior.
She looked down at the plastic container in his hand. “What’s that?”
“My world famous beef stew. I figured you hadn’t had any supper. I’ll warm it up in the microwave while you fill me in on the details.”
He followed her into the kitchen where he prepared to heat the container, and she poured him a glass of wine. Why did this feel so natural and comfortable, he asked himself, as if they spent every evening talking over the events of the day?
“How is Alexa?”
“Brightening up more and more, but she still can’t remember that visit to Brigman’s, and her voice comes and goes. She wanted to do legal research on Battered Woman’s Syndrome, so I gave her a laptop and let her use my Lexis password.”
The oven beeped, and Jim opened the door and pulled out the container with the potholders Sarah handed him.
“It smells heavenly.”
“It is.” He poured it into the bowl she had provided and smiled. “Eat.”
“Ok. Thanks. Come sit in the living room.”
She perched on one end of the sofa and described the hearing that morning between bites while he sat on the other end and listened.
“Should I say congratulations?”
“No. Tara made a fool of herself, but I’m sure Coleman is the executor of Michael’s estate, and he’ll be back in a heartbeat to quash those subpoenas.”
“On what grounds?”
“The same grounds that kept Bob Metcalf from getting Michael’s bank records in the divorce: attorney-client privilege. As soon as Coleman hears about Tara’s fiasco today, he’ll send some of his Warrick, Thompson partner buddies to do what she couldn’t do: protect his son’s financial privacy.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I wasn’t served with any more motions to quash today, but I’d guess they would have one ready to go by day after tomorrow.”
“But isn’t it time for the bank to produce the documents?”
“Yes, and if they come back before Coleman can get his act together, we could at least look at them before he gets a protective order, sealing them.”
“Then let’s hope that happens.”
“And there’s another thing. Coleman can’t keep us from getting Brigman’s records. He’s not the executor of Brigman’s estate.”
“Do you know who is?”
“His ex-wife. She lives in Tel Aviv. I sent her notice of the subpoenas through her attorneys in New York and not a peep out of her. I doubt she cares if her ex is embarrassed.”
“So we’ll get Brigman’s even if we don’t get Michael’s?”
“Right. And that may be enough to show us if there were bribes going on.” She put the empty bowl on the coffee table and smiled. “Thanks. It was delicious as usual.”
“Alexa liked it, too.”
“Alexa?”
“Yeah, I’ve been taking her extras at supper time because the hospital food isn’t so great.” He was pleased to see her eyes darken.
“Every night?”
“One of us has to keep an eye on her.”
She frowned and studied the black and white durie rug on the floor. “Of course.”
“You seem upset.”
Her eyes met his again, and she ran her fingers through her close-cropped hair. “To be honest, I am.”
“Is it something I’ve done?” He knew the answer was yes, but she would say no.
“No, of course not. It’s the David Scott thing. I shouldn’t talk to you about it.”
“You can if it helps.”
She told him about Tessa’s visit that morning.
“She threatened your life, you could call the police.”
“No, I can’t. Those photographs were not fakes, but her threats were just bluffing.”
“You can never be too sure.”
“I’m sure. And David was too.”
“David?”
“I asked him to come by tonight before I called you.”
So David Scott drove a 911 S Turbo Cabriolet. Useless piece of trivia. “And?”
“He laughed about the whole thing, and said he’d buy the photographs from her.”
“What if she won’t sell?”
“As David said, Tessa always has her price.”
“Well, then, you are both off the hook.”
“Except David wants the affair to continue after he’s acquired Tessa’s pictures, and I don’t.”
Jim was careful not to show how happy that news made him. “Well then, let Mrs. keep the photographs because she’ll have no reason to use them.”
* * *
Sarah was restless after Jim left around ten o’clock. Her demons didn’t haunt her in his presence, but they came roaring back the minute she closed the door behind him. She poured herself another glass of wine, hoping it would help her silence the inner voices and go to sleep.
But she was still grappling with her guilt over Alexa when the phone rang at midnight.
“Hey, babe.”
“David, it’s late, and there’s nothing more to talk about.”
“Wrong. There’s plenty to talk about. I came back to your place around 9:30 to tell you the news, but I saw you were otherwise occupied.”
“You have no right to spy on me.”
“Yes, I do. I bought Tessa’s pics and her silence for half a mil.”
“I didn’t ask you do to that.”
“Doesn’t matter. You owe me. Don’t get the idea you can dump me for someone else. My relationships end when I say they do. Period.”
“I’ve had enough threats for one day. Good night.”
“You’d better take mine seriously. Dinner, my place on Friday. Eight sharp.”
“I have plans.”
“Then unmake them.”
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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Twenty-Four

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sarah drove back to her office in La Jolla with her spirits lifted. Judge Tomlinson had shown he could be fair, and he seemed willing to give her a decent shot at putting on a defense for Alexa. He had agreed to grant funds to hire both a ballistics expert and to bring Jordan Stewart on board on domestic violence. Sarah suspected he was being generous because he was feeling guilty about ordering the meds after the competency hearing.
She wanted to tell Jim the news, and she regretted her decision not to have him at court today. She wished he’d been there to give her his own take on the hearing. Tara’s ignorance would have entertained him. She didn’t like admitting even to herself that she missed him.
She parked in the underground lot and hurried up to her La Jolla office. Even though there should have been no one in the waiting room, she decided to slip in through the back to give herself a few more minutes of privacy before facing her long-suffering law clerk who also doubled a receptionist.
She reached her office undetected, took off her suit jacket and hung it on the peg behind her door, and sat down to peruse the mail piled on her desk. A few seconds later, her phone rang, and she saw it was her clerk, Martin Browning.
“What’s up, Martin?”
“I heard you come in. Hope the hearing went ok.”
“It was fine. I got everything I wanted. I need a few minutes to look over this mail. Would you mind running downstairs and fetching me a latte from Starbuck’s?”
“No problem. But you might want me to bring back two coffees.”
“Why?”
“There’s a woman out here who’s been waiting at least two hours to see you. Her name is Tessa Scott.”
Damn, Sarah thought, and quickly ran through her options. Only she didn’t really have any options other than to accept the inevitable confrontation with David’s wife.
“Two coffees sound about right. Go ahead and show her in.”
Tessa Scott sashayed into her office a few minutes later like an angry Barbie in a red Versace suite with Angelina Jolie’s lips.
“You’re sleeping with my husband!”
Remain cool, Sarah reminded herself. “Would you like to sit down? My assistant has gone to fetch coffee.”
“I don’t want any coffee.”
“Well, what about a seat, then?”
Tessa shook her blonde layers like a Farah Fawcett throwback, and eyed the chair in front of Sarah’s desk as if it were a booby trap. After a few seconds, she folded her thin body into the chair and crossed her long legs.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Of course. Tessa, David’s wife.”
“Emphasis on ‘wife.’” She flashed the four carat diamond on her left hand at Sarah.
“Mrs. Scott, I’m sorry someone has given you false information, but I’m not sleeping with your husband.”
“Lying won’t help,” she snarled. “The household staff tells me what goes on when I’m not there.”
Shit, Sarah thought. I warned David about conducting an affair in his own house. Remain calm, she reminded herself. “I’m very sorry if someone close to you is trying to hurt you, Mrs. Scott. But I’m not sleeping with your husband. I’ve had dinner with him a few times because he hired me to straighten things out for your brother-in-law with the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
“You did more than have dinner with him.”
Martin knocked and entered with the two coffees.
“Thank you,” Sarah smiled as if everything were going her way. He looked over curiously at Tessa and left the room.
“Now, Mrs. Scott, as I said, I am not having an affair with you husband.”
“It’s been going on for months.”
Sarah decided going on offense would get rid of her. “I refuse to keep repeating myself. I’m not sleeping with your husband, and that is all there is to it. Your story about being tipped off by the household staff is completely false. Your husband pays them, Mrs. Scott. They are not going to give you any information that would put their jobs in jeopardy. Blackmail is a crime. Now please get out of my office. We have nothing more to discuss.”
