by E H Davis
Spears sat down and straightened the already perfect pleats on his trousers.
Jens smiled affirmatively.
“But then again, Honore Poulon outshines him in the personality department,” added Spears affably. “Plus, he’s homegrown.”
Jens shot Vincent a look.
“I see Vincent’s been filling you in on my who’s who.”
Amenities out of the way, Jens was anxious for Vincent to begin.
“Now, about your hearing tomorrow. I’ve got some good news. You’ll be sitting in front of the Dover 7th Circuit Family Court and his Honor, Justice Bartholomew Neadeau.” Vincent waited for the name to sink in.
“No, it can’t be!” Jens said, surprised.
Vincent nodded back, gratified to see the effect the name from their mutual past was having on Jens.
“I don’t believe it!” Jens said, laughing. “Brother Neadeau. Will I need to flash him the fraternity sign for him to remember me?”
“I spoke with him a few days ago. Don’t be surprised if he throws the book at Vivian for absconding with your marital assets. She’s been ordered to restore everything she took prior to her filing for divorce. Hopefully, your assets haven’t been squandered.”
“Look, I’ve thought this over. I want custody of Teddy — especially if she’s sunk so low to use him in an attempt to intimidate me in court.”
Vincent gave Spears a look that prompted the younger man to pull his pleats, shake hands, and leave.
“How much do you really know about your wife?”
Vincent, his fingers steepled, studied Jens.
Perplexed, Jens motioned him to go on.
“Before you gave me the okay to hire Larry, I did some research of my own. You may be broke at the moment, Jens, but, aside from your art collection, you have considerable assets in book rights. You may not be on the bestseller list, at least not just now, but why not in the future? And suppose one of your old Hollywood contacts steps in clover and has the funds to make a movie of one of your books?”
“Anything’s possible. Where are you going with this?”
“When you and Vivian married you signed a prenuptial excluding your intellectual properties from the marital assets, right?”
He handed Jens a copy of his prenup, which Jens had submitted to the court with all his other marital documents.
Jens perused the document. “Yes, that’s it. So?”
Vincent smiled. “Good.”
“Why good?”
“Did you know that Vivian was married before you?”
“What’re you talking about?” Jens recoiled.
Vincent took a folder from his briefcase.
“Married at sixteen, to a local Berlin boy. The marriage was annulled.” He sorted through the documents, extracted a marriage certificate, and gave it to Jens to read.
There it was, Jens thought, in black and white.
He scoured the document for the name of the party she’d been wed to.
When he spoke it aloud the tremor was back in his voice: “Armand Laurent.”
He stared at the names on the certificate. He felt a fool. How had she kept it from him? Why? This surely was a woman capable of grand deceits, he conceded. The last seventeen years — all a lie. He shivered. How could he possibly trust her with Teddy? And now that Laurent had served his time, she jumped right back into bed with him.
Jens looked up, his face stony.
“This is news to me.”
“I thought as much.”
“Why was the marriage annulled?”
Vincent offered another document, a Xerox of a news clipping.
“This was taken from the archives of the Berlin New Hampshire Daily Sun, 1997. I had to pull some strings to get it out of archives.”
Jens scanned the article about a teenage girl, her name suppressed as a minor, who had been a material witness in a local case of homicide in the second degree, or murder with intent. The convicted man had been sent to the New Hampshire State Prison for Men in Concord, maximum security, receiving a sentence of twenty years. The name of the convicted murderer jumped out at him — again.
“Armand Laurent. My wife’s husband,” he added, conscious of the irony.
Vincent nodded.
“Released recently, having paid his debt to society by serving his sentence in full.”
“In August,” affirmed Jens.
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“She received prison letters from him, which Teddy intercepted. She claims not to have encouraged him.”
Jens thought about finding the hunting blind at the farmhouse in Lee.
Now it all made sense: she was divorcing Jens to be with him. Still, some part of him refused to believe that the woman he’d been intimate with for so many years, the mother of his son, could have deceived him so thoroughly, for so long, making him believe that she’d loved him. All the while, she’d been biding her time.
“She’s divorcing me for a convicted murderer? And she thinks she’s going to get Teddy?”
Vincent sighed. “That’s why I asked about the prenuptial. We might be able to disqualify her from all of the marital assets if she married you under false pretenses.”
“Explain to me the part about the annulment.”
“I don’t know any more than this. I’ll keep Spears on it.”
Jens rubbed his forehead, frowned. “Vivian’s the unnamed minor?”
Vincent shrugged. “The name was expunged from the record by court order. But we know it was her.” He reached for the file on Vivian.
“Mind if I hold onto this?”
Vincent nodded. “Sure. We’ve got copies.” He paused, deliberating.
“Don’t spare me. What?” Jens tensed like a boxer taking a gut punch.
“According to the internet, Laurent came from money. His father owned the Berlin Paper Company. Vivian was from the wrong side of the tracks. Chances are they paid off Vivian and her family to make the marriage go away. Maybe Vivian went back to the trough one time too many, maybe she offered to sell Laurent’s father her testimony to keep Laurent out of jail.”
