CHAPTER 29
CHAD: OCTOBER 1, 2011
CHAD CLIMBED OUT of a police car and into the bright sunshine. He walked slowly toward the fresh mounds of dirt and the dark coffin perched next to a newly dug rectangular hole. He became self-conscious as he walked, aware that a Philadelphia TV news crew was there, filming from just outside the perimeter of the cemetery. He thought of the headline, Rape Suspect Attends Drunk Father’s Funeral, Mother is Still Missing. He was also embarrassed by the fact that only three people—probably the guys Charlie drank with—came to the funeral.
Stuart strode next to Chad with his hands buried in the front pockets of his wrinkled black suit. He positioned himself between Chad and the news cameras and he thoughtfully produced a pair of dark sunglasses for Chad. Stuart had told him that he was there to ensure that Chad did not talk to the press, but Chad liked to think that Stuart was there as his friend. With the sunglasses covering his eyes, Chad scanned the few people standing around, desperately hoping to see his mother. She was nowhere in sight.
“Hello, Chad, I’m Father John,” a man said as he extended his hand to Chad. Chad looked at his worn but kind face and realized that he had no recollection of ever meeting this man before. “I thought I’d say a few words about your father and then maybe you could say a few words.”
Chad briefly pictured himself delivering a eulogy that revealed to all in attendance that his father was a miserable, mean drunk. “Thank you, Father John, but, um, I think I don’t feel right speaking today. I’d appreciate it if you’d handle it for me.”
“Well, is there anything you’d like me to know about your father that I can recount in my comments?”
Chad looked up into the man’s kind blue eyes and said, calmly and with certainty, “No, Father.” He swallowed hard. He wanted the priest to understand what type of man Charlie McCloskey had been and how he had made his wife and son suffer. But he stood mute, waiting for the service to begin.
“Okay. Well, then,” Father John said, “let’s get started.”
Chad was directed to sit in one of four white wooden chairs placed next to the freshly dug grave. They had been reserved for the family. Chad self-consciously sat with two empty chairs to his left and one to his right. Stuart stood right behind him. Chad knew that the news footage would reveal to its viewers that the alleged rapist sat alone, because his no-good drunk of a father didn’t even have four family members who could be bothered to come to his funeral. Chad purposefully kept his head up and his face expressionless. He tried to conjure up a vision of a man who was decent, not capable of a brutal attack on a woman, and nothing like the man about to be deposited into the ground inside a wooden box. He wondered if his mother would see a tape of this moment on an evening news program somewhere. He briefly thought about Kelly Malloy watching the news, too, intensely scrutinizing his expression and trying to determine if he could be her attacker.
He blocked out the words of Father John, not wanting to hear the hackneyed remarks about the “good,” “devoted” and “loving” father and husband, and all of the other bullshit Father John would be required to say. Instead, Chad focused on his plan to reunite with his mother in Arizona. He replayed the picture of his mother coming out of her home and running toward him joyously against the backdrop of a warm sunset.
Chad awoke from his trance when he heard the thwump of a shovel-full of dirt hit the top of his father’s coffin. He hadn’t even noticed when they lowered it into the ground. Father John was declaring out loud that his father had originated out of dust, and “to dust he shall return.” Chad felt the same feeling of relief, of a complete unburdening, that he had experienced when he first learned of his father’s death.
As the service ended, Chad stood slowly, uncertain as to what to do next. He felt Stuart’s hand at his elbow. “You okay, Chad?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Chad looked at his young lawyer again, grateful for his presence. “What now?”
“Well, now we go thank the good padre and shake hands with the three old cronies who managed to show up.” And with that, Stuart gently led him over to the old priest and the three mourners at the funeral. Chad shook their hands and accepted their condolences, and then walked away without remembering their names or caring who they were.
Moments after Chad was returned to his seat in the police cruiser, Stuart ducked his head into the open door behind him and said, “Hang in there, Chad. I’m coming to see you tonight, and I’m hoping to bring you some good news.”