“Oh, don’t we?” Tessa reached into her cavernous Gucci bag, pulled out a folder, and held up the photo on top.
Sarah’s mouth went dry. It was a picture of her with David on the terrace outside the guest room on the night Tessa had wavered about going to Cabo.
“Okay, so the staff didn’t tell me. That’s true. I hired a private investigator to catch the two of you.”
“I repeat, blackmail is a crime, Mrs. Scott.”
“I’m not here for money. I get plenty of that from my husband.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“I want you to stop sleeping with my husband.”
“You won’t publish those pictures and risk upsetting David. You need your allowance from him too much.”
But Tessa was unphased by the insult. “Oh, I’m not going to do anything to upset my husband. You’re right. I depend on my allowance. But if you don’t leave him alone, there are a number of accidents that could happen to you.”
With that, she got up and left the room, making sure to slam the door.
Sarah sat back and closed her eyes. She had been ready to end the affair with David, anyway. She didn’t enjoy his company, and the sex wasn’t great. And it wasn’t the first time she’d been confronted by an angry wife. Until today no one had threatened her life, but she didn’t take Tessa seriously on that point.
The photos, though, were a different story. She doubted Tessa would publish them because that would very likely end her marriage. But just knowing they existed made Sarah uneasy. If they did get out, it would damage her professional credibility. And she needed every ounce of that right now to defend Alexa Reed.
She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the deeply autumn blue ocean stretching vast and infinite toward the lighter sky. The guilt pangs that had racked her since Alexa came out of the coma had subsided for the first time during the hearing that morning, but they had returned and were stronger than before. She’d drawn a peacefully departing spirit back into a hellish world of lies, bribes, and probably certain death in twenty years under the watchful eye of a roomful of strangers. And she’d done it in the name of reuniting her with her children, even though that was a promise Sarah could never deliver. She didn’t care what Tessa Scott thought of her, but Alexa’s opinion mattered. Sarah didn’t want to be the one who broke her heart all over again, yet that was exactly what was going to happen. Saving her life was a very long shot, but getting her back to Meggie and Sam – that was impossible.
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty-Three

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Good morning,” Judge Tomlinson beamed at his courtroom. “I trust everyone had a good weekend.”
Sarah smiled in return as she stood at the defendant’s table with Bob Metcalf dressed in another ill-fitting suit, but she noticed that Tara Jacobs on the plaintiff’s side with Preston Baldwin, remained taughtly grim-faced. Probably because her surgeon had eliminated any possibility of smiling a couple of facelifts ago. Everything about Tara was so sleek she looked plastic. Her dark hair was pulled into the tightest bun on record. Her cobalt blue suit appeared to have been steamed within an inch of its life to remove every wrinkle. She was so thin Sarah doubted she ever touched food. Her French manicured nails were so long she could barely pick up a pencil. Every bit of her screamed she was trying too hard to be sleek, chic, and expensive.
“Let’s see, we’re here this morning on a motion Ms. Jacobs filed to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas for Ronald Brigman and Michael Reed’s bank records. Is that right?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Baldwin, this isn’t your motion. I’m not even sure why you’re at this hearing.”
“Well, Your Honor, the state is opposed to disclosure to the defendant of the sensitive personal documents of the victims.”
“They aren’t going to be disclosed to Mrs. Reed, Mr. Baldwin. Ms. Knight as counsel of record will receive them. And I’m still not sure what your interest is in this hearing.”
“The state represents the victims –”
“The state is seeking justice on behalf of the People, Mr. Baldwin.”
Sarah suppressed a smile. It was fun to watch the arrogant Preston Baldwin being raked over the Monday morning coals even if she guessed her own turn was coming.
“Well, of course, Your Honor, but – ”
“No ‘buts,” Mr. Baldwin. I’ve heard more than enough from you. Ms. Jacobs scheduled this hearing. If you don’t sit down and be quiet, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Preston Baldwin folded his lawyer tail between his legs and sat down next to Tara, who was still standing.
“Now, let’s see. I neglected to have you enter your appearances. Ms. Knight, obviously you are here on behalf of Mrs. Reed. I hear she’s doing better at the hospital?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“We like to hear every bit of good news we can get on Monday morning. And you have a gentleman with you whom I see is not your investigator.”
“That’s correct, Your Honor. This is Bob Metcalf, who represented Mrs. Reed in the family court proceedings. He may or may not be called as a witness.”
“Very good. Welcome, Mr. Metcalf.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Now, Ms. Jacobs, as to your appearance. Who are you here to represent?”
“Ronald Brigman and Michael Reed.”
“Hm.” Judge Tomlinson’s kind gray eyes studied Tara’s taught eagerness intently. “Don’t you have a bit of a problem, there?”
“Problem, Your Honor?”
“Yes, a problem of “standing.” You remember the legal concept of “standing,” Ms. Jacobs, from first year civil procedure in law school? You have to have “standing” to bring a matter before a court. You have to be an eligible party as the law defines ‘eligible party to a legal proceeding’ before you can ask the court to hear your position.”
Tara pursed her haughty collagen filled lips with utmost derision for the mild, rotund civil servant looking down at her from the bench. “Ronald Brigman and Michel Reed have standing to oppose disclosure of their personal bank records.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jacobs, but you are wrong. They are both dead. That means they no longer have standing to oppose anything. The representatives of their estates can offer an opposition on their behalf, but Mr. Brigman and Mr. Reed are no longer able to be litigants in a court of law.”
“Yes, but I represented Michael in his family law matter.”
“Right, but you aren’t the executor of his estate nor do you represent the executor of his estate. And you’re not in family law court this morning. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“And I was not aware that Ronald Brigman was ever your client. If he had been, the State Bar would doubtless have been concerned about your conflict of interest since he was appointed to evaluate a number of your family law clients.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Bob’s eyes widen as he struggled to keep the rest of his face lawyerlike and impassive. She guessed no judge in family court had ever talked to Tara this way. On the other side of the courtroom, Preston Baldwin was visibly shrinking in his chair as he began to understand the scope of the legal problem Tara’s ignorance had created.
“I – I well, Dr. Brigman was not a client. He was a friend.”
“Right. I understand that, but when has the attorney-client privilege applied to communications between friends?” Judge Tomlinson was enjoying watching her squirm because she was so obnoxious in her ignorance, Sarah thought.
“I – I – well, the privilege applies to Michael’s confidences to me. And some of those were disclosed to Dr. Brigman in the course of his work in this case.”
“And that gives you an even bigger problem, doesn’t it, Ms. Jacobs?”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. How does telling a court-appointed evaluator information provided by my client create a problem?”
“Think hard, Ms. Jacobs. First-year law school again. Your first class in professional responsibility. What happens when you disclose a client’s confidences to a third party?”
Tara was bright red. “Well, they’re waived, of course. But, Dr. Brigman was a court-appointed evaluator.”
“Can you show me some authority that says court-appointed evaluators aren’t third-parties when it comes to attorney-client privilege?”
“I – I – no.” Tara looked stunned.
“Well, then. I think this hearing is over. You don’t have any standing to move to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas.”
“But Your Honor!” Preston Baldwin leapt to his feet and threw himself into the breach Tara’s incompetence had created.
“Mr. Baldwin, I thought I asked you to sit down and be quiet.”
“Please, Your Honor. At least hear Ms. Jacobs on the public policy issue.”
“Public policy issue?” Judge Tomlinson frowned.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Tara gave him the smile that apparently won judicial hearts and minds in family court. Only it wasn’t working here, Sarah thought.
“Okay. It’s Monday morning. I’ve had a nice weekend. I hear Mrs. Reed is recovering. I’m in as good a mood as I’ll probably be in all week. Tell me these ‘public policy’ reasons of yours to quash Ms. Knight’s subpoenas.”
Judge Tomlinson settled back in his chair and kept his eyes on Tara Jacobs.
“May it please the court.”
