A small envelope was tucked among the thorny stems. The card inside read, “Roses are red, violets are blue, I get all squishy inside when I think of you.” The name under this appalling rhyme was even more appalling: Carter Fox.
“I feel sick,” I said.
“I thought you would.”
My phone rang, and we both looked at it.
“Maybe that’s not him,” Carly said.
“Maybe pigs can fly,” I said, but I picked up the phone.
“Robin? Robin, is that you?” It was Willow Woodruff, her voice shrill.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the police station at the John Marshall Courthouse. I’ve been arrested.”
I felt a rush of guilt. I had done this to her by making sure the police found her gun. It didn’t help to know I couldn’t have done anything else without becoming an accessory-after-the-fact.
“Have you been processed, fingerprinted and photographed and everything?” I asked.
“Yes. Robin. . .What’s going to happen to Caden?”
Now I felt a real pang of guilt. I should have made prior arrangements for her son.
“What happened?” I said. “Where is Caden now?”
“The men who came to arrest me, they let me call my neighbor Vicky Roberts, who keeps him sometimes.”
“And she came and got him?”
“Yes, she was going to take him to daycare, just like usual, but I don’t think she’s going to be allowed to pick him up.” Her voice dropped, and it sounded like she had her hands cupped around the mouthpiece. “The police were going to call. . .CPS.” She whispered the name just as the Poles might once have whispered Gestapo. “Robin, you have to do something. Caden won’t do well in foster care. He won’t understand it.”
I was thinking. I didn’t know anything about Child Protective Services. “I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to head that way for your presentation before the magistrate, but let me see what I can do. In the meantime, don’t answer questions. Don’t talk to anyone about anything.”
“I understand.”
“Try not to worry. Maybe we can get a reasonable bail set.” When I hung up, I continued to sit with my hand on the receiver. I was surprised to see Carly still there, watching me anxiously.
“Trouble?” she said.
I grimaced, then nodded. “First roses and now a client in jail and a child with no one to care for him.”
“Wow,” she said.
I called Tom McClane. “Thanks for the heads up,” I said when he answered.
“What, I’m supposed to check with you before I do my job?”
“I hope Willow Woodruff has kept her mouth shut,” I said. “You are not to question her except in my presence.”
“Not that it would do us any good. Pretty much all she’s done is carry on about that precious brat of hers.”
“She’s a mother. Cut her some slack.”
“She’s a mother who murdered her child’s father.”
“You haven’t established that yet.”
“I’ve established it to my own satisfaction.”
“Fortunately the law is going to require a little more.” I took a breath. A show of hostility was not going to be profitable at this point. “Did you call CPS?”
“Yes. There’s a minor child involved. The mother obviously can’t take care of him if she’s sitting in a jail cell.”
“How about this Vicky Roberts, the neighbor who takes care of him sometimes?”
“Up to CPS.”
“Do you know the name of the caseworker?”
“I know the name of the buzz saw I talked to. I guess her official title is caseworker.”
I waited.
“Mindy Churchill,” he said.
“Do you have a number?”
“I can give you the CPS number I called.”
“That will do.”
He read it out to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You owe me.”
“Story of my life.” I hung up and dialed the number.
It took me awhile to connect with Mindy Churchill. An automated message started to tell me what to dial “1” for, and I pushed “0.” There was a pause, and the automated message started over again at “1.” I pushed “0” a few more times. Into the resulting silence, I said, “I want to make a complaint.”
I don’t know what I did that worked—maybe nothing, but the sound on the line changed, and a voice said, “Operator.”
“I’m calling for Mindy Churchill.”
“Ms. Churchill is on another line. May I connect you to her voicemail?”
“Please.”
I left a message that included my cell number. When I hung up, I shoved my purse into my briefcase and headed for the door, stopping short as it swung to behind me. Carter Fox was in the archway, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“You like roses, I trust,” he said.
“Carter. I’m flattered, but. . .You know I have a boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend is hardly a lifetime commitment.”
“But it is a commitment. I really shouldn’t accept the roses.”
His self-satisfied smile became still broader. “But you will,” he said.
“Isn’t there anyone else you can give them to?”
“There’s no one else I want to give them to.”
I sighed. “I can’t talk now. I’ve got to get to the courthouse.” My cell phone began to play “It’s the End of the World as We Know It,” which was my generic ringtone. “Actually, I’ve got to take this call,” I said.
“We’ll talk later.” He gave me a wink and headed down the hall toward his office.
I put down my briefcase and fished for the keys to my office as I answered the phone. “Robin Starling.”
“This is Mindy Churchill. How can I help you?”
I gave her my name again and told her I was a lawyer representing Willow Woodruff. “I’m calling about Caden Woodruff. I think you talked to a police detective named Tom McClane about him earlier this morning.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I know. It’s an occupational hazard for me, too.” I reopened my office door, rolled my eyes at the roses that dominated my desk, and put my briefcase on the floor.
