Most Wanted

by Lisa Scottoline

  “This lawsuit is not going to happen overnight. I can file it next week. They have thirty days to answer. They’ll ask for an extension. I won’t give it to them. I’m going to pressure them from the get-go. I’m going to hold their feet to the fire.”

  “So then why do you bring up time?”

  “Because you’re not going to have your answer about your donor’s identity right away. Best-case scenario, it’s going to take a month or two, especially if we don’t sue Davidow. If we had Davidow as leverage, it could get done faster. I don’t care what he told you, he would put his thumb on the scale, believe me. But if you’re not terminating the pregnancy, you’re not in a rush.”

  “That’s true,” Christine said, still taken aback.

  “The question I have for you is, why do you want to know if Jeffcoat is your donor when you’re not gonna do anything about it, that is, terminate?”

  “Why does that matter?” Christine asked, confused.

  “Suing somebody takes effort. It takes persistence. I need my clients to stay strong.” Gary eyed her, newly critical. “When you appear in a deposition, you need to mean what you’re saying. I don’t want you to go south on me, whether I’m defending you in a video deposition or if I put you on the stand. So. Answer my question, please.”

  “I want to know because I have an outside hope that our donor isn’t Jeffcoat.”

  “Okay, I get that. Then everybody’s happy.” Gary shook his head. “Let’s say you got the wrong answer. How are you gonna react? Give up the lawsuit?”

  “Oh.” Christine’s heart sank. She didn’t know what to do if she got the wrong answer, and Gary must’ve read her hesitation because he started talking again.

  “Here’s why you want to know, even if it’s the wrong answer. You want to know because if Jeffcoat is the biological dad, then your child’s going to need to be psychologically evaluated and tested every year, to make sure he’s mentally on track and not showing signs of mental illness. If he begins to show signs, then you’ll need to get him treatment. That’s going to cost money.” Gary tented his fingers. “You shouldn’t have to pay that. Homestead should, because their lack of psychological screening is what caused you to have a child with a mental illness. So, Christine, you need to know if Jeffcoat is 3319, whether he is or not, do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Christine hadn’t thought about evaluating or treating the baby, going forward. “But what’s involved in a lawsuit?”

  “Discovery, then trial, if we have to go the distance, which we won’t.”

  “Will they take my deposition?”

  “Yes, first thing. I welcome it. I can’t wait. You’ll be a great witness.” Gary beamed, but Christine grimaced.

  “How do you know that? I’ve never had my deposition taken.”

  “I’m looking at you. You’re adorable. You’re pregnant. You’re an elementary-school teacher. That’s a home run.”

  Christine couldn’t manage a smile. “But it makes me nervous.”

  “I’ll prepare you. I’ll be with you. So what, you’ll be a little nervous.” Gary shrugged, again. “That’s fine. It’s true. It’s authentic. And it’s vulnerable. I want it on video, so Homestead knows that if this case goes to trial, the jury will see the big bad corporate lawyers upsetting the nice pregnant schoolteacher.”

  “What about Marcus? Do they take his deposition, too?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll prepare him, too. He won’t be nervous. He’s as cool as a cucumber, your husband. You’re the case. You’re the sympathy. You’re the reason they’re going to settle and tell us.”

  “You really think so?” Christine felt her hopes lift, torn. It was good news and bad news, both.

  “Yes, but one last thing. You will have to agree that the settlement is confidential. All of it must be confidential. The fact of it, that they told us the donor’s identity, and the amount of the money. No Facebook, no nothing.” Gary turned to Lauren with a sharp eye. “Even you, best friend. The best friend can’t know about it. If the best friend is told about it, I don’t want to know that. You follow, ladies?”

  “Yes,” Christine and Lauren answered, in unfortunate unison.

  Gary returned his attention to Christine. “So, fish or cut bait. Can I count you in as a plaintiff with Marcus?”

  Christine looked over at Lauren, who shot her a grim thumbs-up.

  “That’s a yes from the best friend.” Gary turned to Christine. “Well?”