“Ms. Jacobs, I’m not pleased, in case you haven’t noticed. And this isn’t first-year law school moot court, nor are you in the court of appeal. This is superior court where I am vastly underpaid and very overworked. Just get to the point.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. The points is Alexa Reed should not profit by her decision to kill her husband and Dr. Brigman. Mrs. Reed is a lying, devious, manipulative individual with a psychopathic borderline personality disorder, whose only goal in life was to live off her husband’s money. She – ”
“Wait, Ms. Jacobs. Just wait, please.” Judge Tomlinson held up his hand. “No one, particularly a criminal defendant who is presumed innocent until proven guilty, is going to be called lying, manipulative, or psychopathic in my courtroom by an attorney, unless an expert has first testified to that based on authorities reasonably relied on by experts in the field. I am not persuaded by character assassination. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor. If I might finish?”
“You’re finished, Ms. Jacobs. I did my tour as a judge in family law court a few years back. The kind of language you are using disgusted me then, and it does now. I feel like levying a hefty sanction on you for wasting my time this morning. If you’d done your legal research, you’ve have known you had no standing. If you will kindly fold up your papers and exit now, I won’t impose the $2,000 fine I’m considering. Your motion was frivolous, and it is very, very denied.”
Sarah thought she heard a slight whimper from Tara as she swept her legal pad into her Louis Vuitton brief case and headed for the backdoor. She could see Bob was still working hard to suppress a grin of delight.
Fortunately, he continued to be successful because the judge turned to him next, “Mr. Metcalf. Again, thank you for spending part of your Monday with us. I’m going to let you go now, because I need to talk to Ms. Knight and Mr. Baldwin about scheduling in Mrs. Reed’s case.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Bob picked up his well-worn briefcase and headed for the exit.
Judge Tomlinson frowned at Preston Baldwin as the door closed behind Bob.
“Did you know that was going to be her motion?”
“No, Your Honor. I thought she was going to say she represented the estates of the two victims.”
“If I hadn’t been on the bench in family court and seen the way they practice over there, I wouldn’t have believed anyone who had passed the California Bar would have pulled a stunt like that. Anyway, that’s not why I kept the two of you. I understand Ms. Knight wants Mrs. Reed out on bail when she leaves the hospital.”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.” Sarah willed herself to be calm and not to give away too much of her case for Alexa’s release.
“Your Honor, Ms. Knight is as out-in-left-field as Ms. Jacobs. There’s no right to bail in a capital case.”
“True, but she has a right to a bail hearing. And you’ve calendared one for October 1, haven’t you?” Judge Tomlinson looked at Sarah.
“I have, Your Honor.”
“I was just putting out some feelers to see if the two of you might reach an agreement on Mrs. Reed’s custody status to save us the trouble of the hearing.”
“The people want her in jail. Period.”
“Then I think we’re on for October 1. You do know, Ms. Knight you have to show facts that demonstrate she may not be guilty?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I just want you to be aware I’m not going to be any happier than I was today if you waste my time.”
“I understand, Your Honor.”
“And now I believe you wanted to talk to me about hiring the experts you need for Mrs. Reed’s defense?”
“That is correct, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Mr. Baldwin, you may go. I need to meet with Ms. Knight in my chambers for a few minutes.”
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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Nineteen

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CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jim was back at six, rested and clean shaven in fresh jeans and a white knit shirt. He pulled the vacant chair next to Sarah’s and sat down. She was immediately aware of the masculine energy he brought into the room. She wanted to put her head on his shoulder and feel his arm around her. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t have these thoughts. She had to stay focused on Alexa.
“Any change?”
She told him about Father Bennett’s observation.
“But nothing since?”
“No. And I gather the nurse wasn’t especially impressed when Father Bennett told her Alexa had opened her eyes.”
“That’s right.”
“You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I said, ‘you need to eat.’ This case is taking its toll on you.”
“Ok. I’ll run down to the cafeteria for a little bit.”
“Or you could go home and get some rest.”
“No. I want to be here if there’s any change.”
* * *
For the entire evening, they sat side by side next to Alexa’s bed while the machines hummed and pumped and kept her alive. The stray wicked thought came back, slightly altered from the morning: what if she and Jim could sit side by side in companionable silence every evening, like an old married couple. No, no. Never that. Never. Be quiet, she told her brain. You know the rules. She forced herself to concentrate on the work she had brought. But by eleven o’clock, she was too tired to do any more.
Jim, too, had put down his files. “You’ve been here all day. You should go home.”
“I keep thinking she’ll open her eyes again.”
The door swooshed and a new nurse appeared with her stethoscope draped around her neck and a blood pressure cuff in her hand. She appeared to be in her late twenties, very attractive with large dark eyes and long blonde hair that was confined to a surprisingly flattering on-duty pony tail. She caught Jim’s attention as she crossed the room to check Alexa’s vital signs. Sarah willed herself not to be jealous.
“Any change?” Jim asked.
“Her pulse is weaker. I’m going to call the doctor on duty.”
Suddenly Sarah’s heart began to race as if she could make up Alexa’s deficit with her own. She tried to rein in any show of emotion in front of Jim, but she had believed all afternoon Alexa was going to turn the corner because she’d opened her eyes for Father Bennett. She didn’t want to give up her shred of hope.
The door swooshed more abruptly than before. The attractive nurse had returned with a harried looking doctor who waved Sarah and Jim out of the room.
“Sorry. You’ll have to leave.”
They stood in the hall under the deputy’s suspicious gaze, waiting for news. Ten minutes felt like ten hours.
Sarah leaned against the wall and closed her eyes to keep from showing tears. She felt Jim watching her.
“It’s ok to feel something,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I never get involved emotionally with a case.”
“You’d have to have a heart of stone not to be involved in this one.”
“The thing is, I can’t decide if it would be better if she lived or died. Her children need her, but we’ve got almost nothing to work with for a defense.”
“That’s what they said about the Menendez case.”
“This isn’t the same thing!” She knew she was speaking too sharply, but she didn’t want to talk or even think about Joey Menendez ever again.
Before Jim could say anything else, the doctor came out of Alexa’s room, rattling off instructions to the pretty nurse who eyed Jim sideways as she listened. Sarah read his name badge for the first time. Dr. S. McCord. He was in his early forties, she guessed. Dark hair, a few streaks of gray. She bet Dr. S. McCord had two preteens at home and a Mrs. S. McCord who grocery shopped in tennis skirts and ran his house to perfection.
He finally noticed them standing in the corridor. “Are you her family?”
“Her legal team. We don’t think she has any family,” Jim said. “How is she?”
“We’re going to lighten up on the sedatives to see if her blood pressure will come up. But honestly, I’m not optimistic. The nurses say you’ve been here around the clock since Friday night.”
“We have evidence the jail gave her a drug she was allergic to on purpose and then waited to summon help, hoping she’d die.”
Despite the dramatic accusations, the doctor remained unphased. “Well, no one is going to do anything to her here. You should go home and get some sleep. You both look exhausted.”
But Sarah shook her head. “No. I’m responsible for her. I can’t leave. She opened her eyes around lunch time. She might do that again tonight.”
“It’s not likely. Coma patients often open their eyes for a few seconds at odd times. It’s not a sign she’s going to come out of it or that she hasn’t suffered brain damage.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“True. At this moment, I’m just trying to keep her from crashing. If you both insist on staying, why not take turns sleeping? There’s a chair that converts into a make-shift cot in the Family Waiting Room.”
* * *
In the wee hours, Sarah sat with Alexa, watching an IV drip into her arm. The pretty nurse returned often with the blood pressure cuff. She always gave Sarah a reassuring smile as she went about her business, but never said a word. Her name tag said, “D. Murphy.” D for Diana or for Dorothy or for Deirdre because Murphy was Irish? Odd how irrelevant details could calm your mind in moments of crisis.
Sarah sat beside the bed and held one dry, lifeless hand. “Stay for Meggie and Sam,” she whispered over and over, like a mantra, through the dark hours. “Stay for Meggie and Sam.”
