by Cathy Lamb
“What is there not to understand? I’m pleading guilty.” I felt myself leaving me. I felt myself shutting down and shutting out. I felt myself, the myself I’d gained in the last months in Pineridge, working for Kade and Tildy, making friends with Rozyln and Eudora, painting with Cleo and starting my art again, fading, smearing away, getting lost in the fog.
“To which charges are you pleading guilty to?”
“All of them that I was charged with.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Can you list those charges for us?”
“Fraud. Embezzlement. Theft . . .” There was another one. “Money laundering.”
Millie cut in. “My client had no idea what her maniacal husband was doing. She’s having a mental breakdown of some sort.” She put her face too close to mine again. “You are not guilty.”
“Then why is she pleading guilty?” Dale asked.
“Because her creepola of a husband is threatening to bring her down with him. Because she doesn’t want to risk a trial. You people have scared the crap out of her. She’s pleading guilty to get the eighteen months you already offered and not risk five years. This is not justice, this is a woman who has been badgered and threatened into pleading guilty.”
I had not told Millie that the other reason I was pleading guilty was because I needed to be out in eighteen months for Rozlyn and Cleo. If I had, she would have told all these scary people, because she’s my attorney and has been charged with aiding in my defense, and that information would have ended the meeting. Intimidating Assistant U.S. Attorney Dale Kotchik would not allow me to plead guilty at that point knowing why I was doing it.
Then I would have to go to trial and risk five years.
Dale thrummed his fingers on the table. “Tell us why you’re guilty, Ms. Wild.”
“You already know, Dale.” I was a little irritated. I could tell he was surprised that I’d used his first name.
“Tell us anyhow. Give us the details so we’re all clear.”
“I will. But I want your word that my jail sentence will be eighteen months if I tell you what I know.”
“We’ve already discussed that.”
“Say it.”
“If you cooperate and you’re guilty, your sentence will be eighteen months.”
I studied him and his owl features. He was relentless. Smart. Dedicated. Like an owl pit bull. But he was honest, and he had authority. Though he’d been my nightmare, I actually trusted him.
He suddenly leaned forward, as if he’d made a decision. “Ms. Wild, did you help Covey Hamilton, your husband, move money from one investment account to another to hide it?”
No. I wouldn’t even know how to do that, but this was it. I felt myself sinking into an iceberg. “Yes.”
“For God’s sakes. For all hell’s sakes,” Millie sputtered. “She did not do that. She wouldn’t even know how.”
“Yes, I would.” I was slightly offended that Millie thought I couldn’t do that, even though I couldn’t.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“How did you move the money around?” FBI lady asked with her brown hair and, again, a brown suit.
How? I had no idea. Over the phone? Do you call banks for that stuff? Aha! I remembered. “By signing the papers. That gave Covey the ability to move the money. It gave my permission. My signed permission.”
“You knew he was moving around the money, then?”
Hell, no. “Yes.”
“She did not!” Millie interjected.
“To banks?”
No. “Yes.”
“To offshore accounts?”
No. “Yes.”
“She’s a lying client!” Millie said.
“To shell companies?”
No. “Yes.”
For a moment, no one spoke in that room with the furniture built by people in prison.
Dale adjusted his glasses. He clasped his hands. He bent his head then, after a few seconds, lifted it again. “Ms. Wild, did you know that Mr. Hamilton was moving money to shell companies in Thailand?”
Thailand? What the heck? “Yes.”
“Thailand?” Millie semishrieked.
“And to the stock markets in France and Russia?”
France and Russia? Had they talked about that earlier? “Uh . . .yes.”
“What in tarnation are you talking about?” Millie said, pounding a fist. “When did France come into this?”
“So you knew,” Dale said, owl eyes never leaving mine. “That Covey had created an artificial tech company in Kansas to launder money?”
That shithead. “Yes.”
“And a metal scrap business in North Carolina to launder money?”
I wished I could put Covey under one of those scrap metal smashing machines. “Yes.”
“And you knew about the fake ball bearings factory in Utah?”
Ball bearings? Covey needed balls. “Uh. Yes.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Millie demanded. “I didn’t know about any of this. What happened to disclosure?”
There was a dead silence in that room. I felt the intensity, the judgment. I tilted my chin up and wrapped my arms around my waist. Colder and colder.
Dale rubbed his chin. IRS man rolled his shoulders. FBI brown woman tilted her head and studied me like a bug.
More silence. A couple of the seriously anal people shuffled papers. They exchanged glances with each other, then back to me. I didn’t know what was going on.
“You’re pleading guilty, but you could go to trial,” Dale said. “You could be found not guilty.”
“And I could be found guilty. You said you would ask for five years, at least, of jail time.” My voice wobbled. I teared up. I thought of Rozlyn. I thought of Cleo.
