Winner Take All

by T. Davis Bunn

  She lifted the receiver, cradled it to her shoulder, and pushed herself upright. “Yes?”

  “Madame has a visitor.”

  “Who—” But the receptionist had already slapped down the phone.

  Kirsten slipped into clothes that still smelled of the plane’s recycled air. In the doorway she paused and turned back, inspecting the high-ceilinged room with its repainted hints of former grandeur. She saw no hint of her caper with frantic memories save the tousled bed.

  She took the stairs in a dull melange of fatigue and dream tendrils. Which made her entrance into the lobby even more eerie.

  Afternoon light made a brilliant splash upon the lobby’s white-tiled floor. To her squinting gaze, it appeared that a shadow separated itself from its owner and rushed over to find a more suitable host.

  Then a face came into view, and eyes looked at her, and a mild yet breathless voice declared, “Beautiful, yes, that I can accept. But not like this. Not like a vision with the eyes of a shattered soul. Do you dance? Do you sing? You have the look of an artist, one whose cry is too great to be held trapped within.”

  “Excuse me?”

  A hand reached for her arm and pulled her toward the doorway. “Come, we must inspect you in the full light of day.”

  The woman’s movements were too swift, the tableau too changing, for Kirsten to focus fully. She saw high-heeled suede boots dancing across the sun-splashed floor. They rose to join with rose-silk trousers, and they with a matching high-collared jacket. Hair like a black waterfall poured across the shoulders. The woman was not large. But when she turned back around, and drew in so close Kirsten could see the faint darker flecks within those chestnut eyes, she commanded. “Yes. As soon as I saw you moving down the stairs, I knew. We are sisters, you and I. Molded by the same harsh flame.”

  Her own words sounded feeble, unable to meet the force with which she was being assaulted. “You are Erin Brandt?”

  “Of course, of course, you came seeking an enemy. As did I.” She had a slight accent, the faintest lilt to her breathless words. As though she were reading them off a score she would later sing. “That was why I came, I had to see for myself. Who have they sent to attack me?”

  “I … We shouldn’t be talking.”

  “So the world says, does it not?” The woman seemed both young and old, a timeless adolescent trapped in the amber of fame. “But what does your heart say? Does it chant the same incantation as mine, that we meet as sisters held too long apart?”

  “How did you find me?”

  “That doesn’t matter now.” Erin stepped away and began scrambling through her purse. “You must come tonight. You know of my performance, yes? Of course, why else would they have sent you.” She extracted a silver pen and tiny leather-bound notepad. “Your name, it is Kirsten, yes?”

  “Kirsten Stansted.”

  “So very lovely. Like an aria.” Erin tore off the page and pressed it into Kirsten’s hand. “Give that to the guard at the backstage entrance to Covent Garden. Be there by a quarter to eight. Someone will greet you and take you to a chair. They say it is sold out, but we must find you a seat somewhere, yes? Of course we must.”

  The gesture was not enough. Impatiently Erin stuffed the pen and pad back into her purse, freeing her other hand to reach over and grip as well. “Tell me you will come, I beg you. Or say nothing, so that I can at least dream that beyond the lights and the orchestra, there in the dark cloud of strange faces, I will have you to sing to. You to catch my words and know their true meaning. As only a sister can.”

  Then she turned and fled down the stairs and out to the street, where a uniformed chauffeur rose to hold open the door to a purple Rolls-Royce. Erin cast her a single glance, so strong in appeal Kirsten could feel the slender fingers still pressing and holding.

  Kirsten turned from the entrance. The receptionist observed her with the scorn of one who wished to claim he had known this was the situation all along.

  CHAPTER

  ———

  16

  MARCUS ARRIVED at the courthouse to discover his case was listed first on Judge Sears’ overcrowded Tuesday docket. When Marcus entered the courtroom, Dale Steadman was already there in the back row. Marcus waved him forward. “I’ve asked Deacon to join us as a sort of unofficial aide. His presence might prove important.”