  “Yes,” Christine answered, praying she was doing the right thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After the meeting with Gary, Christine had mixed emotions, but kept them at bay. She lay on the examining table with a paper sheet covering her from the waist down, waiting for her OB-GYN to come in and start the ultrasound. Her obstetrician was Dr. Terry Frazier, who practiced with a women’s health group unrelated to Dr. Davidow and Families First. Lauren stood beside her, and they had already done the initial workup with the nurse.

  “You must be hungry,” Lauren said, smiling down at her. “After this, I’m treating you to Clam Cottage. Fried things make the best celebration.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “This, the ultrasound.” Lauren smiled, looking down at her. “This is a big deal!”

  “Right.” Christine tried to relax. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. She was having a baby, something she’d wanted her whole life long. She tried to put the donor lawsuit out of her mind.

  “I’m sorry Marcus couldn’t be here.” Lauren puckered her lip, sympathetically.

  “I know.” Christine had thought about texting him but hadn’t. He hadn’t texted or called her this morning, and she wondered how he was doing. She prayed they weren’t having a major rift. They’d been through so much, but this was a crisis. They had to get past this, somehow. She looked up at Lauren. “I’m glad you came, though.”

  “Me, too. Honey, I know you’re worried, but you’re doing the right thing suing Homestead. You need to know who your donor is, whether it’s good news or bad.”

  “I know. I’m better off prepared.”

  They both looked up at the sound of a soft knock at the door, and Dr. Frazier entered. An African-American woman in her late fifties, she had a steely halo of gray hair that made a neat frame to her round face. Her dark eyes were soft behind rimless glasses, and she smiled sweetly.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. It’s all about emergencies today. I have somebody in labor at the hospital, so you’re my last appointment of the day.” Dr. Frazier squirted some sanitizer on her hands, then slid on purple latex gloves. “We don’t have to guess about your conception date. I checked your file, and your procedure was April 16, correct?”

  “Yes.” Christine knew Dr. Frazier meant the IUI procedure, by which she was inseminated with Donor 3319’s sperm. Dr. Frazier knew that Christine had conceived using a donor, but nothing about the latest developments and the lawsuit. Christine briefly considered telling her, but decided against it. She wanted to keep this experience pure and untainted.

  “So this is your first ultrasound, correct?”

  “Yes.” Christine nodded. “Do I hear the heartbeat today?”

  “That’s the plan,” Dr. Frazier answered, and Christine heard the caveat in her voice, in that not every ultrasound would confirm a heartbeat. She’d learned to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

  “Good.”

  “Okay, let’s get started.” Dr. Frazier sat on a rolling stool and rolled into position. “You’ll feel some pressure, but that’s it. Keep your eyes on the monitor. That’s the show.”

  “Okay.” Christine turned to the boxy monitor on top of the ultrasound machine. Though the screen was black, she felt her heartbeat quicken. She’d seen this scene in movies and read about it in her books. She’d always wondered if she would ever be the pregnant lady on the examining table and now finally, she was. She hated that Marcus wasn’t here, but Lauren was, and girlfriends were foreve
r.

  “Ultrasound, as you may know, uses sound waves to show us an image of the baby.” Dr. Frazier spoke as the monitor screen blossomed into a grayish mess of static, and Christine felt some discomfort but was distracted by the image. She couldn’t tell what she was seeing though she felt vaguely nervous and thrilled, both at once.

  “Is that the baby?”

  “Not yet, stay tuned,” Dr. Frazier answered, then the image changed and shifted, gray and black, but still all static.

  “It doesn’t hurt the baby to do this, does it?” Christine couldn’t tear her eyes from the monitor, watching the dark and light patches come in and out of view.

  “No, this is perfectly safe.” Dr. Frazier started pressing buttons on the keyboard of the machine. The image enlarged once, then twice, and Christine felt tears come to her eyes, her heart recognizing the image before her brain did.

  “That’s a heartbeat!” Christine cried out, joyful. “Isn’t that the heartbeat? That thing, like, fluttering?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Frazier pressed more buttons. “So we can confirm this pregnancy, for sure.”