I thought of Kade.
I thought of myself. Five years. I would lose my mind. I know I would. I would shut down so hard I wouldn’t come out of myself.
Eighteen months, though, and I would be out in time to help Rozlyn at the end and be a mom to Cleo. I would be a wreck when I came out, but I could put myself back together. I could.
I wiped the tears off my cold cheeks with cold fingers.
They waited.
Tears filled my eyes again. I wiped them off again. My fingers were freezing, and so was my face. Millie patted my shoulder a bit too hard. “We’re done,” she snapped. “We’ve got broken rules all over the place here. No one informed me about France or Russia or Thailand or any ball bearings factory. Let’s go, Dina.”
I felt that familiar depression settling on my shoulders. Black and heavy. I felt an unbearable sadness. I started to feel claustrophobic thinking about being trapped in a cell. I wondered if I would see Neanderthal Woman again. Alice, My Anxiety, buried her head. I saw a red kite. And fog. Dark trees. I don’t know why.
“Ms. Wild,” Dale said.
“Yes?”
“We have a problem here.”
“Yes, I know.” I swear there was ice around my heart.
“I don’t think you do.” He leaned back in his chair. “Covey did not set up a shell company in Thailand. He did not move money into the stock markets in France and Russia. There is no artificial tech company, no metal scrap business, and no fake ball bearings factory.”
“There isn’t?” I asked
“No,” Dale said.
“Oh.”
“And now we have to ask you why you just lied to us about your involvement with Covey’s business when you’re clearly not involved at all.”
“And,” the human calculator said, “why you’re pleading guilty when you’re not.”
47
To Margo,
What in the world is going on with my kid,
Grenadine Scotch Wild? I returned from a trip to
Italy and found a note from her on my door asking me to help her. I talked to Scotty and Mel, and they filled me in on her case. I am requesting to be hired,
immediately, half time, and I want Grenadine. Six homes in two years? I will find her another adoptive placement.
I cannot sleep at night until that child is safe and well.
Daneesha Houston
To: All Staff
From: Margo Lipton
Date: February 12, 1992
Re: Daneesha Houston
Please welcome Daneesha Houston back! As you know, she retired in 1989 but has decided that traveling the world is not exciting enough for her.
She will be working half time.
Daneesha, we’re glad to have you back!
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 16
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: March 28, 1992
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
I am delighted to write that Grenadine’s placement with Mr. Sean Lee and his sister Ms. Beatrice Lee is going well, as I knew it would. I have known the Lees for fifteen years. They live in an expansive, modern home over-looking the city on the west side, and they have plenty of room.
Grenadine is in counseling for some drug and alcohol abuse, although the abuse was not serious. There was some promiscuity, but that behavior, I am confident, has stopped. She had a physical and was diagnosed with chlamydia, but she has the medication and it will be cleared up soon.
The Lees have taken excellent care of her.
There have been outbursts, swearing, tears, and throwing things at the Lees’, and Grenadine has already been in one fight at school, but they seem steadfast in their devotion to her, perhaps because of Mr. and Ms. Lee’s own placement in foster care fifty years ago when they were children.
Ms. Lee is an artist, and she and Grenadine work on their art together for hours. Ms. Lee has encouraged Grenadine to “art out” her feelings. Grenadine is working with paints and learning more about collage.
As an interior decorator, Mr. Lee has shown Grenadine the art of decorating, and she is working with him in his business in the evenings. She says she loves it.
Mr. Lee says that she is a natural decorator. He and Grenadine painted her bedroom yellow, then painted birds across the wall. A few have lilies in their mouths. Mr. Lee bought Grenadine her own sewing machine, showed her how to use it, and she made curtains for her room and a bedspread and a bed skirt.
Mr. and Ms. Lee sent Grenadine to an educational specialist, and they say that Grenadine has dyslexia. They have hired a tutor to come and work with her after school.
The tutoring does not interfere with her Wednesday night art class at the university, or her Saturday art class at Portland Craft, which lasts all day. They wanted Grenadine to quit her waitress job; she adamantly refused, but they did manage to convince her to work only ten hours a week.
The three of them enjoy going to the Lee family beach house.
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 16
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: September 16, 1992
Goal: Adoption
Employee: Daneesha Houston
I am extremely happy to announce that the Lees would like to adopt Grenadine. Grenadine has agreed. We will begin the paperwork, home visits, interviews, etc., immediately.
Grenadine says she wants to be called Dina Wild from now on. She and the Lees thought it would be a new beginning for her, plus Grenadine says she doesn’t like having the name of a syrup used in drinks. I don’t blame her.
