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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 Twenty-Two

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jim headed out of the parking lot at the hospital at eight that night. Since Alexa had been off the ventilator, he’d given her a cell phone programed with his number to call if she needed him. She’d been tired after her meeting with Sarah, and she’d slept most of the afternoon, but she’d bounced back by six when he arrived for dinner.
In the last week, he’d checked on her throughout the day and had kept her company at supper time, trying to tempt her to eat more than the tepid food the hospital provided. Sometimes he brought his own creations, sometimes he only had time to pick up fast food, but eating together in the evening had become a ritual in the past week.
She was lonely, and he was lonely. He knew what a dangerous combination that was. But as Alexa struggled back to life, he saw traces of the bright, charming woman she had once been in her thin, tired little form, and he was intrigued. Even if her memory about the events in her own life was cloudy, her ordeal had spared her legal mind. She was a gifted lawyer, and Jim enjoyed their legal discussions and liked hearing about the inner workings of the Supreme Court. He remembered poor Bob Metcalf’s happy face when he’d talked so gratefully about how Alexa’s writings had made him look good as a lawyer for the first time in his career.
He navigated the winding side streets until he reached Washington Street and then merged onto I-5 North to head home. He knew he needed to be honest, at least with himself. His newfound interest in Alexa was a soothing antidote on the nights when he knew Sarah was occupied with David Scott. Last week had been tough for him because he had offered several times to come by her place after he had felt it was okay to leave Alexa at the hospital, but she had turned him down because she had plans every time.
Driving along in the lonely dark toward his empty house, Jim knew how much he had wanted to see Sarah and how much her refusals had hurt. So it was quite natural, he assured himself, to be drawn to someone who needed his friendship.
But the thought of Sarah still nagged him. Since the night he’d first seen her in Trend, she had always been at ease and comfortably in charge. Yet this morning, she’d seemed hesitant and awkward in the interview with Alexa. Instead of the experienced Wall Street attorney she was, she’d had the demeanor of a fourth-year associate who’d been send on her first client interview without the supervising partner.
Suddenly as he drove down Garnet Avenue just minutes from his house, he was overcome by the need to see her. Recklessly, he abandoned the road toward home and headed up the back of Mount Soledad toward La Jolla and Sarah.
* * *
He was relieved when she answered on the first knock because it was less likely David Scott was lurking inside.
She was wearing soft gray sweat pants and a black t-shirt, and she was barefoot. The scar on her cheek seemed more prominent than usual. She was cradling a thick book in her arm like a baby.
“Is everything ok?” She was obviously surprised to see him.
He wanted to say no, why did you shut me out last week. But he knew better.
“Fine, just fine. I wanted to see how you thought the interview went this morning.”
“Oh.” Her face went blank as if she’d forgotten the whole thing. “Better come in and have a drink.”
He followed her into the living room where he could see she’d been curled up on one end of the sofa, doing legal research and scribbling on a yellow pad. She’d lost that air of hesitancy and was her usual in-charge self again. She motioned for him to take off his suit jacket and lay it across one of the chairs.
“Here, have a seat, and I’ll get another glass.”
He noticed the open bottle of wine on the coffee table and a half eaten sandwich wrapped in deli paper.  Instead of the chair facing her, he deliberately chose the other end of the sofa, but she was unphased when she came back from the kitchen.
“I thought the interview went pretty much as I thought it would.” She handed him the glass of wine. “No real surprises except her memory loss over Brigman. And just as Bob Metcalf said, we have nothing to prove domestic violence except her word.”
“So far.” Jim realized he had spoken too quickly because she looked over at him sharply.
“That’s right. So far.” She frowned slightly. “I mean, the typical domestic violence pattern is right there. We have the bright, intelligent woman who is drawn to the charming man. By the time she learns the truth, he’s beating her and controlling her through her children. I’ve never figured out why judges are so thick about this stuff. The fact patterns are all pretty much the same. The husband hits the wife and then finds a way to lie about it and to blame her for everything.”
“I’m going to find that nanny.” He realized he must have spoken with too much emotion because she looked surprised. Well, if she guessed his new interest in Alexa, so much the better. She held David Scott over his head.
“Ok. Fine. I figured you’d say that. But I’m not optimistic. Those people have a way of vanishing.”
