“I’ll see what I can do.”
Sunday
“Eight hours!”
“Eight hours? That’s wonderful,” Jaime said to Nick, sitting next to him along with Curby in the front seat of the car. “Let’s take him to the zoo?”
Excited, Curby said, “Yeah, I want to go to the zoo.”
“Good! We’re all in agreement.”
After an afternoon of miniature train rides through the zoo grounds, and extensive walking, it was time for a snack break.
Finding an empty table, Nick ordered hamburgers, fries and sodas.
“We still have a lot of time left.”
Jaime checked her watch. “Four hours”, she said. “We could go to a movie.”
“What would you like to see, buddy?” Nick asked.
“The pirate one. The pirates that live under the water.”
“That’s an old movie. It’s not playing anymore.”
Jaime said, “Why don’t we go find one of those large movie complexes and see what’s there?”
By the time they arrived at a mall with a large enough choice of movie theatres, sat through one and headed back to the foster home, they arrived a half hour late.
Annette Dubois met them at the door.
“I knew you would take advantage sooner or later. Isn’t eight hours enough for you?”
Nick replied. “I don’t know my way around the Bronx very well.”
“Too bad! That’s not my fault.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. In the meantime, I’m letting your lawyer know I won’t tolerate having to wait while you go lagging around having a good time.”
“I apologize. It wasn’t intentional.”
“I’m also writing the court. I want your visiting hours reduced to where they were. Two hours!”
She shut the door—hard.
Miraculously, thanks to Martin Briscotti, Nick kept the eight hour visits. Each Sunday was a new and anticipated adventure. It was difficulty for Nick to wait an entire week for so little time to spend with his son.
Jaime was always there for him and when the court date finally arrived, they went there together.
CHAPTER FIVE
Family Court
Adams Street, Brooklyn.
Opening arguments
Sitting on a bench behind Nick and Jaime were a few of the tenants from the building; the elderly woman who had found Curby walking around lost, Elaine from the pharmacy, and Ted, Nick’s foreman. In the third row, Officer Silverman sat with two of Jaime’s coworkers. Filling up the back rows were a few more subpoenaed witnesses, law students and court officers.
Heavy set, his suit, far too tight with a jacket left open, Mr. Levenstein, Dubois’ lawyer, having taken the floor five minutes prior, finished up with his closing arguments. His sustained look at Nick was more one of casualness, as if he had already dismissed him as nothing more than a time consuming inconvenience. His voice, high pitched and rather effeminate, exuded past his double chin softly, much like that of the late Truman Capote.
“My client, Annette Dubois, has been a loyal and devoted caretaker who tirelessly and most diligently sacrificed herself for the benefit of the city and its orphans. At this time, she would like to ask the court’s consideration for full custody of this parentless child, here known to the court as Curby. It is our joint opinion that Mr. Santinelli, although a proven and decent citizen, is less than capable of caring for this child. He is unmarried, and in the recent past, lost this child to the streets where the boy wandered off and...”
“Objection, the child was in the care of a nanny and not Mr. Santinelli,” Nick’s lawyer shouted.
The judge slammed his gavel down. “Overruled! I read the initial report. The court has already considered that, Mr. Briscotti. Now, please refrain from interrupting during the opening arguments. You can contest anything you like when it’s your turn to speak.”
“Sorry, your Honor.”
“Apology accepted. Continue, Mr. Levenstein.”
“Eh, hem!” Levenstein made sure Briscotti noticed his returning smirk. “I have nothing further to say for my client, except to mention that she has been adoringly married to her husband for the past thirty years, kept a clean and organized house and has three other well behaved children.”
The judge, his elbows resting on the bench with his head propped up in his hands, casually looked on. In a tired sounding voice, he said, “Anything else, counsel?”
Levenstein glanced at his client. “Uh…no, not at this time, your Honor.”
“Mr. Briscotti?”
Dispensing with his usual animated gestures, Martin Briscotti remained composed, clasped his hands together, faced the judge and then the court.
“Your Honor…members of the court and all those opposed, there is nothing more endearing to the heart than a parents love for a child…or a child’s love for a parent.
“In this court sits a man in false judgment when his undertaking should actually be one of merit. Mr. Nick Santinelli stopped that one day three years ago to look into that discarded box lying in the gutter. There, he looked into the eyes of one of God’s most beautiful of creations. A child, discarded like so much trash, to be swept away and buried alive in a landfill, forgotten and never to have lived a full life.”
The lawyer glanced briefly at the judge.
“Yes, I read the initial papers you submitted to the court. Very sad. Go on, please continue.”
“Thank you, your Honor. Instead, my client had the inquisitiveness and dare I say foresightedness, to exit his street sweeper to inspect that box.
“At that time, three years ago, his partner, Sandy Summerville, was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”
“Objection! Irrelevant, your Honor!”
“Overruled for the same reason, Mr. Levenstein. Please continue, Mr. Briscotti.”
“Her tearful wish at the time was that she be a mother, the mother she would not have otherwise had the chance to be. It was for this reason that the discovery of the newborn went unreported.