“It’s not his manner I’m objecting to, you understand. It’s that he sent an eighteen-month-old child off with a woman we don’t know anything about.”
“I understand the mother was okay with it.” I dropped into one of the client chairs.
“Is this the mother who’s charged with killing Caden’s father?”
“Touché, though so far it’s just a charge.”
“We don’t have the luxury of waiting for proof beyond a reasonable doubt when a child’s wellbeing is at issue.”
“That’s the reason for my call, actually,” I said. Mindy seemed in the process of mounting her high horse, and I wanted for forestall her. “The mother is almost beside herself with worry about Caden. Is he still at the daycare, or has he already been removed?”
“He’s there, but we’ve been in contact. They’re not going to release him except into our custody.”
“I guess it gives you a few hours to make arrangements. Is Vicky Roberts a possibility?”
“The woman who took him this morning? We talked to her. She doesn’t want him.”
“So, what? Are you looking for relatives?”
“Yes. I’ll be stopping by the jail to see the mother this afternoon after the ex parte hearing.” An ex parte hearing is one held without one of the parties to the controversy—in this case, without the mother.
“Isn’t that backwards? Shouldn’t you see the mother first to give her notice of the hearing?”
“It’s something of an emergency. Caden can’t be returned to his home because the only surviving parent is in jail. We’ve got today.”
“The surviving parent might be released on bail. I’m about to head for the courthouse. If we can—
”
She cut me off. “She can’t retain custody. Given the charge against her, she’s going to be able to see Caden only on short, supervised visits, at least until this is settled.”
Worse and worse. “Isn’t that up to a judge?”
“Yes it is, which is why we’re having the hearing this afternoon.”
“Where is that going to be, the John Marshall Courthouse? What time?”
There was a silence. “Two o’clock. Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court. District Judge Charles Messer. Do you plan to be there?”
“With the mother, if the sheriff’s office will cooperate.”
“We’re not prepared for an adversary hearing.”
“I’m operating on short notice myself. Is there anything I can do for you? Get you contact information for Caden’s relatives? I’ll bring it to the hearing.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Is there a form, or. . .”
“There’s always a form. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll fax you a copy.”
I hung up and sat staring at my roses. When I got up to go see if the fax had come through, I leaned over them to inhale the fragrance. Paul had gotten me roses once. If only he’d been the one to give me these.
Willow was sitting on a bench in a cell in the bowels of the courthouse. A deputy sheriff shut the heavy metal door after me, and Willow looked up, her eyes wide. “Is Caden all right?” she said.
“Still at the daycare where Vicky Roberts left him.”
“What happens next? Can you get me out of here in time to pick him up?”
I shook my head. “CPS is involved. They’re not going to let you pick him up.” I sat next to her on the bench and dug out the form Mindy Churchill had sent me, a Child Protective Resources Form. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. They’re going to take you before a magistrate, and we’ve got a hearing in juvenile court at two.”
“What’s that?” Willow asked, nodding at the form.
“Something CPS sent me. Do you have any relatives who could take Caden temporarily? Or did Chris?”
“I’ve got a sister in Texas. We’re not close, but she does know about what happened to Chris and all.”
I got out a pen and put the sister’s name, address, and phone number on the form. “Anyone in Virginia? I don’t know much about this, but I think her being out of state is going to slow things down, maybe a lot.”
“Chris’s parents and brother are in Arlington.”
“Okay. Tell me about them.”
She gave me their names, told me I was going to have to look up the addresses and phone numbers. “Or you can get the contact information from my cell phone, if the police will give it to you.”
“I’d like your house keys, too, if you’re willing to let me have them. I need to prowl through Chris’s life and learn all I can about every connection he had to everybody. Somebody killed him, and right now I haven’t got a clue.”
“Peyton Shilling.”
“Yes—though right now that’s more of a suspicion than a clue.” She didn’t object, and I added, “Where might I find Chris’s passwords to his email and financial accounts and whatnot? Did he keep a list on his computer or on a sheet of paper somewhere?”
She nodded. “I think so. There should be a file on his desktop called overpass or mountain pass—something with pass in it. His passwords are all the same though, babe-magnet or some variation of it. The usual one has 3’s for the e’s and a capital T at the end.”
“You put up with a lot, didn’t you?”
The corner of her mouth rose. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Back to Chris’s family. You’d be okay with them taking Caden?”
She nodded. “If somebody’s got to. His brother Jared wouldn’t do, I don’t think. He’s about thirty, not married, works for the family business. The parents are all right.”
“How old?”
“Early sixties. The dad’s sixty-one or –two, the mother’s a year or two younger.”
“Does Caden know them?”
“Yes. We only see them every couple of months or so, but he talks about them.”
“That’s good. CPS will have to do a background check, maybe some kind of home study, but we should be able to keep Caden out of foster care.” I hoped.
“What happens tonight? You think if they got here, CPS would let Jim and Amy pick him up?”