“And we need to talk to the children.”
“No.” Sarah shook her head emphatically.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean ‘no.’ It’s too big a risk.”
“I don’t see how.”
“We have no idea who Michael was arguing with that night.”
“Yes, we do. The kids said ‘a woman.’”
“Right. And Alexa is ‘a woman.’”
Jim frowned. “You mean Michael could have been arguing with Alexa?”
“It’s not impossible. We know she went to Brigman’s at 9. We know Brigman died at 11:00 and her gun killed him. Her only memory supposedly is ‘driving around.’”
“So you are saying what if she went to see Brigman, he made her angry, she came back and killed him, and then went to Michael’s where they argued and she killed him?”
Sarah nodded. “We shouldn’t do anything to stir up evidence against her. And right now I don’t think I have enough to get a court order to interview the children.”
“So what do we do next?”
“You continue to line up those witnesses for the bail hearing on October 1, and keep the hospital from killing our client. And if you could do some of your unauthorized FBI magic to find out about Coleman Reed and offshore accounts, that would be much appreciated. I have to go to court in the morning because Tara Jacobs is going to try to quash my subpoena’s for Brigman and Michael Reed’s U.S. bank records.”
“Can she win?”
Sarah patted the thick book she had been holding. “In a word, no. I’m hoping those bank records will give us something to work with.”
“Me, too. Can I make you something to eat before I leave?” He sensed she wanted him to go, and he wanted to stay.
“No. I had a sandwich.” She motioned toward the sad little concoction next to the wine bottle.
“I’m not sure that merits the name.”
“Well, you won’t even find eggs in the fridge tonight. Anyway, I have to get on with preparing for this hearing tomorrow.”
“Do you want me there?” He willed the answer to be yes.
“No, I asked Bob Metcalf to come. I thought he deserved to see Tara lose for a change. I need you to keep an eye on Alexa.”
“And do my unauthorized ex-FBI agent magic on those overseas accounts?”
“Absolutely.”
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty-One

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mid-September days in San Diego are mild and soft and wrap around you like the arms of a lover, Sarah Knight reflected on the third Monday of the month as she got out of her car in the UCSD parking lot in Hillcrest at ten o’clock. August’s fiery blasts were gone, and the breeze was light and crisp with the promise of fall. She wished she could escape work for the day and sit on one of the craggy bluffs overlooking the Pacific, thinking of nothing but the steady rhythm of the tide rolling in. She wanted to escape her life, and Jim, and Alexa Reed with every fiber of her being.
But Jim was already in Alexa’s room waiting for her because their client had finally recovered her voice enough to talk to them. Since Alexa had come out of her coma a week ago, Sarah had let Jim take the laboring oar at the hospital. She told herself she sent Jim without her because she needed to focus on pulling together the evidence that would keep Alexa from going back to jail. But in reality her overwhelming guilt kept her away. She had not slept a night through since the dark small hours of that Saturday when she’d called Alexa back in the name of her children. And now she was wracked with guilt because she had drawn Alexa’s spirit away from the threshold of eternity with a promise she could never keep: reunion with Meggie and Sam.
Sarah took a deep breath before pushing open the door to Alexa’s room. She seemed to grow smaller every time Sarah saw her. Her client was sitting up, propped against a number of large pillows; Jim occupied the chair next to her bed. He was entertaining her with small talk about Georgetown. Sarah saw the first-ever smile on Alexa’s face and felt that familiar unwanted pang of jealousy. Alexa and Jim had gone to the same law school, and they’d naturally become friends in the last week while Sarah had stayed away.
They both looked up as the door opened, slightly startled by her interruption. But Jim recovered impeccably, quickly standing to offer her the chair closest to the bed and pulling up another for himself some distance away.
Sarah looked over at the tiny figure watching her expectantly and suddenly felt awkward and unsure of how to begin. “I’m Sarah Knight, your attorney.”
Alexa nodded. “Yes.” Not surprisingly her voice was low and raspy. She took a sip of water from the covered plastic cup in her hands.
“I thought we’d start with the police report. You told Officer McColly Meggie phoned you at 11:15, upset because her father was in an argument with a woman.”
Alexa nodded.
“And you drove to the house to find Michael dead and the children crying.”
She nodded again.