“Lot of conjecture.”
“I’ll have no problem raising the same doubts with the court about her checkered background.”
“Okay, so she’s a woman with a past. That doesn’t make her a blackmailer.”
“If she was involved with a blackmail scheme back then and we can prove that she’s involved now, not only will she lose custody, but she’ll never get a penny of yours.”
Jens considered carefully before answering.
“What if you’re wrong and she’s the victim in all this? Where would she go if we leave her with nothing?”
Vincent rubbed his hands together. “Don’t start waffling on me now, Jens.”
“She’s still Teddy’s mother.”
“Are you okay funding her affair with a murderer, who’ll be around your son if he isn’t already?”
“Would she really use her own son as a pawn?” Jens wondered aloud.
Vincent smiled, an old pro at this business of divorce, making him a jaded judge of human nature.
“Anything’s possible, my friend,” he said, ushering Jens out to reception. “See you tomorrow in court.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Vivian was perched at the bar at The Brewery, located on the upscale island of shops bordering the Cocheco River in downtown Dover. She’d hoped that the boisterous lunch time crowd would have thinned by 2:30 in the afternoon, but that wasn’t the case.
Having consulted with her divorce lawyer earlier, to prep for the hearing the next day, she’d arranged to meet Franny, her confidant. Obviously, she’d said nothing about Warren to her attorney, though she’d been sorely tempted. And she had no intention of saying anything about her true predicament to Franny.
She sipped on her IPA and felt the ale’s higher alcohol content go to her head, a welcome distraction, as she stewed in her juices, lamenting her miserable existence.
“Most definitely,” she answered curtly, in response to a goateed young man asking if the seat next to her was taken. He was one of a series of idiots trying to hit on her — because she was an attractive woman, she was alone, and she was sitting at the bar. Must mean she wanted to get fucked, right?
I’m old enough to be your mother, for Christ's sake.
A few more beers, she told herself and my answer will not be so polite.
She’d been annoyed to have to find a seat at the bar, put her Coach bag on the stool next to hers to save it for Franny, and fend off the constant inquiries about its availability. Meaning, was she available?
Fuck, no! I’m not! I’m taken by killers!
She rebuffed them, second nature after a few beers — she’d lost count — which complimented the shots of vodka she’d downed at home while dressing and putting on her makeup.
I’m fine. Just fine.
But she wasn’t and she knew it. Tomorrow she’d be facing Jens in court. How was she going to explain raiding their bank account just before filing for divorce? How was she going to explain all the crimes and misdemeanors since, committed at Warren’s behest?
Taking up with Armand again. What was I thinking?
None of that mattered, she told herself, draining her glass in one long, satisfying draught that drew raised eyebrows from the studderly men — is that even a word? she wondered, realizing that she’d better slow down — who hovered, hoping if she drank enough ... well, you know.
Fug-the-fug off!
Where was Franny, anyway? Standing her up like this?
Armand had wanted to come over last night and comfort her but she’d quashed that idea without even telling Warren. The last thing she needed was his clingy ministrations in the name of love, while she worried about her son’s safety.
Maybe it would be better if Jens had custody. Maybe Teddy would be safer.
Here she was, extricating herself from a marriage with a man who, truth be known, she had loved but never really loved, while trying to get rid of the man she’d really loved, but who had now become a burden. How had she let this happen?
Couldn’t she have foreseen that Armand would have changed in prison? He was no longer the callow boy she’d easily manipulated in their teens, both of them swept away by hormones, desperation, and blind belief in their love.
Her innocence robbed earlier by a torturer, a blood relation— my fucking uncle — the power of sex had been there when she’d needed it, to voodoo Armand and make him love and rescue her.
And she really had loved him, too, with as much devotion as possible for a damaged young woman.
It wasn’t his battered face and scarred body that marked his change — merely outward signs, which she barely registered. There was, sadly, a deeper corruption, a cancer of the soul.
Ah, what’s the use? she asked herself, feeling overwhelmed, just as she had been back then.
She glanced at herself in the mirror behind the bar and quickly brushed away her tears before the losers saw.
And now she had a vampire at her throat, sucking the life out of her.
Warren.
She doubted he’d let her go, even after he got his payoff.
And if he didn’t?
“Fug! “Fug! “Fug!
The past was about to show its ugly face again. Her humiliation — the role she’d played in the drama leading up to Armand’s arrest twenty years ago — was about to rubbed in her face like shit! All of it coming out in court now, in front of Teddy.
Oh, why? Why?
Tears ran down her face, streaking her mascara.
No Franny.
Everyone in her life had let her down: the father who’d died, leaving her unprotected; the mother who’d abused her, pimped her. Armand, who’d left her for prison and was leaving her now, because he’d changed.
Jens, even that damn Jens, for not loving her enough to make her resist Armand, and for not fighting hard enough to keep her.
She swiped away her tears and waved for her check.
There’s Teddy, she thought, brightening. Dear, dear, beautiful Teddy. The only thing that matters now.
I’ve burnt my bridges with you, Jens, I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you take the one good thing in my life.