She eyed the rosary often and was tempted to take it back and try to remember some prayers. Our Father. That was part of the rosary prayers, wasn’t it? Our Father who Art in Heaven. No, stop. She knew better. There was no such thing as Our Father and no such place as Heaven. If there was a God, she’d wouldn’t be sitting by a dying woman, charged with murder, wishing she could allow herself to fall in love with the man who slept down the hall. Jim Mitchell had come into her life on the same day Fate had planted Alexa Reed in her world. If Alexa disappeared, she could send Jim on his way, too. In fact, if Alexa disappeared, she absolutely had to send him packing. His references to Menendez made her way too nervous. No one could ever, ever know the truth about that case. Sarah looked down at the plug for the ventilator once more and wondered if she could convince everyone she’d simply tripped over it.
But fatigue had settled into her bones like drying cement. She sat in her chair and held Alexa’s hand and chanted her mantra, until Jim came to relieve her at 4 a.m. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder and smiled as he slid into the chair beside hers.
“I’m here. Go set some sleep.”
And she was so delirious with grief and so relieved to see him that she kissed him lightly on the cheek. Later, as she lay on the fold-out chair that smelled like Jim, too exhausted to think, she would try to decide if he had really kissed the scar on her own cheek in return. Of if she was so tired she was hallucinating.
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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Eighteen

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah slept fitfully and was up by 9 to slip into comfortable gray yoga pants and a white t-shirt for her coming day of watching over Alexa. She put some work into her briefcase and headed for the hospital to relieve Jim at 10 as promised. She found him dozing in the chair next to Alexa’s bed, a never-before-seen growth of stubble on his chin. She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder to let him know she had arrived. A stray, wicked thought asked what would it be like to wake him up every morning.
Her touch startled him, and for a moment he looked around blankly, apparently having forgotten why he was there. His eyes went from the laboring machine to Sarah’s face, and then he gave her a small smile.
“Didn’t mean to go to sleep.”
“I’d say that was unavoidable. Looks as if nothing’s changed.”
“The doctor came by this morning before I dozed. He hadn’t expected her to make it through the night. But even though she’s still hanging on, he wasn’t optimistic about her future.”
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks she’ll have some sort of brain damage if she does wake up. At the very least, memory loss.”
“So she may never be able to tell us why she went to Brigman’s that night?”
“Exactly. The brain throws out the most traumatic memories first.”
“You need some sleep. Go home and rest.”
“I’ll be back at six.”
* * *
Sarah grew used to the hiss and whir of the ventilator as it pumped air into Alex’s lungs. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, driven by the machine. The bright September sun streaming in through the windows had banished the sickly green glow from the walls, and now the room was pristine white again. Nurses came and went and gave her polite but puzzled looks as they checked Alexa’s vital signs and made notes in her chart.
Around noon, a man in a priest’s collar came in. He was in his early fifties with thinning gray hair, and a round open face.
“I’m Father Bennett,” he said. “I’m the Episcopal chaplain. Father Morley told me he’d been here last night. Were you the one who summoned him?”
Sarah nodded. “She seemed near death.”
“Any improvement?” Father Bennett looked at the lifeless form on the bed as he spoke.
“Nothing I can see.”
“You look tired. Have you had time to get anything to eat?”
Sarah hadn’t taken time for breakfast and hadn’t thought about food during her bedside vigil. But suddenly she realized she was hungry. “No, but I can’t leave her.”
“I’ll stay for a bit. Go down to the cafeteria and have lunch.”
* * *
When she came back, thirty minutes later, she found Father Bennet quietly reciting the Episcopalian version of the rosary as he sat next to Alexa. He turned at the swish of the door’s opening, and his excited eyes met hers.
“What happened?” Sarah asked.
“She opened her eyes. Only for a second or two. But she opened them. I told the nurse.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. But it’s a good sign. We have to keep praying.”
“I don’t pray.”
His kind brown eyes looked puzzled. “But you summoned Father Morley last night.”
“Only because I respected Alexa’s beliefs. I have no use for God.”
He remained unperturbed. She had the feeling he’d had this conversation dozens of times. “Well, He has plenty of use for you.”
“No – He – does – not.” She spoke each word slowly and distinctly as if passing judgement for all eternity. “Didn’t they tell you why they’re trying to keep this woman alive? So they can legally murder her in twenty years.”
Again the priest was unmoved by her bitterness. “All the more reason to keep praying for God to spare her life. Were you raised in any particular faith?”
Sarah wanted to bite back a scathing “no,” but for some reason his kindness in the face of her anger made her tell the truth. “Yours.”
“Well, then, here.” He handed her the rosary. “You can put it to good use. And call me if anything changes.” He pressed his card with his cell number into her hand along with the beads, gave her a smile, and left.
Sarah slipped the business card into her brief case and sat down again by the bed. She stared at onyx beads with the silver cross at the center in her left hand and wondered what to do with them. She was suddenly sorry her connection to Alexa had brought the sore subject of religion back into her life.
Her parents had given her a blue crystal rosary after her confirmation when she was twelve. And she’d prayed it over and over and over through all those dark years until the day she’d thrown it into the Pacific, officially telling God she didn’t buy the myth of Him any more. So why now was she tempted to try to remember the prayers?
She held the large bead above the cross and tried to recall the words she was supposed to say. No clue. The Lord be with you. No, that was the priest’s invitation to the congregation, not the beginning of the rosary. And there was some sort of answer the congregation chanted back, but she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember the rosary prayers. What had Jim said? The most traumatic memories are the first to go.
She studied the beads again and wondered what to do with them. As she was about to slip them into her brief case to be carted to the Pacific for disposal later, she looked over at Alexa’s lifeless hand, the one she’d freed from the handcuff. Sarah looped the beads over the thin wrist like a bracelet and laid the silver cross against her palm.
“Wake up,” she heard herself say. “For Meggie and Sam. Wake up.” download (11)

Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Seventeen

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the priest was finished, he took a few minutes to pack up the vials of holy water and oil in his little black leather sacrament case. Then he removed the stole from around his neck and folded it over his arm the way a maitre d’ carries a folded napkin.
“Thank you, Father.”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here. I’m on duty all night, so if things change, please call me. I think prayer over a departing soul eases its passage.”
I wish I believed in souls, Sarah thought. But aloud she said, “I’m sure you’re right.”
After the door swung shut behind Father Morley, Sarah sank into the chair by the bed once more. The puke green curtains turned the blank walls their sickly shade of death and disease in the low light. Sarah listened to the whir and thump of the ventilator, and watched it labor to keep Alexa Reed on this side of eternity. She considered once more what would happen if she eased its plug out of the outlet.
Jim would be upset with her; she knew that for sure. In his mind, the two of them were a team. He wouldn’t want her to make that kind of decision without him. And deep inside Sarah knew he wouldn’t want her to make that kind of decision at all.
Bob Metcalf had talked about bribes, so she had subpoenaed Brigman and Michael’s financial records yesterday. Maybe something in them would save Alexa, after all.
She was suddenly irritated that Jim had not come back after the priest left. She had drunk too much at dinner, and now it was 1:30 in the morning, and her head was throbbing with stale alcohol and fatigue. Her car was at Jim’s; and even if it had been at the hospital, she knew she was in no shape to drive.
She touched Alexa’s dry lifeless hand once more, and went out into the corridor to find Jim. No sign of him.
The deputy gave her a grudging nod. She thought of asking him if he’d seen her investigator but decided he wouldn’t tell her if he had. His face sent the message the jail guard had not hesitated to voice: in his world she was “defense lawyer scum.”
Sarah walked down the long, white deserted corridor until she saw the nurse’s station ahead. Jim was leaning over it, absorbed in something. Then, as she got closer, she realized he was flirting with an attractive red-headed nurse who was seated at a computer monitor. The woman alternated between pointing to something on the screen and looking up at Jim adoringly.
