He told how he had felt trapped inside a glass prison due to his autism, and how the woman seated at the counsel table had somehow freed him. With a voice laced with emotion and conviction, he stated that Toy was a mystical creature, an angel sent to him in his time of need. Knowing she was real, he insisted, had given him the strength to pick up the pieces of his life and go on, to continue painting, to speak to them as he was presently doing. Her existence on earth meant there was hope for the world, hope for the future.
"That will be all," Spencer said once Raymond had finished. It was a nice touch, he thought, and had brought some drama into the courtroom, but Raymond's tale could hardly clear Toy on the current charges.
As Raymond stepped down from the witness stand, however, the back doors to the courtroom opened and a noisy group of people appeared. Several of them were children, and one was being pushed in a wheelchair by a plain-looking woman in a purple sweater and black pants. Raymond rushed down the aisle to meet them, and then returned to speak to Miles Spencer. "He's here," he told him, his eyes drifting over to Toy and then back to the attorney.
Toy felt a vibrating sensation in her chest, as if merely being near the dark young artist was setting off some kind of alarm. But as she stared at his face, bits and pieces from that day in Dallas flashed in her mind. She remembered looking down at her body in the emergency room while the attendants worked over her, even though she was later told that she had been in cardiac arrest. It was as if she had been standing in a corner of the room watching it all. She recalled stumbling into the church, bewildered at why she was there. Then she saw his face, not as it was today, but as it was then. He'd been a child, the same as all the others, but here he was standing only a few feet away, a full-grown man.
"Fabulous," Spencer said. "I'll call him as my next witness. Is Lucy here?"
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"Yes," Raymond said.
In the background, the judge was pounding his gavel, eager to continue the hearing. Raymond walked off, and Toy turned to Spencer. "I have to talk to him," she said excitedly. "After the hearing, you have to find a way to get him in to see me."
"I don't know if I can do that," Spencer whispered tensely, leaning over closer to Toy.
Toy gave him a stern look. "I'm sure if you set your mind to it, you can arrange it. You're an important man, aren't you? I'm asking you to do me a favor as a friend."
All the blood drained from the attorney's face and he began nodding. "Yes," he said, "of course, anything you want. I'll talk to the judge." He stopped and then seemed to be thinking out loud. "If I have to, I'll bribe the guard."
"Good," Toy said, patting him on the arm. "I'd really appreciate it."
Spencer looked down at his arm where Toy had touched him, as if her mere touch was electrifying. He seemed to forget all about the hearing and turned to speak to Toy, his voice laced with emotion. "I'm a good person," he said. "I mean, I used to be a good person. Surely I can make amends somehow. You know, before I die."
The judge started yelling now and Spencer finally snapped out of it. "We call Jason Cummings, Your Honor."
Jason Cummings was wheeled to the witness stand. His recovery was going well, but he was still too weak to walk independently and his left arm was swaddled in bandages. The flight to New York had been difficult for him, but he had pleaded with his parents to bring him. Once Raymond had called, the little boy was determined to come and no one could stop him. Exactly what Raymond had said to the child, no one would ever know.
"She wouldn't hurt me," Jason said once the first round of questions had been dispensed with. "I was on fire and she fell on top of me. That's what put the fire out, see, or I would have been all burned up. That's how I know she's an angel."
"Did she tell you who she was or why she was there?" Spencer asked formally.
"Mister," the little boy said, "I was on fire. It's hard to 'member things when you're burning."
"Well," Spencer said, "what do you recall about that day?"
"She told me a story," the child said eagerly. "It was a story 'bout a little blue engine trying to pull a bunch of toys over a mountain.
See, it goes like this," he said. "I think I can. I think I can. Then the little engine says, T know I can. I know I can.' " Jason paused and made a gesture with his hand, saying, "Choo, choo. This is the whistle," he said, making a high-pitched sound with his mouth. The audience broke out laughing. Then he started chugging like a train.
"You can step down now, Jason," Spencer said wearily. He could feel his reputation slipping through his fingers. He'd never presented testimony like this in a court of law. It was a farce, a circus.
The judge frowned at the attorney. "Mr. Spencer, this child is adorable, granted, but his statements didn't shed much light on this case. Perhaps we should move forward now and dispense with the extradition matter before we run out of time."
"There's one more witness," Spencer protested. The judge continued to glare at him, and he quickly added, "I assure you I'll be brief."
The judge sighed and finally nodded.
"We call Lucy Pendergrass, Your Honor."
When Toy heard Lucy's name, she jerked her head around, eager to see her. She didn't have to wait long. A beautiful little girl suddenly streaked down the aisle and leaped into Toy's arms. Her chair fell back against the bench behind her and the bailiff had to right it. Lucy was rubbing her hands all over Toy's face and hair. Then she started kissing her. She placed wet, sloppy kisses on Toy's nose, her forehead, the spot where she had a dimple in her chin. "My pretty angel," she said, patting Toy on the top of her head.
"I'm sorry, Your Honor," Spencer said apologetically. "As you can see, the witness is quite attached to my client."
"Can we proceed, Mr. Spencer?" the judge said sharply.
