“Your Honor?”
Queenie’s voice startled me out of reverie.
“If Stow calls again, Queenie, don’t talk to him.”
“I just told you,” she said, “he doesn’t call me anymore.”
“You have to come, Daddy. I’ve got something really important to tell you, and I want to tell you in person.”
“Ellen, sweetheart, I can only take so many of these family gatherings.”
I stretched out on my office couch and cradled the phone between my shoulder and my chin. So far, stretching out was the only thing I was accomplishing in my new office.
“Daddy, there was a time when we didn’t even know whether you were alive or dead. You can’t blame us for wanting to spend time with you.”
“Ellen, there was a time when you wished I were dead!”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. It’s Jeffrey’s birthday and Mom really wants you there.”
The thought made me uncomfortable.
“And I want you there, too. When you find out what I have to say, you’ll understand why I need to tell you to your face.”
“You’re not serving me with a writ or anything, are you?”
“Oh, Daddy, such soap opera! I’ll see you at Mom’s.”
Before my fall from grace and goodness, my wife Anne and I had substantial investments, which, due to good advice provided by her own family, had not diminished during my lapse. When I was sufficiently recovered from my brush with the law and my retreat into mental illness to be divorced, we divided those assets. I used my share to leverage purchase of the apartment building Jeffrey and I now ran. Anne had used hers to buy a triangular suite on the thirtieth floor of a building overlooking Lake Ontario on one side and most of downtown Toronto on the other. On a November day, I found myself in the condo and realized that at that time of year, Anne could see the sun rise over the harbor islands from her bedroom window and watch it set over the low blue ridge of hills northwest of the city from her living room.
“I’m glad you came before everyone else, Ellis,” she said awkwardly. “It gives us a few minutes alone.” She stood outlined against the backdrop of the city. Dressed in a pale blue silk slack suit, her ice-blond hair sleek in the early winter light, Anne looked like a lovely fixture, an art object.
I cleared my throat. “I guess I mixed up the time.”
“Ellen and Jeffrey and their families will be here in a few minutes,” she said pleasantly, “but before they come, I need to ask you something.” She moved closer and lifted her hand. I was afraid she was going to touch my face. Would my skin recognize the once-familiar sensation of her smooth fingertips against my cheek?
Instead, she ran her fingers along the sleeve of my jacket. “Ellis,” she said, “I want to know how the case in Stow’s defense is going.”
I noticed faint shadows beneath her eyes. Age or tiredness was making its mark after all. But she was still beautiful, still the only woman I had wanted to be my wife. Disappointed that her question was not about me, I moved away from her touch.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Anne. I’m surprised you’d think otherwise.”
“Thank you, Ellis, thank you.” Now she clutched my arm. “If you’re not at liberty to say anything about the case, that means you’re on it. It means that Stow has been successful in convincing you to be his lawyer in this mess.”
“Anne,” I said, catching a whiff of Chanel, “is that why you invited me here today, to ask me about my practice? Are you afraid I’ll slip back into vagrancy?”
“No, of course not! I’m simply concerned about your well-being.” She hesitated, her eyes averted. “I’m not an unsophisticated person, Ellis. I know I have to share some of the blame for what happened to you.”
“No, Anne,” I protested, startled at this idea. “The responsibility is all mine. Forget ...”
“Ellis,” she said, her voice now urgent. “The prosecutor on this case is brand new, but powerful and promising. Whatever the outcome for poor Stow, his murder trial can make or break both counsel, the Crown and the defense. Both of you can be sure of the kind of attention that will elevate you to ...”
“Anne, Anne,” I said, taking both her hands in my own. “Why do you care about this case so much, anyway?”
Before she could answer, the door to the condo burst open. Little Angelo came running in and behind him was his mother.
“Daddy,” Ellen said, without prelude, “you need to know that I’ve been promoted.”
“Ellen, how wonderful!”
“As of November 15, I was made Senior Crown. In fact,” she glanced at her mother, then at me. “In fact,” she said, “I’m going to be the lead Crown on the first-degree murder trial Regina us. John Stoughton-Melville. It’s you against me, Daddy, and before you say anything, I want you to know that I’m happy about this, and I hope you will be, too.”
Chapter 5
It was totally false—the notion that our possible confrontation was good news to Ellen, that she relished telling me in person because of her joy in robust competition. Ellen was the child of my blood, the person most like me in the world. I sensed that she was not happy to have me as an adversary, that she was distraught.
I, on the other hand, felt a sense of exhilaration that I dared not show. A prosecutor of power and promise? My own daughter! I have to admit I felt a sudden relish; it would be easy to win against so green an opponent. Yet the juxtaposition of counsel seemed not only unusual but impossible. Would the law permit this situation? It occurred to me that there was no statute I knew of forbidding such familial confrontations in the courtroom. Weird as our opposition might seem, it was not illegal. Or did I suppose I would lose the case, thereby enhancing my girl’s growing reputation?