What had been fatigue and annoyance now threatened to boil over into visible anger. Sarah hadn’t taken Jim for a ladies’ man, but he was doing a good impression of one at that moment. She reminded herself to get her emotions in check before opening her mouth. After all, she had no right to criticize him; she was sleeping with someone else. And intended to go on doing that.
Jim looked up, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of embarrassment that he’d been caught. But his eyes immediately went dark and unreadable, and she wasn’t even sure she’d seen anything.
“Is the priest finished?”
“Yes. We can’t do any more tonight. I’m ready to go back and get my car.”
“There’s something I have to tell you first.” He handed the nurse his business card, who handled it the way a rockstar groupie cherishes a souvenir from her idol, took Sarah’s arm, and drew her down the hall to a tiny empty room marked “Family Waiting.” He pulled her inside and closed the door.
“What’s going on?”
“I chatted up the night nurse on purpose because I had a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“That this wasn’t an accident.”
“You mean the jail psychiatrist tried to kill our client?” Sarah’s head was now spinning with shock as well as fatigue. “You’d need evidence of that, Jim. A hunch wouldn’t get you to first base with the court.”
“I know. But it’s way more than a hunch. Listen. Based on what happened today, I suspected Alexa was allergic to Lexapro, and that’s why they gave it to her.”
“And was she?”
“Yes. Her private doctors were all affiliated with USCD and this hospital. So all of her medical records are in their system. And they show that back in ‘09 a few months after Michael started the divorce war, the stress got to her. Her own doctor referred her to one of the psychiatrists here, and he gave her a low dose of Lexapro. She had a mild allergic reaction.”
“But that doesn’t prove the jail shrink tried to kill her.”
“Yes, it does. I haven’t finished. My little red-headed friend out there said the jail shrink requested all of Alexa’s records a few days ago, and privacy laws notwithstanding, they handed them over.”
“They should have contacted me before doing that.”
“True, but you know what the jail people think of defense attorneys. Anyway, at the time they gave her the Lexapro, they knew she was allergic, and they gave her a much larger dose than they should have, so her reaction was much more acute than before.”
“I’m still seeing negligence here, not intent to murder.”
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“They waited to summon medical help until they thought it would be too late. When the ambulance got there, her throat was nearly swollen shut, and she was almost gone. The only thing that saved her, was the emergency tracheotomy the paramedics did at nearly the last second.”
“And you learned all this from What’s Her Name out there?”
“Tammi. Nice girl. And willing to be helpful. Be grateful.”
“You’re right. I’m just exhausted.”
“I can see that. Here’s what I think we should do. Alexa shouldn’t be left alone. I’m able to stay up with her now and let you go get some sleep. I’m going to call you a cab. Be back tomorrow at 10 a.m., and we’ll take turns watching her.”
“USCD isn’t going to kill her.”
“Right. But we don’t know who else is lurking out there. We can’t leave her alone until she wakes up.”
“If she wakes up.”
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Sixteen

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hospitals are white and barren at night, Sarah thought, as they headed down the wide linoleum corridor on the third floor where she’d been told she would find Alexa’s room. She matched her step to Jim’s long stride and raced along, praying the news wouldn’t be bad. Her heart was hammering hard in her chest. A big circle of clock pinned to the white tile wall said it was 11:30.
A deputy sheriff in his khaki uniform was on guard outside Alex’s room. He stopped them as they tried to enter.
“You can’t go in there.”
“Yes, I can. I’m her attorney, Sarah Knight, and this is my private investigator, Jim Mitchell.” They flashed their bar cards at the grim deputy as if they were light sabers, and went in.
Her breath caught the minute she entered. In the dim light, she could make out Alexa’s tiny form in the big hospital bed. They had tubes down her throat and an IV ran into one arm. The other was handcuffed to the bed. A machine was obviously breathing for her.
White-hot anger boiled up in Sarah like a monstrous dragon rising from the depths of the earth. She turned and pulled open the door and barked at the deputy, “Come in here, right now!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t – ”
“Yes – you – can!” Sarah formed each word with insulting clarity.
The deputy shifted his head from side to side to see who was watching, and then obeyed her.
“Take those handcuffs off right now!”
“I can’t, ma’am. The prisoner is being held for double murder.”
“I said, Take them off! There’s no possibility Mrs. Reed is going anywhere!”
The deputy frowned but obeyed. “You’re responsible if she escapes.”
“Gladly!”
After the deputy had shuffled back to his post in defeat, Sarah took some long breaths to calm down. Her pulse was racing as if she’d just run a marathon. Jim, who was standing beside her, laid a hand on her arm as if to remind her she wasn’t alone.
“It’s worse than I pictured,” she said.
“Agreed.”
The door opened and a fortiesh woman in dark gray scrubs with tired eyes and wisps of hair escaping what had started her shift as a bun came in. “Who are you? You can’t be in here.”
“I’m Alexa’s attorney, and this is my investigator. She doesn’t have any family that anyone knows of. We came to see what happened and how she’s doing.”
“She had a reaction to the drugs the jail gave her.”
“What were they?”
“Lexapro and Depakote.”
“Did they check for medical allergies before they prescribed them?”
“I have no idea. I work here. You’ll have to ask the people downtown in the jail what they knew about her medical history. Look, don’t give me a hard time, ok? I’m just supposed to check her vitals and fill in her chart and note that she’s still alive. Barely.”
Sarah frowned but said no more, bowing to the frazzled nurse’s exhaustion.
After she left, Sarah tired to sit down on the side of the bed, but because of all the machines close by there was no space. Jim pulled up a chair for her.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Sarah sank into it as she reached for Alexa Reed’s lifeless hand.
“Do you want some time with here alone?” Jim asked.
“Yeah. I think so. Those handcuffs really set me off.”
“And they should have. As much as I hate to say it, she’s not looking as if she’s going to come out of this.”
Sarah sighed. “Agreed. They’re such bastards, they’d let her die without a priest.”
“Is she Catholic?”
“Pretty close. Episcopalian. I read it in her file. Brigman made a big stink about her wanting to raise the children in her church supposedly to alienate them from Michael who wasn’t religious.”
“I’ll go see if there’s any kind of priest on duty.”
“Even a Catholic one would do.” Sarah touched the lifeless form on the bed. “She deserves a better send off to the next world than she’s had in this one. How I wish I still believed in God!”
* * *
Sarah sat in the dim room with Alexa’s lifeless form for a long time. The respirator mechanically and rhythmically pushed her lungs up and down as if Alexa herself were resisting continuing to live.
Why save her for the purpose of killing her, Sarah wondered. What would happen to me if I pulled the plug on the machine? I could say I tripped. I could end all of this in a split second. She stared at the tangle of wires under the bed, trying to decide which one to disconnect to free Alexa Reed forever. She had a feeling Hal Remington and the San Diego legal community and Coleman Reed would be so grateful, she’d never lack for court-appointed work. Not that she cared about that.
This is when you pray, Sarah reminded herself. But she had prayed once. No, not once. She had prayed every day for hundreds and hundreds of days. She had worn out her knees proving there was no God because if there had been, her prayers would have been answered. But God was merely a figment of suffering peoples’ imaginations. He was no more than an effort to explain the unexplainable horror of unbearable suffering. The nightmare of those hundreds of unanswered prayers had altered her life forever. She would always be alone.
Suddenly and almost silently, the door swung open, and Jim appeared with a thirtyish man in a priest’s collar and black suit.
“Sarah, this is Father Richard Morely. He’s a Catholic priest, but he’s on duty right now as the night chaplain.”
“She needs the last rites, Father,” Sarah said. “She’s Episcopalian. Can you still do that for her?”
“Of course. Do you know if she was ever baptized? That’s more the important sacrament.”
“No, we don’t know. I’m her attorney. We don’t think she has any family. Her file says she grew up Episcopalian, so I’d bet she was baptized. I know her children were.”
“I’ll do both, just to be very sure,” Father Morley said. “I’ll need to fetch some holy water from the chapel and anointing oil. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Jim’s kind eyes met hers, and she struggled to keep her face impassive. “Thanks for finding him.”