  “Whatever you say.” Steadman wore a standard-issue gray suit and the grim expression of one entering a war not of his choosing. He pointed to where the court reporter stood by the back doorway. “Do you know him?”

  “Omar Dell.”

  “He seems to have a lot of information on both of us. And a lot of questions.”

  “Answer him or don’t, it’s your choice. But if publicity is what your ex-wife seeks to avoid, you might want to consider him a potential ally.”

  Hamper Caisse bustled into the courtroom an instant before Judge Sears. The judge seated herself and said, “The two of you step up here, please.”

  When the attorneys were standing before her raised desk, she inquired of Marcus, “Are the stories in the paper true?”

  “I’m afraid so, your honor.”

  She showed Marcus the measured commiseration of a seated judge addressing counsel. “Charlie Hayes was as fine a man as I have ever known.”

  “He was that.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I had a close call, no question. I’m bruised and shaken, but otherwise fine.”

  “Is there any evidence that the explosion has any bearing on this case?”

  “None that I know of, your honor.”

  “What about a tie-in to the recent house fire?”

  “My client is seeking to institute some drastic changes at New Horizons, your honor. He personally believes there might be some executives—”

  “Your honor, I must protest.” Hamper Caisse quietly raged, “Marcus is doing his best to divert the court’s attention from what the fire chief himself said on Friday, which was that Dale Steadman was falling down drunk when help arrived. And immediately following the fire he started reconstruction, thus hiding any evidence of foul play.”

  Judge Sears nodded toward Marcus’ table. “Is that your client there?”

  “Dale Steadman in the flesh, your honor.”

  “I see your own table remains empty, Mr. Caisse.”

  “As your honor well knows, my client is a world-famous opera diva. Her singing commitments hold her in Europe at this time.”

  “And what is the position your own client holds at present, Marcus?”

  “Chairman of the board of New Horizons, Incorporated.”

  “Sounds like a mighty busy individual to me.” She made a note in her case file. “How do you wish to proceed?”

  “Your honor, at this time I wish to call Ida Biggs to the stand.”

  “Just a moment.” Before Judge Rachel Sears was a typical morning crush. Lawyers spilled from the courtroom’s two side offices. They spoke in muted voices with district attorneys awaiting cases. They scheduled hearings. They leaned over the waist-high partition known as the bench and huddled with clients. They snickered and gossiped among themselves. A pair of translators, one Hispanic and the other Vietnamese, whispered about upcoming cases. Two attorneys spoke in hushed tones with the court recorder, while another waited in the wings, urgently flagging for Judge Sears’ attention.

  The judge raised her voice and announced, “In case you folks haven’t noticed, I’m trying a case here.”

  The hubbub ground to an astonished halt. Normally a family court judge condoned such maneuverings, for otherwise the caseload would swamp them all. Cases were scheduled ten minutes apart, on the assumption that most of the day’s work would be done in this manner. The court built to a twice daily frenzy as the clock approached the midday and afternoon recesses.

  “Now I want everybody who is in here to either find a seat or take their business elsewhere.” She turned to the bailiff and instructed, “Station one of your team by
the rear doors. Anyone who comes in has to stay until I’ve made a ruling.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  She surveyed the shocked faces and snapped, “You heard me. Grab a seat or take a hike.”

  As Marcus returned to his seat, his attention was snagged by Deacon Wilbur. The old pastor was seated between the attorney’s tables and the railing. Ida and Tyrell Biggs were seated just behind him. But the pastor was paying them no mind. He was too busy blazing Hamper Caisse with a reverend’s version of the snake eye. Hamper Caisse ignored Marcus’ side of the courtroom entirely, busying himself with something he found of particular fascination within his briefcase.

  Judge Sears rearranged the papers in her open file. “In regard to the case between Erin Brandt and Dale Steadman, I have before me two motions. One is from Ms. Brandt and regards a change of custody. The second is from Mr. Steadman and requests an emergency ex partae order. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “All right, Mr. Glenwood.” Judge Sears motioned with her gavel. “You may proceed.”