  “Oh my God!” Christine yelped. “Look at that! That’s amazing! Lauren, look!”

  “I know!” Lauren squeezed her hand. “Honey, you got yourself a baby.”

  “I do!” Christine’s eyes brimmed. “I really do!”

  “Let me explain what you’re seeing.” Dr. Frazier nodded toward the monitor. “See the circle, and the outer edges of the circle are grainy and gray? That’s the lining of your uterus.”

  “Okay.” Christine wiped her eyes, trying to focus through her emotions.

  “Inside of the grainy edges, it’s black, which is fluid, and in the middle of the fluid is the white spot, which is the baby. See how it looks like a figure eight? Or one circle attached to the other?”

  Christine nodded, too overcome to speak.

  “That’s because, at this point, the head and body are about the same size. Sometimes you can see arm stems, but that’s hard to see right now. And, as you said, the fluttering is the heart.”

  “Wow.” Christine wiped her eyes again.

  “Everything looks copacetic. You’re nine weeks along.” Dr. Frazier returned to the ultrasound machine and pressed more buttons. “I’m going to take some measurements, and we will be done in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Christine sniffled at the screen, riveted by the delicate white fluttering, like the most gorgeous of butterflies beating its wings, delicate but terribly fragile. She felt overwhelmed with a fierce protectiveness, as well as the greatest happiness she had ever known, suffusing her with the warmth, strength, and power of life itself.

  “Hold on, for the finale.” Dr. Frazier hit a button on the machine, which made a few ticks and in the next moment, printed a photo, which she handed over. “Baby’s first picture.”

  “This is amazing!” Christine brimmed with new tears as she accepted the photo, her fingers shaking. Holding the photo was almost like holding the baby in her hands, proof of a dream realized, before her eyes. She made a silent vow to love the baby, to take care of it, and to shield it from any and all harm. Because it wasn’t Rosemary’s Baby, it was her baby, and she was its mother.

  In time, the ultrasound ended, and Christine dried her eyes, came out of her reverie, and got dressed. She and Lauren waited together at the billing desk while she paid her co-pay, then they walked to the car. They were talking the way they always did, bantering back and forth, exchanging views about the ultrasound, but Christine felt as if she were also in a world of her own, a world that now included only her and her child, inside her. She had never felt that way in her life, and it struck her, as she piled into Lauren’s Jetta and they drove off, past the pretty houses and tall trees toward the Clam Cottage, that she had never realized how incredible it was to be pregnant, that it truly was a miracle, and that this miracle had happened to her.

  The sensation stayed with her like a state of grace, even as she climbed out of the car, went inside the restaurant, sat down, and ordered. All of the emotion she was experiencing resonated deep within her, as if being her baby’s mother was the best thing she could be doing in the world, as if her heart had gotten what it had always wanted, even before she had even been born and filled out her body, to give her soul a home.

  “Christine? Pass the ketchup, please.” Lauren frowned from across the narrow Formica table, tilting her head. “Earth to Christine. I’ve asked you for the ketchup, like, three times.”

  “Sorry.” Christine smiled, shaking it off.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I don’t know.” Christine shrugged, nonplussed but happy. “I didn’t realize my ultrasound would be a spiritual experience.”

  Lauren burst into laughter. “OMG, you are so freaking hormonal.”

  “Thank you for coming with me.” Christine almost choked up again but blinked her tears away.

  “I’m happy I was there.” Lauren took a big bite of her lobster roll, which was hot and dripping with butter, making her hands greasy.

  “Are you so happy you got your lobster roll?”

  “I’m unbelievably happy I got my lobster roll.”

  “I’m unbelievably happy I got my onion rings,” Christine said, taking a bite. The batter was light, and the onions had been sliced thin, so it was like heaven on earth. “These are so good it’s not even funny.”

  “We’re eating for two.”

  “And nobody can stop us.”