*****
Chad sat alone at a small table, staring at the clock on the white wall; eight thirty-five. At that moment Stuart burst into the room, out of breath. “I’ve got good news, my man!” He clapped Chad on the back and then he walked around the table and pulled out a chair. He changed his mind and started pacing back and forth. “The DNA results are in and Jack Barnard has been conclusively proven to be the bastard who abducted and raped Kelly Malloy.”
“Are you sure?” Chad asked, hesitant to really believe that his nightmare might be ending.
“Absolutely sure. This is science, guaranteed and respected by all.”
“Wow!” Chad grabbed Stuart and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Oh, my God! Thank you! Thank you!”
“Okay, Chad,” Stuart said, a little awkwardly. “You don’t want to suffocate your attorney, do you?”
“You mean the best defense attorney in the state?” Chad joked.
“Well,” Stuart said, his eyes shining behind the thick round lenses, “certainly the best one you have ever had.” Stuart chuckled. “Although this won’t hurt my ability to get business and charge hefty fees for my services—should I ever decide to leave the poor downtrodden folks I get to represent now.”
“Well, I guess I can take some solace in the fact that I advanced your career.” Chad joked again. “So… when do I get out of here?”
“Soon. I called the AG and asked them to file a nolle prosequi like we discussed. The lead prosecutor, Sam Schultz, didn’t get back to me until about an hour ago. He has been pretty busy, as you can imagine. He said he will consider dismissal now that the DNA results match Barnard, but only after he checks out a few things. He claims they are not ready now to dismiss and let you walk, because they still have probable cause that you were somehow involved in this crime.”
Chad pumped his fist into his palm. “This is bullshit!”
“I know it’s hard, Chad, but you have to hang on.” Stu took out a legal pad and scanned his notes of the conversation he’d had with Schultz. “This Schultz guy says he has a duty to protect the victim and the public, and until he is very comfortable that he does not have probable cause to believe that you were either participating in this attack or were at least an accomplice to it, he is not dismissing. He also said he has a duty to not continuing your prosecution if that changes, and he will look into that now.” Stu’s eyes scanned the pad. “He mentioned that he needs to check out your rescue story with the couple that found the victim. Also, he wants to check out your plane ticket excuse with the people who interviewed you when your mother disappeared, the ones who searched your belongings and car. He said he needs to probe a bit regarding notes in the file about an old postcard to your mother—notes that support your story about the plane ticket and the bus company, confirming your mother went to Arizona. He has some follow-up questions for lab guys as well. He sounded earnest and everything, but he said he’d been consumed with getting Barnard these past few days… so, now he can turn his attention to this. You are not going to like this either, but he mentioned it’s now Saturday evening, he has some hearing prep scheduled for Monday morning, and then he can get to this. He thinks realistically he can be ready for this decision by Wednesday. I’m sure it’s not soon enough for you, but I’ll call him Monday morning and start bugging him again, I promise.”
Chad gulped. Four more days and nights to endure.
Stu tried to encourage Chad, saying, “And of course, when you walk out of here, there will be
the obligatory press conference. That will be your chance to show the world that you’re a nice, decent guy who was guilty only of being a Good Samaritan. Your chance at some good press… and of course, I’ll get a chance to speak as well.”
“Okay, Stuart. I’ll let you do most of the talking anyway, like usual,” Chad tried to joke.
“Oh, and I have one more piece of important news to tell you.” Stuart said. He hesitated for a moment, as if he did not know how to bring up the subject. Then he opened his briefcase and quickly located a few pages stapled together. “A detective has located your mother.”
Chad stood, stunned. “She’s okay, right?” He felt his throat tighten. “Please tell me what you know. Please.” Chad begged.