“But you didn’t tell the police you had arrived at Ronald Brigman’s earlier that night at 9:00 p.m.?”
She frowned. “I don’t remember being at Dr. Brigman’s.”
“He had a surveillance camera focused on his front door. It shows you going in at 9:00 p.m. It doesn’t show you leaving.”
She looked upset and confused. “Then I must have been there. But I don’t remember it.”
Jim looked up from his notes and gave Alexa a sympathetic smile that registered in Sarah’s midsection as an acute pang of jealousy. “We’ve talked this week when she’s felt like it,” Jim sid. “There’s a lot she can’t remember. The doctor warned us about memory loss.”
Sarah nodded politely, trying not to show her irritation over his obvious bond with their client. “Well, then, let’s work with what you do remember. Tell me about that night.”
Alexa fixed her beautiful blue eyes on Jim as if Sara hadn’t asked the question. “I was driving in the car. I remember that. It was dark, and it was late. I don’t know why I was driving in the car. My cell phone rang, and it was Meggie. She was crying. She said Michael was arguing with a woman, and she and Sam were scared. She wanted me to come and get them.”
“Is that all you remember?”
“I remember walking into Michael’s house and seeing him lying in a pool of blood. Meggie and Sam were hiding in the closet in Meggie’s bedroom. I took them home, and called the police.”
“So you don’t remember being at Ronald Brigman’s at all?”
“No.”
“What about seeing Brigman dead on his living room floor?”
“No.” She frowned as she struggled to remember. “It feels as if there is something I should remember. But I can’t. I must have been very upset to have been driving around in the car alone at night.”
“In the vicinity of Michael’s and Brigman’s, too.”
Her lovely blue eyes seemed to have a mist over them. “Yes, right. I don’t know why I was there before Meggie called. I think I used to know. But I don’t remember now.”
“Do you remember having your gun with you that night?”
“No. I know I didn’t have the gun then.”
“Why?”
“Because it had been stolen.”
“When?”
“In March. Or maybe it was April. It was not long after Brigman announced he was going to give Michael eighty per cent custody of the children on June 1.”
“Did you remember why you had the gun?”
“Bob told me to get it. Michael kept threatening to kill me, and Bob said I had to take the threats seriously.”
“Were any of the threats in writing or in front of witnesses?
“No. Michael always bragged he was too clever to get caught. But Bob said even if we couldn’t prove them, the threats were real, and I needed to protect myself.”
“Where did you keep the gun?”
“I kept it locked in the trunk of the car. I was afraid to have it in the house because of the children.”
“How did you find out the gun was missing?”
“I checked on it several times a week to make sure it was secure. One Sunday afternoon, I opened the trunk and it was gone.”
“Did you make a police report?”
“Yes. I called Bob, and that’s what he said to do.”
“Did you know Trevor Martin says there was no police report?”
“He told me that. But I did talk to an officer that same afternoon, and he said he was going to write a report.”
“Do you remember his name?”
Alexa shook her head. “No. I’m pretty sure I didn’t write it down. It never occurred to me anyone would think I would lie about contacting the police.”
“Michael filed for divorce in January 2009?”
“Yes.”
“Were you surprised?”
Alexa sighed. “That’s not a simple yes or no answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found out early in our marriage Michael was unfaithful. By now you’ve heard about the paralegal he got pregnant during our first year at the firm. After I realized what was going on, I tried to get him to go to counseling with me. That’s when he started to hit me.”
Alexa focused on the blank wall opposite and went on as if reciting from a book. “Michael enjoyed his affairs, but what he enjoyed even more was humiliating me with them. He made sure I knew about every one. He liked to hit me while he bragged about them.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“I going to, but then I found out I was pregnant with Meggie. Michael stopped hitting me while I pregnant, and I thought he wanted to save our marriage. But I was wrong. He just didn’t want to take any chances my doctor would see bruises and ask questions.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he told me. He started hitting me again when Meggie was six weeks old, when I had finished my post partum visits. I wanted to leave, but I had nowhere to go. My grandmother was my only family; and she died in 2005, the year I married Michael.
“I figured if I were pregnant again, Michael would stop hitting me, so I got pregnant with Sam when Meggie was six months old. And I was right; he did stop until after Sam was born.”