“Of course. I didn’t know you were religious.”
“I’m not. But Alexa is. Or was.”
Jim looked over at the little form on the big bed. He walked over and gently stroked the tangled blonde hair as if she were a child. Sarah marveled at the compassion in his touch.
As he smoothed Alexa’s matted curls he said, “I was religious once. Gail wanted Cody to be raised Catholic because she is. I went to mass with them every week. I thought of converting. But then Gail hit me with those divorce papers; and I lost what I loved best in the word. I wondered why God didn’t at least send me a warning. After that, I wasn’t so sure about Him anymore.”
“A benevolent God would have Alexa Reed home safe and sound with her children right now.” Sarah could see the bitterness in her voice had startled him. “I’m sure it’s a pretty safe bet that heaven is the empty hole we think it is.”
The door swung open and Father Morely came back with his priest’s stole, holy water, and anointing oil. Sarah was surprised when Jim suddenly left the room as if he didn’t want to watch what was about to take place.
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Fifteen

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You’re very quiet, tonight,” Jim observed.
It was Friday night, and Sarah had accepted another dinner invitation against her better judgement. She was sitting on the stool in his kitchen with a glass of wine, watching him pound veal for piccata. He’d wanted her to come over last night, but she’d been too drained after the interview with Bob Metcalf. She’d lied and said she had a date with David, although she had actually gone home, poured herself a drink, and sat on her patio, staring at the stars. She had wanted to shake her fist at God and demand why she had to be Alexa Reed’s lawyer. But she didn’t believe in God anymore so there was no one out there to shake her fist at. She could barely remember the days when she had believed, had gone to church, had sung hymns, had had what they called “faith.” But “faith” had only taught her God was the ultimate abuser and the consummate cosmic joke from a sadistic universe. What kind of compassionate God would create Alexa Reed’s hell? Or hers?
“I said you’re very quiet tonight.”
“Just tired.”
“Do you think we have an insanity defense now?”
“You mean after talking to Bob Metcalf?”
“You’ve got to admit, Alexa a had a good reason to snap under that kind of pressure.”
“We’d lose on insanity.”
“Why?”
“Because insane people can’t premeditate, and she had lots of time that night to plan her moves. She arrived at Brigman’s at 9:30, and he didn’t die until 11:00. That gives her a couple of hours to decide to kill him. Maybe I could argue it was a snap decision to go finish Michael off, too, but I doubt the jury would buy it. The story Bob told hurts Alexa more than it helps because it gives her a strong motive for first degree murder as revenge for all the injustice she suffered. If I were the prosecutor, I’d argue ‘vigilante justice.’”
“But there must be something in all that horror that would swung the jurors her way?”
“Only if we can show he beat her. Then we have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Battered Women’s Syndrome going for us. That would get us down to manslaughter and keep her from lethal injection. Based on Bob’s story, I’d say it was plausible she regarded Brigman as an abuser as much as Michael. We just need some evidence besides what has come out of Alexa’s own mouth.”
“I’m still trying.”
“I know you are.”
Sarah watched Jim cut, slice and pound with a thoughtful look on his face.
“What are you thinking about so hard?”
“Wishing there were some way we could get her off completely. Manslaughter would still get her eleven years. That’s too much after everything she’s been through. And a manslaughter verdict means she won’t get her children back.”
Sarah tried to find her tough-as-nails defense lawyer face, but she knew it wasn’t working. “Well, there’s jury nullification. It’s rare, and courts hate it. But sometimes jurors just say, we don’t care about the law. We’re not going to convict.”
“I’d agree with that one here,” Jim said as he started to saute the veal.
* * *
It was a warm night for September in San Diego, and they ate on Jim’s jasmine scented patio, listening to the ocean rolling onshore in the distance. The good food and the wine lulled the pain that had gripped Sarah’s soul since meeting Bob Metcalf. She drank too much as she listened to Jim talke about Cody’s passion for model trains and Lego’s.
“He has a huge train layout in Josh and Gail’s basement. And he uses the Legos to build cities for the trains to run through and to create the people who live in them. Every time he comes to see me, he wants to go to Legoland to get more ideas for his projects.”
“What’s Legoland?”
“Oh, I forgot. You don’t have kids. You know what Legos are, right?”
She nodded.
“The company is based in Denmark. They’ve built an amusement park here at Carlsbad with rides and sides, and tiny cities and people made out of Lego blocks.”
“And you like to go?”
“With Cody, yes.”
Sarah watched him stare vacantly at his empty plate. The visit to Bob had upset him, too.
“When do you see him again?”
“Christmas. If I’m lucky. More and more he doesn’t want to come because he has things to do with his friends. He’s beginning to be interested in girls. When he gets a girlfriend, he won’t come at all unless she can come, too. And you know her parents will say no.”
“It hasn’t happened, yet. Don’t borrow trouble.”
Jim gave her his heart-melting smile, and she reminded herself theirs was a business relationship in the end-of-summer romantic dark.
“Good advice. Go sit on the loveseat over there while I take these plates inside and bring desert.”
“Desert? No, I’ve eaten too much already.”
“You can at least taste it. Coconut flan with raspberry sauce. And since you don’t eat at home, too much here is a good thing.”
Spinning happily in her wine-induced haze, Sarah obeyed him even though a few minutes later, he had returned with one plate and two forks and was sitting much too close for a professional relationship. She tried to concentrate on the flan. The soft, sweet pudding was the ultimate comfort food.
“Good?”
“Fantastic. And I don’t like sweets.”
He grinned, happy at his triumph. But then his face darkened. “You know, the toughest thing for me is knowing Cody’s happy in a world I can’t belong to. I mean, I’m glad Josh filled the void in Gail’s life my stupidity created, but the pain never ends for me. Every day I think about Cody getting up, going to school, doing his homework, playing with those trains without me. And all I can do is send him more trains and more Legos, but I can’t build them with him or watch them run. Another man gets to do that.”
His pain was so raw and so real that without thinking, Sarah put her hand over his. His dark eyes held hers, and he leaned toward her, his lips inches from hers. She wanted him to kiss her, but she knew it would change everything. And she wasn’t ready for everything to change. Suddenly her cell phone shrilled, and she jumped up at the last minute to answer it.
* * *
What had he been thinking? Jim asked himself as Sarah frowned into her phone. She’d been sleeping with David Scott the night before. He’d been stupid beyond stupid to turn tonight into a show of his personal feelings. But how to control himself on a gentle summer night with the ocean purring on shore and the jasmine in full bloom and her own gardenia scent overwhelming his senses. She’d had just a little too much to drink, and he’d been hoping to keep her here tonight.
But now she was frowning into the phone with her lawyer face on, and he knew the moment was lost forever.
He heard her say, “Very well. I understand. I’ll be right there.”
She ended the call with a decisive click of the “end call” button.
“What’s wrong?”
“That was the jail. Alexa Reed is in the hospital and not expected to make it.”
Jim’s mouth went dry, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “I thought they had her on suicide watch.”
“They did. It wasn’t suicide. It was a reaction to the medication the jail psychiatrist prescribed for her. They took her to USCD in Hillcrest. I’d better get down there. She doesn’t have any family that I know about.”
“You’d better let me drive.”
* * *
The Lord Be with you. And also with you. As she lay on her bunk, day after endless day, Alexa liked to chant to herself the words of the Episcopalian liturgy. She was ten years old again and holding Gramma Beth’s hand and believing God would always keep her safe.The rhythm of the words brought her peace.
Someone was whispering outside her cell.
“I’ve prescribed Lexapro and Depakote for her. Here’s the first dose.”
When the guard opened the door with the white paper cup in her hand, Alexa said a prayer of thanks and downed all of it. Within ten minutes, she could not breathe.
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Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Fourteen

/in /by

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Metcalf had a seedy little office in a ratty brick building, two blocks down from the family law courthouse. Sarah led the way with Jim following up three flights of narrow dingy stairs to Suite 312, etched on the frosted glass door. Inside they found an empty receptionist’s desk, a cheap plastic couch with two matching gold plastic chairs, and some tattered magazines on a rickety coffee table.