“She’s fine Chad. And she is not in Arizona, so it’s a good thing that you didn’t go through with that harebrained idea of flying off to the Sun Devil State with a one-way ticket and spare change in your pocket.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s living in Oregon with her sister.” Stuart replied. “The detectives figured it out after they did some computer-based searches of the fifty states. You know, court records, motor vehicle, that kind of thing.” Stuart’s eyes scanned the pages briefly to refresh his memory. “She did live in Scottsdale for a short time. There were some payroll tax records showing she worked there for a little bit, but that’s about it. Next she moved to Eugene, Oregon. She filed a petition to change her name from Louisa McCloskey to Louisa Chadbourne. And recently, she got a new driver’s license in Oregon. Her address, her driver’s license information, all of the details are right here, Chad. This copy is for you.” Stuart held out the three-page report, stapled in the upper left corner.
Chad took the report from Stuart. His eyes scanned the information, catching important snippets. First he made sure he saw his mother’s name, as well as her birth date. They were right there, assuring him that this information actually revealed his mother’s whereabouts, and that she was alive and, presumably, happy. He read out loud what was listed as her current address, “23 Morning Mist Lane, Eugene, Oregon, 97405.” He immediately replaced his vision of the red-tiled roof and white adobe ranch against stark mountains of Arizona with a smart blue shingled house with white trim, a white picket fence surrounded by lush evergreens, and colorful flowers in its window boxes. The picture of his mother coming out of her front door to greet him remained identical, however—and that was really the only part that mattered.
CHAPTER 30
KELLY: OCTOBER 3, 2011
KELLY WANTED TO ask Dan why he was sleeping downstairs on the couch, but she could not. She knew the answer was bigger than anything she could solve right now, and she was sure she could not handle whatever reaction he would have to the question. She had made a plan to deal with her anger, her bitterness and her aching loneliness, and she was going to embark on it as soon as Dan and the girls had left the house.
After Dan and the girls slammed the mudroom door and loaded into Dan’s pickup, Kelly picked up the telephone and dialed.
“Hello, Jeter and Associates,” a woman’s nasal voice answered the phone after a couple of rings.
Kelly looked around her kitchen as she spoke self-consciously. “Yes, uhm, hi.” She paced back and forth as she spoke. “I’m calling because my family doctor, Dr. Johnson, told me that he spoke with Dr. Jeter about my circumstances and she agreed to see me relatively promptly.”
“Well,” the woman said, “Dr. Jeter isn’t in yet. I’m the office manager, the early bird. Dr. Jeter’s practice is full at present. I wasn’t aware that she was accepting new patients.”
Frustration, fatigue and anger welled up and tears spilled out of Kelly’s eyes. “Can you please just ask the doctor? I am sure she’ll know what this is about.” Surprising herself, she added, “It’s sort of an emergency.”
“Oh, wait!” the woman blurted out. “Here it is! Dr. Jeter left a post-it note on my computer last night. It says I should fit Kelly Malloy in today. The doctor’s booked until five, when she usually leaves, but she can see you then.”
Kelly thought for a moment about the girls’ schedules, dinner and the unfinished brief on her desk. “Okay, I’ll be there at five. Thank you very much,” she said, remembering her Resolutions to Get Back on Track list and the vision of Dan sleeping on the couch.
“Oops. No, wait a minute. She has to be somewhere this evening, so let’s make it lunchtime,” the woman said. I’ll have to schedule you between noon and one, when she usually catches up on her paperwork. So, we’ll see you at noon.”
“Okay, yes, whatever you have.” Kelly was relieved. “I’ll be there at noon.”
A knock on the door brought her back to the present. “Hello?” It was Sam at the mudroom door as Kelly hung up the phone. Sam declared, “I just saw Dan and the girls driving down the street.”
“Yup, good old Dan. He’s my rock,” Kelly said as she turned and walked back toward her kitchen. Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to Kelly’s comment or her sarcastic tone, so he quietly closed and locked the door behind him and followed her into the kitchen. He unloaded papers and folders from his briefcase onto Kelly’s kitchen table, and she put a tray of donuts and a mug of coffee in front of him.