“Did anyone at Warrick, Thompson know?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I missed a lot of days of work because I didn’t want anyone to see the bruises. Michael stepped up the beatings after I went back to work after Sam was born. I didn’t want to leave the firm because I didn’t want to be isolated with Michael. But coping with two babies and never knowing when Michael would come at me again was very hard. It was almost a relief when Alan Warrick let me go because my billable hours were too low. The firm wasn’t making any money off of me.”
“When did you leave the firm?”
“October 2008. Alan called it a ‘leave of absence.” In theory I would come back when Sam was a year old.” Her voice cracked, and she took a sip of water from her cup.
“Did things get better after you stayed home with the children?”
“I wish I could say yes; but no, they didn’t. Michael wasn’t afraid of anyone seeing the bruises.”
“Why didn’t you leave Michael, then?”
“I was planning to. I saw a divorce attorney in November. I put my resume together to try to get a teaching job at one of the law schools in town. I talked to Alan about it, and he offered to be a reference. He had some connections at Cal Western, and he thought he might be able to get me a job teaching Constitutional Law.”
“But you didn’t file for divorce.”
“No, the family law attorney told me the court would not order supervised visits with the children for Michael even though he’d been violent with me. He wasn’t with them much, and he wasn’t patient, and they were so little. I was afraid for them to be alone with them, so I decided I’d better stick it out until they were older and could speak for themselves if Michael went after them.”
“So what led Michael to file for divorce?”
“I don’t know when Michael found out that I had seen the family law attorney. I never told him. But he confronted me about it when we got home from the big Warrick, Thompson Christmas party. He hit me so hard, he broke my left arm. He took me to the emergency room; but on the way he said I if I told the truth about how I’d been hurt, he’d file for divorce, and I would never see the children again. So I told the ER doctor I slipped and fell.”
“Did the doctor believe you?”
“I’m not sure. He seemed suspicious because Michael wouldn’t leave the room when he was talking to me. But if you pull those hospital records, you’ll see I didn’t tell the truth.”
“Are you sure no one else ever witnessed what Michael did to you?”
“There was someone, but she’s been deported.”
“Who?”
“I had a nanny named Guadalupe Caballero who helped out with Meggie and then later with Sam, so I could go back to work. She lived with us, so she not only saw the bruises, she heard Michael hitting me, too.”
“Where is she now?”
“She was undocumented, and Michael had her deported when he filed for divorce.”
“Did Bob Metcalf ever try to find her?”
“No. He didn’t know how to, and honestly, I don’t think she would have cooperated anyway. She was terrified when the INS came to get her.”
“What happened after Michael broke your arm in December?”
“Coleman got involved. He’d been unfaithful to Myrna for years and had been physically abusive, so he thought nothing of what Michael was doing to me. But he knew I had options to leave that Myrna didn’t have, and he didn’t want the world to know his or Michael’s secrets. He called me the day after they put the cast on and offered to pay me what amounted to a monthly income if I wouldn’t leave Michael.”
“A bribe?”
“Yes.”
“And you said?”
“No, of course. I was insulted.”
“How did Coleman react?”
“He was very angry. He told me that was the best offer I’d ever get, and I’d rue the day I turned it down. Then he helped Michael hide all of the community property in offshore accounts, so I wouldn’t get any.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s an educated guess. Just before Michael filed for divorce, all our bank accounts suddenly went down almost to zero. Coleman liked to use offshore accounts for his various clients, so I think he used his expertise to help Michael hide the community property.”
“Was Coleman involved in money laundering?”
“You’d have to ask Alan Warrick since he was the one who monitored client finds in the firm’s trust account. But if Coleman was up to anything illegal, I doubt he would have let Alan know because Alan is very by-the book-follow-the rules, no exceptions.”
“Still, Alan might have known,” Sarah insisted.
“A pretty slim possibility,” Alexa whispered as she sipped from her cup, her eyes on Jim.
Her voice had dropped to a deep whisper, and her face was gray with fatigue. Sarah needed to ask a lot more, but she wanted out of that room at that moment more than anything else on earth. She wanted to be away from Jim’s steady quiet eyes on Alexa and his encouraging smiles as she answered Sarah’s questions.
“We’ve covered a lot of ground, and I think you’re too tired to go on right now. I’ll come another day when you’ve had a chance to rest.”