Before they could sit down, the door to the inner office opened, and Bob himself appeared. He was in his late fifties with a thin, wiry build, a high forehead and a receding hairline. He was wearing a cheap brown suit and a light blue tie that bore the stains of a lunch, either past or present.
Sarah and Jim took the seen-better-days chipped pressed wood chairs in front of Bob’s desk and declined his offer of bottled water from the dorm-room fridge behind his desk.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Sarah began. “This is Jim Mitchell, my private investigator.”
Bob shook all hands offered and sat down behind his desk. Sarah noticed a stack of thick folders in front of him.
“Are all those files Alexa’s case?”
He nodded. “If she got the children to Michael’s for visitation fifteen minutes late, he’d drag her to court over it. He litigated everything. How is she by the way?”
“Not good.” Sarah briefly recapped the hearing in front of Judge Tomlinson.
“Sorry to hear it. She’s a sweet woman. Not a malicious bone in her body, but she ruined her life by marrying a class A dick like Michael Reed.”
“Really? Her former criminal defense lawyer called her a ‘lying, manipulating bitch.’”
Bob Metcalf waved his hands impatiently. “Well, he didn’t talk to me, then. He must have been talking to Tara Jacobs. She was Michael’s lawyer.
“Alexa came in here just trembling the first time we met. She’d been served with one of the most vicious sets of divorce pleadings I’ve ever seen. Michael hired the nastiest family law attorney in San Diego County to make all out war on her. Obviously you can tell I don’t have high-end clients,” he waved his arms around the small office, full of sagging book cases, with the view of a pay-per-hour parking lot below. “The truth is, none of the attorneys who are able to stand up against Tara Jacobs would take Alexa’s case because she couldn’t afford them. And no one wanted to be crosswise of Coleman Reed.”
“Why did you take it?” Jim asked.
“Truth be told, at first I thought I’d get some attorney’s fees out of it. Not from her, of course. Michael had tied up all their money, so she couldn’t touch a cent. But judges usually award attorney’s fees out of the deepest pocket. Since Michael had all the money, I figured he’d have to pay for Tara and me, too.”
“But I gather that didn’t happen?” Sarah said.
“No. This was the damnedest case I’ve ever seen. Right from the get go.”
“What do you mean?”
“The judge threw her and the kids out of the family home in La Jolla and gave it to Michael. That’s unheard of. At the time, she had a two-year-old and a one-year-old, and she was a full-time stay-at-home mom. No judge makes the primary parent move out of the family home. But that was just the beginning.”
“Was that when you realized you weren’t going to get any money out of the case?”
He nodded. “I made the usual request everyone makes at the end of the hearing, and I thought Judge Watkins was going to hold me in contempt. He said, ‘Mrs. Reed graduated first in her class from Georgetown. She’s perfectly capable of getting a job that will pay your fees. I see no reason why she should sponge off the plaintiff.’”
“Wow!” Sarah breathed. She noticed Jim wince as he sat beside her taking notes on a yellow pad.
“Yeah, nasty stuff. And, again, remember she was unemployed with a toddler and an infant, and Michael was about to become a full equity partner at Warrick, Thompson. In most cases like that, the judge awards the wife a huge chunk of child support and temporary alimony. Alexa got a little, but nothing like what she was entitled to.”
“So why did you stay on the case?”
Bob shrugged. “I thought, why not? Most of my other clients pay me pennies on the dollar. She was so sweet and grateful, and I knew she was in a desperate situation. We worked out a deal. She’d prepare papers for me, memoranda, briefs, things like that. I’m a rotten writer, and I barely passed the bar after going to an unaccredited law school. She made me look really good on paper for the first time in my career.”
“So what happened after that?”
“I tried to negotiate a settlement with Tara Jacobs. It would have been in everyone’s best interests to settle. Alexa needed to focus on her babies and finding a job. Michael had no use for kids; his career and his women were his life.”
“Did you know about the abortion Warrick, Thompson paid for?” Jim asked.
“The paralegal he knocked up in his first year?”
Jim nodded.
“Sure. Alexa told me about that. And about his affairs.”
“So she knew about the other women?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, Michael wanted her to know. He liked taunting her with them to show her how powerless she was. That was Michael’s biggest ego trip. He knew he had gotten where he was riding on his old man’s coat tails, and he hated Alexa because she was so much smarter and had earned her way to the top. I believe he married her solely for the sadistic pleasure of destroying her.”
Jim wrote faster and faster.
“Could you testify to this at trial?” Sarah asked.
He nodded. “Actually, it would give me great pleasure. It’s been far worse for Alexa, don’t get me wrong. But it took an emotional toll on me, too, having to go into those hearings with her and watching the judge call Michael a saint and her a no-account free loader.”
“Was it really as bad as that?”
“I can pull some hearing transcripts, if you’d like to read them.”
“I would,” Sarah said. “So how did Alexa react to Michael’s affairs?”
“The way any wife would. Tried to reason with him. Tried to get him to go to counseling. But he beat her instead.”
Jim’s head shot up from the legal pad. “I’ve looked for evidence of that, but I haven’t found any. What have you got?”
“Only Alexa’s word. That’s why Brigman got away with shafting her the way he did. He labeled her a borderline personality disorder and declared her a chronic liar. And she didn’t have the money to bring in an expert of her own to testify against him. Wouldn’t have done any good, anyway. All the family law judges thought Brigman was the voice of God. They just rubber stamped anything he said. What Brigman called borderline personality disorder was post traumatic stress disorder from all the beatings.”
“But a judge can’t do that,” Sarah insisted. “Wholesale adoption of expert opinion is an unauthorized delegation of judicial power.”
“You graduated in the top of your class like Alexa. That’s exactly what she said. And we took it to the court of appeal. And lost. Some of the judges up there had been on the family law bench before they were kicked upstairs. They knew how much they liked to have a so-called expert to decide the tough issues, so they didn’t have to split the baby themselves. They didn’t want to take that out away from their brother judges still on the hot seat.”
“How did Brigman come to be involved in Alexa’s case in the first place?”
“Ah, that’s where the plot thickens. When Alexa first came to me, I thought Michael just wanted to dump his inconvenient family and be free to do his fooling around on the books instead of off. He was a good-looking guy, as you know, and attractive to women. But he was about to make partner, and being a Warrick partner and the son of a sitting United States Supreme Court justice would make him hotter than George Clooney. So I thought he’d just pay Alexa off, do a couple of pro forma visitations a year with the kids, and let everyone go about their business.”
“But that didn’t happen?”
“Not by a long shot. As soon as I tried settlement negotiations with Tara Jacobs, I knew something really sinister was up. She laughed in my face, and two days later filed a motion to give Michael full custody of the children.”
“But he couldn’t raise them. His career wouldn’t let him do that.”
“Right. And that should have been the beginning and end of the matter. But he’s Michael Reed, son of Coleman Reed. If he wants something, he gets it.”
“And he wanted Alexa’s children?”
“Exactly. Because he could control her through them. For men like Michael, its only about power and control.”
“So what happened?”
“I tried to knock it out of the water at that first hearing on the career issue, but I never had a chance. The court ordered both parties into psychological evaluations. As a practical matter, that meant Ronald Brigman would decide who got the children.”
“And he gave them to Michael?”
“Not at first. Michael didn’t want that in the beginning because if he had gotten the kids from the get go, he would have lost his power to control Alexa. No, what Michael wanted was to humiliate her over and over again in the place a lawyer like Alexa should have been most respected – in the judicial system.”
Bob paused to open the top file on his desk, and Sarah marveled at his insights. Maybe he didn’t understand every esoteric legal innuendo, but he had a PhD. in street smarts.