“Too much sugar and cream, just like you took it in law school.”
“You’re just jealous because I can eat like this and keep my girlish figure,” Sam joked as he helped himself to a jelly donut.
“What is all of this?” Kelly asked.
“I brought copies of a lot of stuff that I’ll leave with you, but we don’t need to go through all of that now. I do want you to be familiar with all of this for the preliminary hearing, though, and ultimately, for trial. There’s the complaint, police reports, papers relating to the arrest warrant and—oh, you’ll want to see this—a copy of the DNA report.”
Kelly snatched the DNA report out of Sam’s hand.
“Jeez, Kel. You’re going to give me a paper cut.”
Kelly read the document carefully, trying to absorb every detail. Sam watched her eyes darting back and forth as her lips moved silently. “I had a couple of criminal law classes in law school and I can barely understand this thing. How is your average Joe on the jury going to get this?” Kelly asked, waving the report toward Sam’s face.
“No problem, Kel, I’ve done this a million times.” Sam assured her. “First, we establish chain of custody—you know, making sure everyone knows this was in fact Jack Barnard’s sample, and it was unadulterated. And then my guy at the lab testifies, after establishing he is an expert in this area, that he performed the testing and that he prepared this report. I ask him questions about the report and he breaks it down into plain English for our jury members.”
“Okay, Sam,“I’m sorry. I know you are the best and I know I need to stop worrying.”
“Kelly, I’m telling you. This is airtight. We have witnesses that put Jack Barnard at the scene, and better yet, we have this DNA match. This DNA test has a margin of error that is so infinitesimal, it’s as good as telling the jury that it is flawless, certain, perfect.” Sam smiled a broad grin.
Kelly walked to Sam and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Sam! I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea!”
Kelly and Sam did not hear the truck in the driveway or the door open. Dan stood, dumbfounded, as he watched from the kitchen hallway. Kelly dropped her arms quickly and stepped away from Sam.
“Oh, hi, babe,” Kelly said, hurriedly. “I was just thanking Sam for putting this guy away. He was just showing me the DNA report that is foolproof.”
“Great,” Dan said, flatly. He walked stiffly toward the kitchen. “I just came back to get my cell. I forgot it.” He spoke without looking at them. He walked to the kitchen counter, found his cell phone, and tucked it into his pocket. He turned and headed out the door without a word.
“Dan!” Dan stopped but did not look back. “Please wait a second.” Kelly hurried over to the door, stepped outside and onto a s
tone path that led to their driveway. “Dan, we have to talk. Please. That was just a friendly hug, a grateful hug. Sam has done so much for me, for us. He’s going to put this guy away, he is going to give us all peace of mind, finally.” Kelly looked at Dan with growing desperation. He stood silently, looking down at Kelly’s feet. “Come on, Dan, what are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking? What am I thinking? I’m thinking that I don’t know my wife anymore. I am thinking that she is so wrapped up in herself and her needs that she can’t see that the rest of her family is suffering, too. I’m thinking that I don’t like to come home, especially—when my wife has been incredibly distant toward me—to find her arms around another guy! I’m sorry I didn’t go to law school and I can’t prosecute rapists and I can’t be your big hero right now. But you know something, I am your husband, and the father of your children and I am not sure you give a crap about that right now. That is what I am thinking!”
Dan turned and walked swiftly to his truck. He climbed in, pulled the visor down so that Kelly would not see that he was fighting tears, and backed quickly out of the driveway.
Kelly stood next to the door to her home for a few minutes, until her sobbing subsided. Dan’s words had stung, but Kelly was also strangely grateful for them. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with her shirtsleeve as she thought about his tirade. He’d get over the fact that she was hugging Sam: Kelly knew that Dan trusted her and he understood her relationship with Sam. But the rest of what he said rang true. Kelly had been consumed by her anger, her grief and by her desire to get revenge. She couldn’t remember the last time she literally cared for her daughters or husband or had connected with them or shared in any meaningful way.
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