  The Clam Cottage was a more humble establishment than its name would suggest, one large room with ten Formica tables around the windows on the perimeter. The cashier, take-out counter, and kitchen were situated on the right side of the room, where the menu was posted on a fading chalkboard that nobody needed because only locals ate here. A flat-screen TV played a soap opera on mute, and retirees watched, though it didn’t have any closed captioning. Christine was relieved that it wasn’t on a news station though Jeffcoat lurked behind her thoughts, darkening her happiness like a shadow.

  “I feel so free.” Lauren munched away on her lobster roll. “My mother-in-law picked up the kids at the bus. Let’s go buy things for the baby.”

  “Good idea.” Christine got distracted by the soap opera, where a gorgeous young couple were in bed. “Where do they get those people? They look unreal.”

  “They’re all models.” Lauren turned to the TV, and the scene changed to a lawyer in his office, lined with fake books. “That’s Dan, the assistant D.A.”

  “How do you know?” Christine asked, surpised. “Do you watch this?”

  “Of course. Not.” Lauren laughed.

  “When do you get time to watch soap operas?”

  “I DVR them and watch when the kids do their homework.” Lauren pointed at the screen. “See Dan? He lost his big case, so the killer’s going free.”

  “Oh,” Christine said, but her thoughts turned to Jeffcoat.

  “Dan is also sleeping with the killer’s twin sister, which he can’t figure out even though they look alike.”

  Christine kept her eyes on the screen, thinking about Zachary Jeffcoat, in prison outside Philadelphia.

  “They’re even played by actors who are fraternal twins. You know how fraternal twins can sometimes look alike, even though they’re not identical?”

  “Yes, sure.” Christine couldn’t focus on the show. The idea that had been forming in the back of her mind was finally coming together, especially after what Gary had told her. “It’s going to be really hard to wait two months to find out if Jeffcoat’s our donor.”

  “The wheels of justice turn slowly.”

  “And in the meantime, we don’t have an answer to a simple question.”

  “I know, it totally sucks.”

  “Maybe there’s another way.”

  “What?”

  Christine took a flyer. “We’re trying to find out if Jeffcoat is Donor 3319, so what’s the easiest way? What do we tell our students, every day?”

&
nbsp; “Stop picking your nose?”

  “No. We tell them, ‘If you don’t know something, ask.’”

  “Ask who?” Lauren frowned. “Davidow doesn’t know, and Homestead won’t tell you.”

  “There’s one person who knows. Zachary Jeffcoat.”

  “What are you saying?” Lauren’s eyes flared in surprise.

  “I’m saying that Jeffcoat knows whether he donated or not. He’ll even know what his donor number is. If I want to know if Jeffcoat is Donor 3319, I should ask him.”

  “How?”

  “Just, go. Drive down. He’s in Philadelphia, not on Mars.”

  “Are you insane?” Lauren’s eyes widened, horrified. “He’s in prison.”

  “So? People in prison have visitors. I wouldn’t have to wait two months. I wouldn’t have to sue Homestead. I can just ask Jeffcoat.”

  “Are you seriously considering this?”

  “Yes, why not?” Christine felt her heart lift.

  “He’s a serial killer. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “They have him behind bars. The safest place you can meet a serial killer is in prison. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I can just go ask him.”

  “Would you tell him who you are?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.” Christine thought a moment, remembering her conversation with William Magni, from the newspaper. “Who do prisoners talk to, besides their family and friends? Reporters. I could say I was a reporter.”

  “No, no, no. It’s really crazy. What if you ask him and he doesn’t tell you?”

  “Then I go.” Christine shrugged. “I haven’t lost anything. Philadelphia’s not that long a drive. I could leave in the morning and be there by the afternoon. Tomorrow.”

  “No!” Lauren said, hushed. “You can’t, you shouldn’t. It’s scary.”

  “I don’t see the harm. I can drive away. He can’t get out. He doesn’t know where I live.”

  “Marcus will never let you do that.”

  “Marcus doesn’t have to know. He’s away this weekend.”

  “You would go to a prison without telling him?”

  “He went to a lawyer without telling me.” Christine shrugged. The more she thought about the idea, the less crazy it seemed.