  He rose and gestured for Ida Biggs to come forward. The woman was dressed for Sunday meeting in a pink linen dress and black enameled straw hat. She carried a purse big enough to hold a bazooka. She endured the swearing-in process with evident nerves, then seated herself with her purse clenched as a lap shield.

  Marcus remained stationed by his table. “You worked as Dale Steadman’s housemaid and nanny for over a year, is that right?”

  She glanced at Dale, who was intently focused upon nothing. “Yessir, that’s correct.”

  “Can you tell the court what was Mr. Steadman’s temperament?”

  “Mr. Dale, he’s as fine a man as I ever met. It’s been an honor working for him.” She nodded decisively. “An honor.”

  Hamper Caisse rose in gaunt and clumsy stages. “Judge, I must object. We’re talking to a woman who has every reason to tell the court whatever will ensure her paycheck.”

  In response, Marcus asked the witness, “Are you still in Mr. Steadman’s employment?”

  “Nosir.”

  “He dismissed you?”

  “I wanted to stay on, but he wouldn’t let me. Said it might be dangerous, since the police couldn’t say how the fire got started.”

  Hamper subsided into his chair without speaking. Judge Sears gave Marcus the nod.

  “Tell us about the situation within Mr. Steadman’s former marriage.”

  Ida Biggs took an even tighter grip upon her purse, glanced once more at Dale Steadman, then replied, “They argued back and forth all the time.”

  “Accusations have been made that Mr. Steadman has physically attacked Erin Brandt.”

  “Only time I know when Mr. Dale touched the lady, it happened right in the middle of the kitchen while I was fixing the baby’s lunch.”

  “Did Mr. Steadman strike her as has been claimed?”

  “She did the grabbing. But he ended up falling on top of her.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Mr. Dale, he pulled himself back up and ran off into the library. The lady went after him. She was swinging something, a pot I think it was.”

  “So she was the aggressor?”

  “Every time I saw, she was the one doing the swinging.”

  “Do you recall what it was they argued about?”

  “Everything under the sun. But Mr. Dale, he never started much of anything unless it was about the child. The rest of the time, he just stood there and let her get all worked up.”

  “So there was nothing in particular that set her off?”

  “Most times, it was how much she hated the place.”

  “Their home?”

  “The house, the town, the heat, the food, the people. You name it, she hated it.”

  “What about their baby, Celeste?”

  The woman’s features softened a stroke. “Mr. Dale, he dearly loves that child.”

  “What about Ms. Brandt?”

  “She didn’t act like no mother I’ve ever seen.”

  Hamper Caisse gave a sonorous blast. “Objection! Generality!”

  “Overruled. Proceed.”

  “How was Ms. Brandt different from what you might have expected?”

  “Just the way she looked at that baby. It was strange.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Biggs. I’m trying to gain a mental picture here. Strange just doesn’t do it for me.”

  “The lady never said a thing. Not to me, not to her husband that I ever heard. She never disabused that baby in any way. She just never did anything.”

  “Excuse me, but could you please try and give me a specific—”

  “Why is this not clear to you, sir? If I brought the baby into a room, that lady would get up and walk out. She never changed the child’s diapers, not one single solitary time. She wouldn’t feed her. She wouldn’t dress her. She wouldn’t even hold Celeste unless there was somebody who walked over and set the child down in her lap. Then she’d just sit there waiting till she could find somebody to hand the baby to.” Ida Biggs kneaded the purse so hard the leather stretched and bunched. “Sweetest child you ever saw in all your born days. Little blond-haired angel was all she was. Just a treasure. I still dream about that baby’s smile.”

  “Your honor, please,” Caisse complained. “The child is not on trial here.”

  “Yes. Sustained. Redirect your witness, Mr. Glenwood.”

  “Mrs. Biggs, we are gathered here today because Ms. Brandt is fighting to keep this child in her custody.”