“Ellen,” I said, inviting her to take a seat beside me while Anne placed goblets of sparkling water on a glass coffee table in front of us, “I think you’re not as keen on this idea as you seem ...”
“You’re mistaken,” she answered, refusing to meet my eyes. “I would have asked to be taken off if I’d thought it inappropriate to have you as defense counsel. Besides, I have a very strong case against Stoughton-Melville. He ruthlessly and heartlessly murdered a helpless woman, a woman he had pledged to love, honor and protect. He was an officer of the court and a servant of his country the night he performed this egregious act. Not only did he breach the trust of his wife, he breached the trust of us all. I’m going to nail him. His defense counsel will be a worthy adversary and no more.”
“That’s the spirit, Ellen!” I said with pride. “I guess you’ve learned a thing or two from your old man after all.”
She smiled but still didn’t look at me.
“Do you remember the first time you were ever in court?” I asked.
“You let me sit on the judge’s bench so I could get a good look at the place.”
“You loved it.”
“You loved it, too, Daddy.” She didn’t add, Yet look what you did with it.
“And now we get to play the game together.”
“Daddy, it’s not a game. We might end up enemies. Did that thought ever occur to you? It may not matter to you, but I don’t particularly want an enemy for a father.”
“Ellen,” I said, raising my hand to smooth her dark curly hair as I had when she was a child, “the day I saw you again and realized that you’d been looking for me when I was down and out was the day I knew that nothing could ever come between us. It’s not going to be you versus me. It’s going to be the state versus the accused. It’s not personal. It’s merely an opportunity for us both to showcase our talents.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said as she reached over to give my old cheek a peck.
I looked up then and saw Jeffrey watching us. Too engrossed with Ellen, I hadn’t noticed his presence despite the giggling sounds of his wife and babe as they dispensed with their coats and hats, boots and gloves.
“Son,” I greeted him. “I’m glad you’re here.
We need to talk about that land deal when you get a chance.”
He nodded, glanced at Ellen and took a step toward us, but Tootie interrupted him to help her with the massive amount of equipment needed for little Sal.
I turned back to Ellen. “This is your first murder case as Senior Crown,” I said, “and my first case of any sort in years. We’re going to be a sensation.”
“Especially if that viper Aliana Caterina gets on the story.”
“What?”
“That Euro-trash witch is after you, Daddy.” Ellen seemed to be joking, but I wasn’t sure. “When the press latches on to the father-against-daughter angle,” she added, “we’ll both be hot news.”
“That’s what your mother thinks,” I remarked lightly.
A pained look crossed her face. “Speaking of Mom, I’m she sure she needs me in the kitchen.”
“Ellen—” I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t be afraid. A jury will not be unsympathetic to a young woman trying to bring to justice a man accused of killing his innocent wife.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said stoutly. “Not of a scoundrel like Stow. And not of you, either.”
When my daughter left the room, I approached my son. Surrounded as he was by the demands of his professional life, his young children and his wife, Jeffrey was rather hard to pin down for even a short conversation, so I relished this brief opportunity.
“Have you heard anything?” I began.
“I meant to call you,” he answered. “Looks like the land adjacent to Wigmore Ravine is becoming available.” Small talk was no more palatable to Jeffrey than it was to me. He continued, “It’s the parcel you and I have had our eyes on since we acquired the apartment building. I think it’s about a hundred acres ...”
“And the price?”
Jeffrey reached into the pocket of his black shirt and pulled out a carefully folded piece of lined paper. Though I was sitting opposite him and couldn’t make out what appeared upside down to me, I could see the precise columns of figures, the tidy lines of notes. I remembered how proud I’d once been of the neat, meticulous handwriting of both my children.
“The City’s trying to unload it as surplus,” he said. He shook his fair head. “As if land could ever be extra or something you unload for fast cash. Anyway, we can probably negotiate the price. I’m sure we can make a down payment without having to remortgage the apartment building.” He kept his eyes glued to his calculations as he asked, “Want to go back down there with me and have another look, Dad?”
Two days later, we descended the steep path. A light dusting of snow sparkled in the morning sun, which lent freshness to the dark green fir trees and caused the denuded maple and oak to cast long, gray shadows.
We walked in silence directly to the river, easily found stepping-stones above a riffle of rapids and crossed the shallow stream to the parcel of real estate we hoped to buy.
“Litterers,” Jeffrey muttered in disgust as we came upon a heap of crushed beer cans. A rusted fork and a bent can opener beside the heap showed that it had been some time since the trespassers had been here. I glanced up. Far above us, new condominiums crowned the rim of the valley. Where they gave onto the ravine, the buildings were protected by tall fences capped with razor wire. No doubt the owners of those condos thought they were protecting themselves from thieves and thugs lurking in the valley. In reality, the fences served to keep people from the street out of the ravine. I was beginning to see that this land would be a safe and secure investment.