In even more wonderful news, Grenadine entered her work in several local art competitions and won first prize in one and third prize in two others. She painted the backdrop for the school play, which, the drama teacher told me, was the finest backdrop he’s ever seen. It was for Les Mis, and she painted a French city. . . . She is unbelievably talented.
Children’s Services Division
Child’s Name: Grenadine Scotch Wild
Age: 18
Parents’ Names: Freedom and Bear Wild (Location unknown)
Date: June 14, 1994
Goal: Adopted
Employee: Daneesha Houston
On Tuesday Sean Lee died of AIDS. Grenadine was with him, as was his sister, Beatrice Lee. There was a tearful memorial attended by hundreds of people, including my husband and me.
Grenadine gave a eulogy. She spoke about Mr. Lee being a father to her and how he was kind and loving when she arrived in his home, even though she was angry, difficult, hurting, threw things, and swore like a “horse thief.”
She talked about how Mr. Lee taught her to decorate a home and why having beauty and color around you was so important. She talked about the tutoring he and his sister provided, the art classes, the trips to the beach.
Mostly she talked about how Mr. Lee made her feel special, and wanted, and loved, even when he himself wasn’t feeling well.
She said, “Mr. Lee and Beatrice probably saved my life. How do you thank someone for that?”
She cried. By the time Grenadine was done, I swear there was not a dry eye in the whole place. I cried a hundred tears. Even my husband cried, and that man never cries.
Heartbreaking.
Grenadine/Dina will continue to live with Beatrice. Beatrice told me if she didn’t have Grenadine, she didn’t know what she’d do.
48
WILL OF SEAN BAKER LEE
October 16, 1992
I, Sean Baker Lee, of Multnomah County, Oregon, declare that this is my will. I revoke all prior wills and codicils . . .
To my adopted daughter, the daughter of my heart, Grenadine Scotch Wild, $100,000 to be used only to buy a home so you will never be homeless again.
Plant some roses to remember me by, decorate wherever you live with beauty and harmony, and continue creating your art.
My favorite artists: Van Gogh, Picasso, Grenadine Scotch Wild.
With all my love, eternally,
Mr. Lee
49
When Dale asked why I lied to them about my involvement in Covey’s crimes and the human calculator asked why I pleaded guilty when I wasn’t, I told them I was petrified of a long prison term and then I broke down and told them about Rozlyn and Cleo.
“Ms. Wild,” Dale said. “We are dismissing all charges against you.”
“What?” I heard a roaring in my ears, like the ocean mixed with, for the oddest reason, a French horn. Millie’s triumphant cry, “Ha. I’ve won again,” penetrated, too.
“We believe you.”
“You do?” My body sagged. A sliver of warmth started to pierce the ice around my heart.
“We believe you’re innocent.” Dale smiled, a tiny smile, probably hard for such an analytical, precise, serious man. “Covey’s a piece of work, isn’t he?”
I decided to stop by my old home, the faux mansion, the dwelling of dishonesty and mental torture, as I now thought of it, on my way out of town.
I knew that Covey was out of the house because Dale told me they had a meeting with him right after mine.
I had a message from Covey from another mystery number. He was crying. He was deflated, broken, and defeated. Told me he loved me. Told me he was sorry. Told me he had done what he had to provide me with a home, and car, and all of the expensive things I had never had. He had wanted to please me. It was all for me.
What a crock. Covey was obsessed with money, with proving himself through material possessions. That was just like him, to put his crimes on me and to present it as an altruistic and romantic gesture.
He told me he loved me again but said he’d done something else to me and he was sorry about it. Told me if I went to the house I’d see what it was. He would meet me there tonight, he couldn’t wait to see me, and talk face-to-face. Sorry, sorry.
I had no pity. Anyone who allows their wife to go to jail for something she didn’t do is not deserving of pity.
I deleted the m
essage.
He would soon be completely deleted from my life.
I took the freeway and drove up into the hills, the homes old and graceful. At the top I turned into the winding, oak-lined driveway of our house and stopped. I stared at the two-story, sprawling brick home, the white columns, the white stairs up to the impressive entrance, and the black doors with gold handles.
I parked my car and the breaks squeaked. It rumbled when I turned the key. I remembered the sleek, slick car I used to drive that Covey bought me. Expensive moving machine used for show, to impress a whole bunch of people that I didn’t care about but Covey did, not that he liked them.
I patted the seat of my car. “Good car,” I said out loud. It made a grumbling noise.
I climbed out and stopped in front of the fountain, which was now turned off. It was a statue of Zeus. It was a penis thing with Covey and I knew it. I hated it.
The green grass was too long. Covey probably had to give up the lawn service, and he sure as heck wasn’t going to mow it himself. That would remind him of his poor years.
I used my key to unlock the door and stepped inside, feeling slightly nauseated at being back. I wondered what Covey meant when he said he had done something else to me here.