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Dark Moon, A Work in Progress, Chapter Twenty

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CHAPTER TWENTY
Alexa Reed was swimming upward from the bottom of the darkest ocean. Her eyelids felt like lead as she tried to force them open to see if she had surfaced yet. She worked to move her lips to speak, but she was still deep under water.
Her mouth was dry and her throat hurt. As she struggled through the darkness hoping to reach the light, she imagined ice water tingling on her tongue. She concentrated on the weights on each eyelid, willing them to vanish so she could see how much farther she had to go before she’d break free of the dark. But then there’d be the problem of swimming to shore. Her limbs were heavy, and she couldn’t imagine having the strength to keep going much longer. Something was pushing on her chest. Was she wearing scuba gear? But a scuba tank didn’t push the air into your lungs. Was she still alive or was this death?
* * *
Around 8 a.m. on Sunday morning, Jim saw Alexa’s eyelids flicker. He held his breath as he waited to see if she’d open them. His back was stiff and sore from the makeshift cot and from being in the chair by her bed for so many hours. The stubble on his chin itched, and he longed for a hot shower and a razor. He had been about to go for a brief walk in the hallway to limber up, but now he stayed put and tried to pray.
Religion, like the Bureau, had wedged itself between him and Gail. His parents had given God short shrift, and he was pretty sure neither of them believed. His maternal grandmother had taken him to her Lutheran services when he was very small. Jim liked the clean smell of the church, the ever-changing flower arrangements on the alter, and the sense of peace that reciting the words of the liturgy with everyone else gave him. But she died when he was twelve, and that was the end of his brush with God until he married Gail in a long Catholic mass, heavy with ritual and incense.
His grandmother had convinced him God was real, despite his parents’ obvious indifference; so when Gail became pregnant with Cody and told him how much it meant to her to have all three of them in the church, he’d been very willing to go along. He’d agreed to everything: Cody’s baptism, suitably Catholic godparents of Gail’s choosing, attendance at Mass every Sunday and on required holy days. He’d been ready to convert until those divorce papers came his way, and he’d found out his already Catholic partner was taking his place in his family.
The bitterness of that moment never ceased to sweep his lungs clean of air. As he watched Alexa’s eyes, hoping for some concrete sign she had decided to soldier on with life, he struggled both to find the words to a prayer and some air to pump into his own now empty lungs.
And then in a flash, Jim was looking at Alexa’s deep blue eyes; and they weren’t blank the way they’d been while she’d been lying on the jail cot. They were a mixture of confusion and anxiety. The doctor apparently had been right: her memory was gone, and she had no idea how she’d wound up here.
Jim got up and hurried over to the bed.
“Alexa?”
Her eyes met his, and tears began to flow. They streamed down her face, a torrent of unchecked emotion. He sat down on the side of the bed and did what he could to gather her into his arms. She was attached to so many machines, he couldn’t hold her very close, and he doubted the professional propriety of what he was doing, anyway.
But professionalism wasn’t the point, he reminded himself. Alexa Reed needed human contact at that moment, and fate had put him there to provide it.
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he whispered over and over, patting what was left of her thin little body. “You’re going to be ok, now.”
But, of course, that wasn’t true.
The door opened and Sarah appeared, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep, her short hair sticking up wildly, and her clothes wrinkled from being slept in. Jim wasn’t sure if her eyes went wide with shock because Alexa was awake or because he was holding her in his arms. He felt even more uncomfortable.
“She just woke up.”
Sarah nodded, but said nothing.
“We’d better call the nurse.”
She remained silent but reached for the call button.
Jim eased Alexa back onto her pillows and awkwardly dabbed at her eyes with the end of the sheet.
“Here.” Sarah handed him a wad of tissue from the box by the bed.
“Thanks.”
Alexa’s eyes were now fixed on Sarah’s face as if she were seeing her for the first time. Jim’s heart sank. Significant memory loss for sure.
A crisp, newly on-duty morning shift nurse answered their call and quickly shooed them out of the room while she took Alexa’s vital signs and summoned a doctor. Once again, they stood in the corridor outside Alexa’s door and waited for news.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“She had just opened her eyes. When she started to cry, I didn’t have time to think.”