“Here’s a couple of examples. A hearing on February 15, 2009, because she was ten minutes late bringing the kids for visitation. Her excuse: Sam pooped in his diaper as they were leaving the house and she had to change him. Court reamed her out. The next month, March 18, 2009, she was a half hour late because Meggie was crying and too upset to get in the car. Alexa’s explanation: Meggie was beginning to have nightmares because she had to sleep in a strange bed at Michael’s. The court told her it would hold her in contempt if she ever again referred to the bed at Meggie’s father’s house as a ‘strange bed.’” Bob let the file drop shut and looked at Sarah and Jim with his mild, watery eyes. “That went on from 2009 until the day Michael died.”
“How did Alexa manage?”
“She tried to hold up – at first. She obviously knew even better than I did that almost every word out of the judge’s mouth was a violation of her and the kids’ federal constitutional rights. That’s one thing I never understood in law school, con law. But Alexa had it down. Like you, Ms. Knight.”
“Sarah, please.”
“She’d sit up late at night, drafting motions and supporting memoranda in her case. Beautiful things. And I’d file every one of them. And then Tara Jacobs would come to court and snarl about how Alexa was just a lush who was demonstrating she had the smarts to go back to work as a lawyer but who was trying to live off her ex to punish Michael for divorcing her and showing the world what a crazy psycho she was.”
“And the court bought that?”
“Every time. I could never get the judge to listen to the legal merits of Alexa’s motions because Tara would turn every hearing into a character assassination. Little by little, defeat by defeat, it started to wear her down.”
“How was she supporting herself?”
“Ok. This next part I might not be able to testify to unless Alan Warrick agrees.”
“What do you mean?”
“The legal community here is really just one small town. Full of backstabbing and politics.”
“I’m discovering that.”
“Well, Coleman threatened to pull all of the clients that his rainmaking had brought to Warrick, Thompson and divert them to other firms if Alan hired Alexa back. And Michael poisoned every other legal well where she could have possibly gotten a job. I know that because Alan told me. That’s why he’d have to testify for you, if you needed that evidence.”
“So Tara Jacobs would stand up in court and claim Alexa was a lazy freeloader who wouldn’t go back to work, while Michael was making sure she couldn’t get a job in this town?”
“Exactly.” Bob nodded at Jim.
“And she couldn’t get a job out of town because Michael wouldn’t let her take the kids. So how did she make any money?”
“Alan sent her research projects to do for him and a couple of other sympathetic partners on the down low. He paid her in cash, so there’d be nothing to show up if Michael subpoenaed her bank records. And Michael did subpoena those records more than once.”
“So she eeked by on the secret work from Alan and the little bit she got from Michael?”
“Right. And then her world went up in flames.”
“How?
“Well, Meggie and Sam were afraid of Michael. They had barely seen him before the divorce. He was always at work or on a date. I mean kids that little don’t want to leave their mothers in regular families. But the stress on those babies was horrible. They cried, they wet the bed, and Meggie stopped eating for a while.”
“And Brigman blamed Alexa?”
“Who else? He claimed she was working to alienate them from Michael.”
“When they’d never been bonded to Michael in the first place.”
“Common sense was never part of Ronald Brigman’s approach to life. He was also a colossal control freak. I think he enjoyed tormenting Alexa as much as Michael did. She was smart enough to know everything he did was illegal, and he loved rubbing her nose in the fact she couldn’t do anything about it.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, Michel kept her in court pretty continually from January to July 2009. Then fate got a little kinder to Alexa for a bit The actual divorce went through in July, and Michael made partner in August. He was so hot on the dating market that, for a while, he forgot how much fun he was having in family court. And Alexa somehow got those little babies to understand that even if they had to go to Michael’s for a weekend, they’d always get to come back home. Of course, separation was the greatest fear for all three of them because Michael had built a record in family court that would have given him full temporary custody in a heartbeat if he decided to pull that string. It was the most powerful weapon he could have held over Alexa’s head.”
“So when did things change?”
“They managed to get through 2010 without much happening. But then, in January 2010, Michael lost it with Sam, who was going through the terrible two’s. Michael knew he was always at risk of beating somebody up, so he usually had a girlfriend there when the kids were with him. But one Saturday night, his date fell through and Sam ran all over the house after his bath and wouldn’t come put on his pajamas. Michael took the kids home on Sunday and told Alexa the bruises on his arms were from a fall in the backyard, but Meggie had seen the whole thing and told the truth.”
“So wouldn’t proving Michael was the abuser help Alexa’s case?”
“In a normal family law situation, yes. But, again, this is Michael Reed.”
“So what happened?”
“We went to court to change the visitation. The court denied the motion and referred the whole thing to Brigman again for another psych evaluation.”
“And he turned it all against Alexa?”
“Yep. His report said she did it, and she coached Meggie to lie. He ordered her to go to counseling with some hack court-appointed evaluator like himself, and the court ordered anger management counseling for her. It was one of Michael’s finest acts of humiliation.”
“Did you all appeal that?”
“No. Alexa had figured out that if she’d quietly dance to Michael and Brigman’s tune, she’d get to keep the children. And she loved them above all else. I mean, she was literally going through hell for them. And there was no chance of her starting a new life for herself. No man in his right mind would have wanted to get mixed up in that mess and get his own character assassinated in court.”
“So she did as she was told?”
“She did. But then Michael lost it again, this time with Meggie. It was January 2012. She was four and Sam was three. Brigman did exactly the same thing again: he turned it around on Alexa. But this time he went farther. He ordered the kids to go to counseling to ‘improve’ their relationship with their father. When he got it ‘improved’ enough, he was going to ‘enlarge’ their time with their father. In lay terms, that meant he was brainwashing the kids against their mother a little at a time to prepare them to go live with Michael full-time. And she was helpless to stop it.”
“Who was the therapist who was working on the kids?”
“Brigman himself.”
“But that’s a blatant conflict of interest. Not to mention the constitution does not permit involuntary psychotherapy to change children’s bond with their parents.”
“Again, that’s what Alexa said. And this time we went to the court of appeal.”
“And lost.”
“And lost. She actually argued her own appeal. You should have seen her in her suit. Alan Warrick came, too. He had tears in eyes when it was over. But he got out of there before Michael and Tara Jacobs saw him.”
“And after that?”
“I told her to pack her bags and get out of this town.”
“You mean, leave her children?”
Bob nodded grimly. “She was never going to have a life here. Michael and Brigman would see to that. I told her better a clean break with the kids than losing them a day at a time for years and years and never knowing when the final blow would fall. She had the credentials to make partner in one of those big Wall Street firms. I told her to go back east and rebuild her career, get married, and have some more kids with someone else.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d never leave Meggie and Sam.”
“I can only admire your endurance, Mr. Metcalf.”
“Bob, please. If she ever wakes up, you’ll see she deserved my help and more. I’m glad she’s got someone at the top of the class, this time. I hope you can save her life.”
“Me, too. But there’s one more thing I have to ask.”
“Anything for Alexa.”
“This whole story is so one-sided – ”
“You’re going to ask if Michael was bribing Brigman. We think he was. We never had any way to prove it, though.”
“No evidence at all other than losing every hearing you went to?”
“There’s long been a rumor in the bar that Tara Jacobs has bribe deals arranged for her clients with certain evaluators. It’s possible that Michael decided to put Alexa through hell, heard about Tara, and signed up with her knowing his money would buy himself an evaluator.”
“So Michael filed for divorce in January, and Brigman was appointed in what month?”
“March.”
“Did you ever subpoena Michael’s bank records?”
“We tried, but Tara would only turn over his tax returns, and even though Alexa was entitled to see the bank records – Lord knows, he’d seen hers several times – the court bought his claim they were covered by attorney client privilege because he sometimes deposited client money in his accounts before it went into the firm trust account.”
“Another violation of the Rules of Professional Conduct.”
“The court didn’t care. It’s also possible that Judge Watkins was on the take, too. There were some judges up in Orange County back in the nineties who were caught favoring clients who donated to a “Judicial Retirement Fund” that funneled the money to individual judges. Let me know if I can do anything else to help you. I know what you’re up against.”
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