“They, as parents gave this child a wonderful and meaningful three years. They catered to his every need. Sadly, Ms. Summerville passed away three months ago. The boy regards Nick as his natural father and none other. And like any good father son relationship, their bond is no different than if this child had derived from Nick Santinelli’s very own loins.”
The lawyer turned and faced the judge. “That’s all for now, your Honor.”
Judge Coleman to Dubois’ lawyer. “You may begin with your questioning, Mr. Levenstein.”
Returning to the floor, Levenstein, said, “This is all a very touching story, but that may be all it is. With all due respect to the deceased, how do we know that this little boy in question was ever found in a box or if indeed it was Mr. Santinelli who found him? What proof can his counsel present to the court that Mr. Santinelli was even the one who raised him? This could all be one big lie.”
“Mr. Briscotti?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Martin Briscotti stood calmly and glanced at each and every glaring face in the courtroom, folded his hands and smiled gently. His voice, full of confidence and as smooth as an acoustic guitar playing deep southern blues under a Louisiana sunset, reached softly across the room.
“Mark Twain once said, ‘A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.’
“Your Honor, I presented to the court, doctor receipts accrued over the years. You will also find among those papers in front of you, receipts for formula, a bassinet and many of the other miscellaneous items related to the child’s early months.”
(Pages turning)
“Yes, counsel, I have them. It also says here that you brought witnesses?”
“Yes, sir! I’d like to present my first witness, Elaine Trudall, a clerk who was behind the register of the pharmacy during those first few days of the child’s life.”
<
br /> The judge eyed the Dubois’ lawyer. “Mr. Levenstein, do you have any further questions before we proceed?”
Looking frustrated, the lawyer responded, “No, not at this time, your Honor.”
“Mr. Briscotti?”
“Thank you, your Honor.” Martin nodded at Elaine.
Elaine Trudall, A narrow, elderly woman and never married, shyly squeezed passed all of the bent legs in the aisle and made her way to the witness stand.
“Please raise your right hand,” a bailiff said. “Do you solemnly swear to say the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
“I do!” She said, in a high pitched shaky voice.
“You may be seated.”
Martin quietly smiled at her. “Don’t be nervous, Elaine. This will only take a moment. Do you know Mr. Santinelli and can you point him out to the court room for me?”
The entire time on the witness stand, Elaine continuously rubbed her fingers together. She looked directly at Nick and pointed to him.
“Yes…he’s right there.”
“Mr. Santinelli, could you please stand. Ms. Trudall, is that the man you were just pointing to?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
The judge looked down at the court stenographer. “Let the court show that Ms. Trudall identified Mr. Santinelli.”
“Thank you, Ms. Trudall,” said Martin. “And if you would, please tell the court what transpired three years ago?”
Straightening in her chair, she said, “Nick, I mean, Mr. Santinelli…actually I only knew him as Nick until now. Well, he came into the store three years ago in a big rush. I remember because he didn’t pay anything for it.”
“Didn’t pay anything for what, Ms. Trudall?”
Surprised that the lawyer would ask what she felt was obvious, Elaine stared at him and said, “The baby formula, of course!”
“Thank you! Please go on.”
“He just ran out the door with a whole carton of baby formula. I can’t remember the brand.”
“That’s okay, Ms. Trudall. Just tell us what you do remember.”
“Yes, well, he came back a little later and picked up diapers and handy wipes…I think. I know he picked up the diapers, but I’m not that sure about the handy wipes. Oh, I do remember about a pacifier. I remember that because we get teenagers in the store that buy them. It’s some kind of fad thing. I even remember the color. It was blue.”
“Did he pay for all of that?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Thank you, Ms. Trudall. Your Honor, among your receipts, you will find quite a few for cases of formula and if you check the dates…”
“I already have.”
The judge addressed The Dubois’ lawyer. “Would you like to cross examine?”
(Grumble) “Not at this time, your Honor.”
“You may be seated, Ms. Trudall. Anyone else, counsel?”
“Yes, your Honor. I’d like to call on Detective Victor Guevara.”
Everyone in the court room turned to the man working his way down one of the back rows with a thick mustache and wearing sun glasses. After being sworn in at the witness stand, he flipped the lower back portion of his suit jacket up and settled in the hard wooden chair.
Martin began, “Would you mind removing your sunglasses, Detective Guevara? Thank you. Do you recall three years ago, visiting Mr. Santinelli at his apartment along with Detective Salvatore Rinaldi?”
“Yes! Actually, when you first asked me that a few weeks ago, I couldn’t remember? But, after you showed me the report that I wrote back then, and the man we were looking for, I recalled the incident.”
“And…who were you looking for at the time in question?”
“At the time? Uh…Tommy Van der Hoss.”
“Did you find him?”
“No, not there! We found him a few days later.”
Mr. Levenstein stood up and shouted across the court room. “Objection, your Honor. None of this is relevant!”
“Judge Coleman addressed Mr. Briscotti. “Counsel, what does this have to do with a custody case?”