She threw some bills on the bar without waiting for the check and pushed her way through the men — always the men, with their reachy love and selfish needs — still hovering, scenting after her like hyenas.
“Get the hell out of my way!” she bellowed, pushing them aside and stumbling drunkenly toward the door.
As she slammed out the door, she bumped into Franny, coming in. Taking in Vivian’s condition at a glance, she put her arms around her.
“You poor darling.”
Vivian sobbed as Franny led her away.
Chapter Forty-Six
Laurent, having broken into Vivian’s house in Lee because he couldn’t reach her via phone, went from one desolate room to the next, the bands of shadow and sunlight attuning him to the home’s emotional desertion.
He passed kitchen counters cluttered with unwashed dishes. In the living room someone had slept on the couch, leaving a rumpled blanket and pillow. The walls flanking the stairs to the bedrooms were punched and gouged. Upstairs in the bathroom, the door ajar, a pile of soiled towels and clothing lay scattered. Finally, he arrived at the master bedroom, where the bed was stripped down to the mattress.
He sat down on the bed, choosing the side he remembered Vivian had slept on, though he suppressed the image of her making love to Corbin. The few times she and Laurent had been here together, she’d insisted on using the spare bedroom.
The slanted autumn sun shone warmly through the window, which looked out onto the woods beyond the backyard. Without thinking, his eyes sought out the shrub-encircled hunting blind where he’d hidden and spied on Corbin, when he’d first come to town. Though only months ago, it now seemed like a lifetime had passed.
He’d only wanted what others took for granted: love, belonging, hope.
Everything he’d once known as a child and assumed he would always have.
In sharp contrast to the shadow realm he now inhabited — a world devoid of meaning or purpose — without her.
Last night she’d begged him to let her go.
Now, he’d half-expected to find her in the bathtub lying in a pool of blood, wrists slashed. Or lying on the bed, an empty bottle of pills beside her, a peaceful look on her face — an angel released from the torments of life.
But she was gone. He swept his hand over her dresser top, caressing it as though his touch might bring her back. He would find her. And together they would go to a safe place, another country; or cross over, into the darkness.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he noticed the answering machine blinking. He clicked on the button for “messages,” hoping for a clue to Vivian’s whereabouts. The several messages from her realtor — begging her to call ASAP or lose a very good offer on the house — confused him, as he didn’t understand why she needed the money.
There were several messages from a lawyer named O’Connell. And more than a few from a woman named Franny. And someone named Ferdie — a state trooper, apparently, to judge from her officious references to the hunt for him — left terse messages for her to call her, ASAP.
He was about to turn off the machine when he heard a familiar voice that went through him like a blast of adrenalin.
“You know who this is, my sweet,” Warren crowed. “In the spirit of camaraderie — hah! — I want to wish us luck tomorrow. Call me on my burner as soon as you have the results of the divorce hearing. Oh, and regards to Teddy. Tata!”
She was sleeping with Warren!
Was she running away with him after the divorce?
Chapter Forty-Seven
After his meeting with Vincent and a failed phone call to Teddy, Jens checked into a bed and breakfast in Kittery, deciding to pay a little more for hospitality, as an antidote to loneliness. L
uckily, he’d found a Discover card, apparently overlooked by Vivian, among his personals collected at the house in Lee. He could eat, buy gas, and sleep in comfort.
In his luxurious room, Jens stepped through sliding doors onto a patio, his senses tuned to the fresh smell of the Piscataqua River and harbor. The air was bracing. He let the ultramarine blue sky, peculiar to Portsmouth this time of year, wash over him.
Unwinding, he sipped his drink and told himself everything was going to be alright. Teddy was all that mattered, divorce notwithstanding.
He found himself contemplating the revelations about Vivian’s past, learned from Vincent. Her life was no longer the open book he’d arrogantly presumed to know. And Laurent was a threat that could not be ignored.
Especially since Ferdie reported that Laurent had come back on the radar, a sighting at one of the marinas, perhaps drawn by Vivian’s day in court. There was an all points bulletin out for his arrest. Jens almost wished the “shoot on sight order” was real, not just a legend from Bonnie & Clyde’s time.
Yet, this was the man, concluded Jens, who’d made the crude threatening call to the cabin and talked about nabbing Teddy if he didn’t cooperate. He’d been stalking him, in Lee and Jackson. He was a thorn in Jens’ side. Maybe it was time for Jens to turn the tables on him. On an inspiration, he dialed Ferdie, getting her on her cell.
“Ferdie, hi. What can you tell me?”
“Fine, thanks, and you?” she said, half-trill, half-guffaw.
“Sorry, I’m a bit wound up. No Laurent yet, I take it.”
“I thought you wanted to know about Vivian and Teddy.”
“I do. That means bringing down Laurent.”
“And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?”
“We lay a trap for him, with me as the bait.”
“Jens, you’re a civilian. It’s out of the question.”
“Why don’t you hear me out before you say no?”
“Jens ... I can’t ...”
“Tell you what — let me buy you dinner. If you don’t like my idea...”
“I can’t — I’m having dinner with ... friends.”
Jens read between the lines. She was going on a date.