Lucy climbed off Toy and straightened her blue dress. In the back of her curly blond hair was a matching blue satin bow with streamers. Holding her back straight, she marched to the witness stand and promptly took her seat.
"How old are you?" Spencer asked.
"I'm nine," Lucy said crisply, "but I'm in the Gate Program. That means I know more than most kids my age."
"Can you tell us what the Gate Program is?"
"A program for gifted children."
"I see," Spencer said. "Can you tell the court how you came in contact with Mrs. Johnson?"
"Yes," she said, "but first I want to ask you a question." Lucy
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craned her head around to look at the judge and grinned. "Since he gets to ask all these questions," she said, "can't I ask one, too?"
The judge smiled down at her warmly. "I think you have a valid point, young lady," he said. "Ask your question."
"See, I don't understand what's going on," she said, deciding to level her question at the judge himself. "How come those bad men can come to my church and take me away? It was a church and it was Sunday. That isn't right, you know?"
"No, honey," the judge said softly, "that isn't right. Is that your question?"
"Almost," she said. "If the bad men aren't here for you to punish them, why is my angel here? Are you going to send my angel away and let the bad men keep hurting little kids like me? That isn't very smart. I thought judges were supposed to be smart."
The judge hemmed and hawed, trying to think of an answer. Then he simply smiled at her. "Mr. Spencer," he said, chuckling. "I'm going to let you take it from here. I think this one is too much for me to handle."
The courtroom exploded in laughter. This time the judge made no attempt to bring the room to order. He was enjoying himself.
Once the noise died down, Miles Spencer led his witness through the events of that Sunday, trying not to get mired in the details of the crime itself, but to center the bulk of his questions on the time Lucy Pendergrass had spent with Toy in Central Park. Then the district attorney stood and asked the judge if he could cross-examine her.
"Now, after Mrs. Johnson placed you in the
back of the state senator's limousine, where did she go?" the prosecutor asked.
"She went away," Lucy said, jutting her chin out. "She had other things to do. When you're a guardian angel, see, you don't just have one kid to watch over, you've got a whole bunch of them."
"Let me ask you something, Lucy," he continued. "You're an exceptionally bright little girl. Why would a person who was trying to help you simply disappear? How did she know you would be okay, that the men in the car would take you to a hospital? If Mrs. Johnson had really been concerned about you, why didn't she go to the hospital with you?"
"She didn't have to," Lucy said confidently. "She knew I would be okay. Didn't you hear me? She's an angel. Angels know everything."
"Let's concentrate a moment on how she left the car. She dropped down on the floorboard and crawled out the door, didn't she? Where no one could see her, right? Only a guilty person who feared arrest
would make an exit like that." The attorney looked up at the judge. He wanted to make his point. That in fleeing Toy had displayed the behavior of a criminal and was far from a saint.
Lucy was looking down at her hands, staring at Toy's heart locket. She opened it as she had done many times and studied the miniature photos of Toy and Stephen in their wedding attire. Then she looked back out at the audience and found Stephen's face in the crowd.
"Lucy," the district attorney said, "did you hear the question?"
"Yeah," she said. "I was thinking. Look, she didn't do what you said. She just went away. I was holding onto her neck, and then her neck wasn't there anymore."
"How could that be?" the prosecutor said. "Is Mrs. Johnson the invisible woman or something?" He laughed, but no one in the audience seemed to find his statement funny.
Every eye was glued on Lucy Pendergrass. This was the real story, the one they had come to hear. How could a woman be in two places at the same time? How could a person be^anywhere, for that matter, when they were in cardiac arrest and technically dead? Thus far the issue had been carefully skirted in the courtroom.
"No, silly," Lucy said, scowling at the district attorney. "She's not invisible. She's an angel."
"Didn't you try to hold on to her?"
"You don't understand about angels," Lucy said firmly, wrinkling her small nose into a button. "Angels help you, but they don't do everything for you. Once they do what they have to do to make sure you're safe, they just fly away."
"With their wings, right?" the prosecutor said sarcastically. "Like a butterfly, perhaps? Lucy, do you think Mrs. Johnson is a butterfly? She's right here. Does she have wings?"
The little girl kicked out at the podium with her feet and her face turned bright red. "You're trying to make me look stupid," she said angrily. "I'm not stupid. I'm smart. You're the stupid person. I bet you kept butterflies in a jar when you were a kid. Ugh. That's disgusting and mean." Then the anger disappeared and she smiled brightly. "I'm not worried, though," she said, shoving a golden curl off her face, "because you can never, never catch an angel. No," she said, shaking her head, "no matter how big you are or how hard you try, you just can't do it. So don't even try."
"That will be all," the prosecutor said, taking his seat, wishing he had never decided to question her.
Lucy stepped down from the witness stand, smiled up at the judge,
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and then headed down the aisle. When she passed the row where Stephen was sitting, she stopped. "Here," she said, handing him the gold locket. "You lost your heart and I found it."
Stephen looked at the object she had handed him and instantly recognized it as Toy's. Their wedding date was even engraved on the back. "Where did you get this?" he snapped. "This belongs to my wife."