  “Sir, I tell you what’s the honest truth. Unless the Lord himself had done touched this lady’s heart, she isn’t doing what you say she’s doing.”

  “Objection!”

  Judge Sears did not release the witness from her gaze. “I’m going to allow this to go a little further.”

  “But she is, Mrs. Biggs. Ms. Brandt has abducted the child and has brought us all here together today.”

  “Then she ain’t doing it for the baby’s sake.”

  “Your honor, this is absurd!” Hamper was up and pacing now. “How are we to take this woman’s unconfirmed testimony against all the evidence I presented on Friday?”

  Marcus retreated to his seat. “No further questions, your honor.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Caisse.”

  Marcus held his breath. It was a risk, leaving the critical issue unaddressed. But the impact would be far stronger if Hamper did the asking.

  Hamper Caisse did not merely step into the trap. He dove in. “All right, Mrs. Biggs! Let’s get to the heart of the matter. Tell us about Dale Steadman’s drinking!”

  “The man liked his bourbon.”

  “He liked it a lot.”

  “That’s true.”

  Hamper angled his head to ensure the judge was catching this. “Too much from the sounds of things.”

  “He had himself a glass ’bout every night, that’s true.”

  “A glass? Did you say a glass?”

  “Sometimes two.”

  “Two what, Mrs. Biggs? Two bottles?”

  “Nosir. Not Mr. Dale.”

  “Come on now, Mrs. Biggs. We’ve had testimony from a variety of sources that directly contradicts your own. We know you like the defendant. But we’re after the truth here. Mr. Steadman was a drunkard, wasn’t he?”

  “Nosir. Not a bit of it.”

  “I remind you you’re under oath, Mrs. Biggs.”

  “Only time he ever let the drink take control was twice.” Ida Biggs kept as tight a grip on her emotions as she did upon her purse. “When that lady left him, and when she came back and stole that child. Mr. Dale’s a man with a big heart. That’s his only crime. That lady just ripped it right out of his body. And she done it twice.”

  Hamper cast a molten glance at Marcus, then wheeled about and snapped, “Your honor, there isn’t a single solitary thing this woman can tell us of any value. I am not going to waste the court’s time with probing what I have already shown to be a pack of
self-serving lies.”

  “The witness may step down.”

  But Hamper Caisse’s words had pinched Ida Biggs’ face up tight. “What I told you was the truth.”

  Judge Sears said, “Please step down, Mrs. Biggs. The court is grateful for your coming all this way.”

  As she left the stand and passed between the attorneys’ tables, Ida Biggs cast another glance at Dale Steadman. This time he returned the look, his expression as bleak as January rain. Whatever she saw there set the woman to humming a deep mournful note as she gathered up her husband and departed from the courtroom.

  “Mr. Glenwood?”

  “Your honor, at this time I’d like to call Mr. William Pierce to the stand.”

  The gentleman being led to the front of the courtroom had skin paler than a deep tan. His hair was kinked a reddish gray, and his eyes were an opaque and smoky blue. A lovely young woman with the erect stature of a classical dancer held him by the elbow. She let him set the pace through the partition and up to where the bailiff waited with the Bible. Once he was seated, he whispered something to the young woman, who replied softly and touched his chin, tilting his gaze over to the right. As she returned to her seat, she gave Dale Steadman a grave nod.

  Marcus began with, “How long did you work for Mr. Steadman’s company?”

  “Eleven years and eight months. From the day it opened to the day I retired. Didn’t want to stop, but my eyes just went on me.”

  “You were shop foreman?”

  “Started off working in the supply depot. Got promoted five times.”

  “Tell the court about the factory.”

  “Mr. Dale, he run himself a tight ship. He was a hard man. He wasn’t out there to make folks happy. And he had himself a temper. Yessir, that man could throw himself a rage. But he was fair. And he treated his people right.”

  “Where was the company located?”

  “Down in southeast Wilmington, just a few blocks off the river.”

  “Was this a nice part of town?”