“Your Honor, if it would please the court, may I just have a few more moments with my witness? I will definitely show relevancy.”
“Objection, overruled. You may continue, counsel.”
“Detective, at the time, do you recall seeing a baby in that apartment?”
“Yes, I do. When my partner and I went into the bedroom to look for Van der Hoss, we saw a woman holding a newborn baby in her arms.”
“Objection!”
“What, now Mr. Levenstein?”
“If he’s going to infer that that was the same baby, how are we going to know whether it was or not?”
“Mr. Briscotti?”
“Your Honor, I’m only establishing that there was a baby there of the same age as Curby. That’s all.”
“Objection overruled. It’s been established. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. May I continue?”
”Yes, you may?”
“Detective,…” said Briscotti, “…please tell the court what happened concerning Tommy Van der Hoss?”
“Van der Hoss? He was tried and convicted of murder and got a twenty year sentence for that. He’s serving his time at Ossining, upstate.”
“Thank you, Mr. Guevara. Your Honor, I’m through with this witness.”
“You may step down, detective.”
The witness stand emptied. The judge, a little perplexed, asked, “So, where’s the relevancy?”
“Your Honor, I have one more witness.”
The judge looked at the clock and took a deep breath. “Go ahead, counsel.”
“I would like to call to the witness stand, the probation officer who was in charge of Tommy Van der Hoss at the time…Daniel Stalling.”
Daniel Stalling stepped up to the stand, short, plump and sporting a close cropped beard. Sworn in, he sat back and relaxed, having served as a witness in many a criminal trial.
“Mr. Stalling…Tommy Van der Hoss…was he not one of your past parolees?”
“Yes, he was, and fortunately, I’ll be retired by the time he gets out.”
“Just answer the question, Mr. Stalling,” said the judge.
“Sorry.”
“Mr. Stalling,” Briscotti continued, “What transpired between Van der Hoss and his cell mate that came to your attention?”
“I got a call from Eddie Rodriguez. That was Tommy’s cell mate. He called me at my office and said he had information about an abandoned baby.”
“Please, go on.”
“He told me that three years ago, Mr. Van der Hoss’s girlfriend had their baby in the basement of a building and that he wanted to get rid of it. He at first wanted to kill the baby, but his girlfriend put up too much of a fuss, so, he decided to put the baby in a box and leave it in the street.
“My guess was that the inmate, Rodriguez, thought he could leverage that information for a lesser sentence. I’m afraid it didn’t work. The concern now was…what ever happened to that baby? We checked police records, but found nothing. We then spoke to the arresting detectives, Mr. Guevara and Mr. Rinaldi. That’s when it all clicked. Guevara is stationed at the same precinct as Officer Silverman. Three weeks ago, she was the officer who made out the report when the boy was found wandering the streets.”
Martin Briscotti finished pacing around in a tight circle in front of the witness stand. He scanned the rows of mesmerized faces sitting attentively on oak benches or standing along the back wall. He then turned back to the witness stand.
“For the record, Mr. Stalling, could you please tell the court that missing boy’s name?”
“Curby!”
A moan lifted from the court room.
“She happened to…”
“Just a second, Mr. Stalling. She, who?”
“Sorry! Officer Margie Silverman.”
“Please continue.”
“Officer Silverman happened to mention about the lost child while she was inside
the officer’s lounge in Detective Guevara’s presents. We all put two and two together and figured out that just possibly; the baby and the three year old boy were one and the same kid. Especially, since Mr. Santinelli couldn’t establish paternity or show a birth certificate for the boy. Besides that, the age was dead on. Also, the location of the box where Mr. Santinelli said he found the baby was exactly where Van der Hoss told Rodriguez he had left it. ”
“Let me hold you up right there, Mr. Stalling. Was a DNA test performed between the child and Van der Hoss?”
“Yes, there was!”
“And what was that result?”
The hush in the court room had grown so quiet, cars in the street beyond the thick stone walls could be clearly heard as they passed by.
“It was a match!”
Another moan was voiced from the court room.
“I have that report here,” Judge Coleman said. “Very impressive. So, is this your last witness, counsel?”
“Yes and no, your Honor.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Briscotti?”
“At this time, your Honor, I would like to present Curby to the court?”
“Why, yes! That would be perfectly fine, counsel. I think we’d all like to meet Mr. Curby.”
Martin looked toward the rear of the court room and nodded at one of the court officers standing before the back wall. The officer immediately went into the hallway and within seconds a female court officer entered the room, hand in hand with Curby.
She guided him up the center aisle, the boy, wide eyed and nervously searching for a familiar face among the gawking crowd. Before the bench, the highly polished floor boards of the vast open space appeared dark and expansive, stretching from wall to wall.
It was all so overwhelming, the smiling judge, the huge mahogany desk, the American flag off to one side along with the city and state flags.
The court officer turned the boy around to face the court.
“Daddy!”
Curby broke free and ran to Nick who grabbed him and lifted him off his feet. Wrapped in his arms, he held him on his lap.
“Why are we here, Daddy?”
“Shh! We have to be quiet.”
Curby Page 7