Jim’s empty stomach knotted because Sarah looked skeptical.
They stood in awkward silence in the corridor, waiting for the doctor to come out.
Finally, he emerged from Alexa’s room. His name badge said Dr. P. McMillan. Sarah notice Dr. McMillan was ten years younger than Dr. McCord of the previous evening but no less jaded and not particularly optimistic.
“Dropping her sedation has allowed her to wake up.”
“So is she going to be ok?” Sarah demanded.
“Too soon to tell. We need to wean her off the ventilator.”
“How long will that take?” Sarah had never seemed to be in a hurry before, Jim thought.
“I can’t say. Some patients can breathe on their own in six to eight hours. Others, it’s a long process.”
“When can she talk to us?”
“Not for several days, and that’s assuming the weaning process goes quickly. She’s going to have a sore throat and the tracheotomy has to heal.”
Jim saw Sarah’s shoulders sag.
Dr. McMillan noticed, too. “Look, these things take time.”
“I know. I know.” Sarah frowned. “But I really need to talk to her.”
Jim was disappointed she’d said “I” and not “we.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Jim faced Sarah over bacon and eggs in the cafeteria.“I’m pretty sure these started life as powder in a tin and not as yolks and whites in shells,” he said.
But Sarah was already digging in. “I’d probably eat cardboard right now if you put it in front of me.”
He smiled. “When this is all over, I’m going to cook you the best brunch in San Diego.”
“Thanks, but I’m not sure how we’ll know when it’s over.”
Her eyes darkened as she reached for a slice of limp toast and began to butter it.
“You knew when the Menendez case was over.”
Sarah dropped the knife, and it hit the plastic plate so hard that the occupants of adjacent tables looked up. Her eyes met his, full of dark fire. “I don’t want you to mention that case again! I can’t talk to you about what happened because it’s covered by attorney-client privilege. And Alexa Reed’s situation is very, very different. If you mention Menendez one more time, even though I think you’re the best, I’ll get another investigator.”
The force of her fury startled him. “I’m apologize for bringing it up. I don’t want you to hire someone else.”
She sighed and took a long sip of coffee before picking up the knife and going back to buttering the toast. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“It’s ok. We’re both exhausted. I was going to suggest going home and getting some sleep.”
“Do you think we can leave her now?”
“She’s going to be watched pretty closely while they try to get her off that ventilator. I say we go get some sleep and meet here again at six to see how she’s doing.”
“Agreed.”
“What are you going to do if she does come off the ventilator quickly? Sending her back to the jail isn’t safe.”
“I’m thinking about that. She has no right to bail because she’s charged with capital murder. She has the right to a bail hearing, but bail can be denied if the facts of guilt are ‘evident’ or the presumption of guilt is ‘great.’ Since we don’t yet have enough facts to know what our defense is going to be, I’m not sure how I can show that the facts of guilt aren’t ‘evident.’”
“You could call the night nurse who told me about the jail’s request for her medical records before they gave her the Lexapro. And you could call the EMT who did the tracheotomy that saved her life.”
Sarah listened thoughtfully. “That would prove they tried to kill her, but I’m not sure that would prove she might be innocent.”
“Bob Metcalf could testify about the war Michael Reed waged on her.”
She frowned. “That wouldn’t give us a Battered Woman’s Syndrome defense. We only have her statements to Bob that she was beaten, and those are hearsay and covered by the attorney-client privilege.”
“But the brutality of the court proceedings – you saw how thick that file was. Michael hauled her on the carpet every chance he got. She might have finally snapped that night and killed both of her tormentors.”
“True. That would be a manslaughter defense and would mean she’s not guilty of capital murder. I’m just not sure I want Preston Baldwin to know the defense theory of the case this early in the game.”
“Maybe you could try it with just the nurse and the EMT and not call Bob unless you have to.”
“That’s a thought. Did you get any contact information for the nurse?”
“Of course. And I wrote down the names of the EMT’s, too. I’ll contact them both tomorrow, although I can see if Tammi is on duty tonight when we come back.”
“I’ll go home and start drafting a motion for the hearing.”
“Don’t you think you should go home and get some rest first?”
“I’m trying to save her life. I haven’t got time to rest. I’m pretty sure if she goes back to jail there won’t be a trial.”
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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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