Whether Jeffrey was coming to the same conclusion, I couldn’t say. He had never been much of a talker, and from the time he’d been a little boy, nature outings had rendered him even quieter than he usually was. He studied the riverbank, the trees with their coating of fine snow, the pale blue sky. After what seemed a very long time, he said, “If we buy this land, people will think we’re building ourselves some sort of private domain out here.” He gestured toward the river running fast over a ridge of rock worn smooth by the years.
“Does that bother you, son?”
Jeffrey smiled without looking at me. “No,” he said, “on the contrary. I love this place. I always have. I remember how I used to look forward to our walks down here. I could hardly wait for the day when you’d bring me down.”
“But Jeffrey,” I said, stopping and turning toward him so abruptly that he bumped into me, “in those days, you always seemed to come along on sufferance, as though you were accommodating me. If I had known how much you enjoyed our outings, they would have been more frequent.”
“No, they wouldn’t have, Dad,” he answered. “You were always too busy.” He shivered. “It’s cold. What do you think? About the land, I mean.”
“Jeffrey, do you feel confident about handling the negotiations?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do it. I’ll draw up a proxy, a limited power of attorney, in case you have to sign anything when I’m busy. Do what you have to do, son. I think this land should belong to us. Jointly.” Jeffrey almost always tried to hide his feelings, but I could tell he was pleased.
I met Nicky McPhail for coffee later that same day. “Why is Stoughton-Melville in a maximum-security federal penitentiary when he has never even been convicted, let alone sentenced?” Nicky asked.
“Presumably for his own protection,” I answered.
“Against what?”
“Against not being the center of attention!”
Nicky laughed, but clearly Stow’s situation was serious. “How did this happen, Ellis? How did he ever end up in so much trouble?”
“Nicky, I’ve never met an accused who didn’t ask himself that question—even when he knew the answer. Whatever happened in Riverside Hospital that night made Stow vulnerable to investigation. Whatever that investigation turned up has led to his arrest.”
“It’s your job to study the disclosure, to put together the Crown’s evidence in direct opposition to the way Ellen will put it together.”
I agreed. “Same so-called facts. Different conclusion.”
“In what ways is Justice Stoughton-Melville vulnerable here?”
“I suppose, Nicky, that’s for me to find out,” I answered carefully. But I already knew some of the answers. Stow had been vulnerable to his love for a difficult and ultimately inaccessible woman. He had been vulnerable to the arrogance of judging other men. And now he was vulnerable to time, time that was robbing him of his freedom while he quickly aged.
“But Stow doesn’t cease to be a judge because of these charges, does he?”
“Far from it,” I replied. “All this has no bearing whatsoever on his judicial status.”
“Which makes him powerful and dangerous still,” Nicky mused.
Stow didn’t need a judgeship to make him powerful and dangerous, but I didn’t bother mentioning that to my young friend.
The presumption of innocence and the burden of proof. The merest schoolchild, perhaps even one as young as my precocious grandson, knew that these two principles were the foundation of our system of justice. But few laypeople realized fully that these twin concepts meant that the accused need never open his mouth in his own defense.
Stow knew. Of course he did. And when I visited him a second time at Fernhope, he was still unwilling to tell me what evidence he had that could counter Ellen’s case.
“She’s going to run with this, Stow. It’s the biggest case she’s ever had.” He eyed me evenly. Of course he had known all along that the Crown was my own daughter. As a judge of the Supreme Court, Stow would know every detail about the justice system. But what about the medical system?
“First, I need you to tell me everything you did that night. What time did you arrive at the hospital? Who saw you there? What were you driving? What were you wearing? Who had you been with earlier that day? I know it’s been several years, but nobody’s memory of that night is likely to be sharper than yours.”
All I had been allowed to bring into the interview room were a pad of yellow
lined paper and a cheap ballpoint pen. Stow sneered at these items contemptuously, as if they were unworthy of taking notes about him. Perhaps that was the reason for his reticence. I waited. The room was so quiet that I could hear the two guards breathing. One of them realized I was listening and held his breath for a moment. My patience began to thin. “Look, Stow, you’re in a precarious position here. Ellen may seem new at this, but she’s good. She’s going to be on us like a junkyard dog. I need to know every single thing that happened the night Harpur died, and I need to know it from you. I can dig things up, but I can’t invent facts. You’ve got to give me something to start with.”
“Ellis,” he said dreamily, as if he hadn’t heard my questions at all, “you were such a skilled cross-examiner in the old days. Do you remember how you used to wear them down? You’d get some poor sod to swear he was completely certain about something. Then you’d ask him one more time while you searched your files as if you had some piece of paper that would prove him wrong. It drove witnesses crazy the way you searched through those papers.”
“I’m not here for chitchat, Justice. Nor for old times’ sake, either.”
“Oh, really?”
The two words were spoken in a chilling tone that brought Queenie immediately to mind. I didn’t know what hold Stow had over her, but she thought “old times” a sufficient reason for me to help him. “There are dozens of ways to intimidate by stalling on a criminal trial, Stow. I’m sure my learned adversary knows all the tricks, considering that I taught her quite a few when she was only a child. Which brings me to my next question ...”
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