“Arlington’s not that far. I’ll give them a call as soon as I get a chance, and we’ll give it a try.”
“They’re not going to be my biggest fans when they find out I’ve been arrested for killing their son.”
“You think they’ll believe the charges?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m here.”
She gave me a searching look. “You don’t represent guilty clients?”
I moved my head noncommittally. “Not so far anyway. I try to operate under the assumption that when my clients tell me they’re innocent, they’re telling me the truth. It’s stood me in good stead.”
Bail was set at six hundred thousand dollars. I knew it would be big, but that was a blow. The deputy sheriff took us back to the cell to wait for Willow’s transportation to the Richmond City Jail.
“I need to get Ms. Woodruff’s keys and her cell phone out of her personal effects,” I told him. “Are those still here?”
“Yeah, they’re still here. You’ll have to sign for them.”
“Sure.”
When we were alone in the cell again, I said to Willow, “How interested are you in making bail?”
“I’d love it, of course.”
“What can you tell me about your financial assets? The amount of your mortgage, and so on.”
“Not much. Chris has some files in his office. I think he handles most things online, though.”
“What accounts do you have, do you know?”
“A checking account with Bank of America.”
“Okay.”
“A brokerage account. Retirement accounts in both his name and mine.”
“No savings account?”
She shook her head.
“Any idea what it all adds up to, what your net worth is?”
She shook her head.
“Less than six hundred thousand?”
She snorted.
“Less than two hundred thousand?”
“Probably.”
“I might be able to arrange bail through a bail bondsman, but he’s going to take at least ten percent.”
“Ten percent of what?”
“The six hundred thousand. We’d have to turn over almost everything for collateral, and the ten percent is gone forever. Even if the case is dismissed tomorrow, that’s sixty thousand dollars you’ll never see again, money that won’t be available for you and Caden to live on.”
“You talk as if I had a chance of getting out of this,” she said.
“Well.”
“Any reason for that optimism, or are you just an optimistic person?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a reason I can articulate just now. If you’re innocent, though, there’s something helpful out there. I just need to uncover it.”
“So you’re just an optimistic person.”
“A lot of bad things happen, but they’re only a small fraction of all the bad things that could happen.”
“That’s supposed to encourage me?”
“It means that 95 percent of the things we worry about never come to pass.”
“The remaining 5 percent can kill you.”
“Well, yes. And of course some of the bad things that happen to you come out of nowhere. You never get a chance to worry about those at all.”
“Maybe you’re not such an optimist, after all.”
I thought about it. “Maybe not,” I said. “I still think worry is wasted effort.”
I had time to go by the Woodruffs’ house before lunch. On the way out there, I called the mobile numb
er Willow had for Chris’s mother. Judging just by the timbre of her voice, the woman who answered could have been forty as easily as sixty.
“Hi, Amy. I’m Robin Starling,” I told her. “Willow gave me your number.”
“My daughter-in-law Willow?”
“Mother-of-your-grandson Willow,” I said.
“Okay.”
“She was arrested this morning. I’m the lawyer who’s representing her.”
“So she killed Chris after all.”
“I don’t think so. At least, I think you should keep an open mind.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
I repeated it. “Child Protective Services has an emergency hearing scheduled for two o’clock. They’re going to be asking for temporary custody of Caden. Willow is hoping you and your husband can step in to keep him from going into foster care.”
“Of course. Things look bad for her then?”
“At the moment. Now that she’s in the maws of the criminal justice system, getting her out is going to take time.”
“But you will get her out, you think.”
“I’m working on it.”
“And you really don’t think she killed my son.”
“No. At least, my working hypothesis is that she’s innocent.”
“Not a ringing endorsement.”
“I haven’t known Willow that long. There are things about the case, though, that seem more consistent with her innocence than with her guilt.” The appearing and disappearing murder weapon, for instance.
“Okay. I’ll accept that for now. What can we do to help?”
“Can you be at the hearing at two o’clock?”
“I’m afraid we can’t. We’re in Philadelphia at a trade association convention.”
“What is your business exactly?” I asked.
“We make school furniture.”
“There’s a trade association for that?”
“There’s a trade association for everything. Ours is the Education Market Association, EdMarket for short. We can get to Richmond by this evening, but we’re going to miss the hearing. Where is Caden now?”
“His usual daycare. He was home when the police arrested his mother, but so far his life is still following its familiar pattern.”
I was in Chris Woodruff’s home office before eleven. He had an all-in-one printer that also served as a scanner, a copier, and a fax machine, so I took advantage of it to fax the Child Protective Resources Form back to the number it had come from, ATTN: MINDY CHURCHILL printed at the top in block letters. If she needed to run background checks on Willow’s sister or Chris’s parents, I wanted her to have time to do it before the two-o’clock hearing. I tried to get Mindy on the phone to tell her I had sent the fax, but all I got was voicemail. I left a message and turned my attention to Chris’s computer.
Gone Ballistic (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery) Page 10