"Your picture's inside it," she said, giving him a peculiar look as if she were listening to someone on the other side of the room. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Toy. "She wants you to have it."
"Did she tell you that?" he asked, curious.
"Not really," she said, turning back to look at Toy again. "See, she doesn't need a heart anymore, but you sure do."
While Stephen sat there with an astonished look on his face, fully aware he had been chastised by a mere child, Lucy tossed her blond curls and walked straight out of the courtroom.
The judge asked Miles Spencer to approach the bench. "I heard there was a tape of this woman at the scene of the fire in Kansas? Is that correct? Do you have a copy of that tape?"
"No, Your Honor," Spencer said. "I mean, I'm sure we can get a duplicate from the television stations, but the original was accidentally destroyed at the crime lab. They informed me just this morning."
"So," the judge said slowly, "as of this date, there's no proof your client was ever in Kansas, and all the proof points to her being in a hospital here in the city."
"That's correct," Miles said.
"Fine," he said. "You're excused."
As soon as Miles was seated again at the table, the judge began speaking. "This is not a trial," he said, repeating his earlier statement. "What we are deciding today is whether or not the defendant should be released to the authorities in Kansas. Mr. Spencer, I'd say your witnesses were fairly credible, even if they are children." He paused and adjusted his glasses, glancing over at the image of Toy that Raymond had painted. "I don't know about this angel business, or how a person could be in two places at the same time. Perhaps there's a rational explanation that we have yet to uncover. All I know is these children are convinced that Mrs. Johnson's intentions were decent and in no way criminal in nature." He glanced over at the district attorney who was squirming in his seat. "Sometimes things happen that we simply cannot understand, Counselor, and as a
judge, I must occasionally make rulings based on instinct in the absence of solid evidence. State Senator Weisbarth is a distinguished and well-respected man. He called me this morning and offered to testify in behalf of this woman. It's not a common occurrence that a man of his stature is willing to risk his reputation to benefit a stranger accused of a serious crime. In addition, I don't feel the Kansas authorities have a provable case. Their strongest witness, Jason Cummings, just testified in Mrs. Johnson's favor." He paused and took a deep breath, then rendered his ruling. "The request to extradite Toy Johnson to Kansas is hereby denied." He pounded his gavel, smiled briefly at Toy, and quickly exited the bench.
When Toy heard the judge's ruling, she was beside herself with relief. The audience went wild, clapping and applauding as reporters and photographers tried to push and shove their way to the counsel table to get pictures and statements from her.
Spencer tried to explain to Toy what the ruling meant, and other particulars about her case. The judge had basically squashed all criminal proceedings. He couldn't force the Kansas authorities to drop their charges, but he did have the authority to deny their right to extradite Toy to Kansas. They had the alternative of either taking the matter before a higher court or simply waiting until Toy was physically inside their jurisdiction.
The New York authorities were hot on the heels of two men who were possible suspects in the abduction of Lucy Pendergrass and had decided not to press charges against Toy.
"I'm free," Toy said. "I'm really going to be released?"
He nodded and smiled, pleased with what he had accomplished.
"Thank you," Toy exclaimed. "This is the happiest day of my life." The bailiff then told her it would be several hours before the paperwork could be officially processed, and in the interim she would have to be returned to the jail.
"Wait, don't take her yet," Spencer pleaded as the bailiff started to lead Toy out of the courtroom.
The bailiff shrugged his shoulders and waited patiently, holding the crowd of reporters and well-wishers at bay.
"I've decided to return my fee," Spencer told Toy. "I don't want to take your money."
"That's nice," Toy said, smiling at him. "But it was my husband who paid you, not me. Give the money back to him."
Spencer loo
ked over at Stephen and then turned back to Toy.
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"Maybe I'll just donate it to charity, then," he said softly. "That is, unless you have a better suggestion."
Toy patted his arm and whispered back, "You're learning." Then another thought crossed her mind, and she opened her purse and removed a white piece of paper. "These are the names and addresses of some needy families I've been trying to help. Why don't you send the money to them? Since I'm about to go through a divorce, I probably won't have the money to help them anymore."
"Of course," Spencer said immediately. "Anything you say."
"Anything? Did you say anything?" Toy said, giggling and clapping her hands together softly as though they were playing a game. "Why don't you add some money of your own?"
"Sure, yes, certainly," he gushed. "I shouldn't have a problem getting Raymond Gonzales in to see you now. I'll arrange it immediately. Will you remember me? Will you put in a good word for me?"
"That depends," Toy answered, not certain who he wanted her to put in a good word with, but deciding it didn't matter.
"What do you mean?" Spencer said excitedly, seeing the bailiff step toward Toy again. "Quick, tell me what you mean."
"It depends on how much money you're willing to part with."
With that, Toy turned around and faced the spectators, smiling and waving at them. Then the bailiff escorted her out of the courtroom and the hearing was officially over.
Toy was held in a small room at the back of the courtroom while she was waiting to be transferred back to the jail. She heard the key turn in the lock, and then saw the dark artist standing there. Quickly, she stood and straightened her clothing. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, but for some reason, they had all disappeared from her mind. "Have a seat," she said softly.
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