Dante's Wood

by Lynne Raimondo

  The news that Charlie’s case was on the call had traveled quickly, and most of the fourth estate decided to stick around for a possible scoop. Hallie hadn’t requested that Charlie be present, but Nate and Judith were there, seated in the front row with Judith’s new lawyers. After finding room for me in the opposite bank of seats, Hallie left to take up a position at counsel table and I did my best to pretend I wasn’t on the receiving end of a battery of hostile looks. The journalists must have been gleeful taking it all in. A few minutes went by before the one next to me said:

  “You can relax now. The boy’s parents are making a big show of not looking this way, and everyone else is back to playing with their iPhones.”

  It was kind of him, but it only confirmed what I’d been thinking. “Thanks,” I said. “Is there an app for avoiding socially awkward occasions?”

  He laughed and nudged my forearm. “If there was, it wouldn’t be free. Tom Klutsky, I cover legal affairs for the Sun-Times.” The paw he slid into mine was as meaty as a stockyard.

  We shook and I introduced myself.

  “I know who you are. I was here a month ago when you were on the stand.”

  “Not my finest hour,” I said, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. “I’ve been trying my best to forget it.”

  “Are you kidding? I thought you were outstanding.”

  My jaw dropped a foot or two. I couldn’t have been more surprised if Clarence Darrow had suddenly descended from the heavens and fist-bumped me.

  “What, Hallie the handsome didn’t tell you? I guess not,” he said, seeing my asinine expression. “Well, let me explain it to you. Any witness can be surprised. Happens all the time, especially with a shark like Di Marco. It’s how they deal with the grenade that’s just been tossed in their lap that singles out the pros from the wannabes.”

  “The only thing I recall wanting to be was a hundred miles away.”

  “Sure you did. But you did a good job of hiding it. I’ve been covering this beat for a long time, and I’ve never seen anyone hold up so well under a tough cross. Cooler than the Lake in February. I was impressed. The other regulars were, too.”

  Until then, it hadn’t occurred to me that my performance was anything but laughable. “That’s not what you guys said in the papers,” I complained. “I was under the impression that my approval rating was hovering slightly below the Vatican’s.”

  “Aw shucks,” Klutsky replied. “You know what they say about not believing everything you read in the papers. Especially these days, when we’re all looking over our shoulders to see if our jobs are still there. And you gotta admit, the advice you gave the boy’s folks made for juicy copy. But you stuck to your guns. I thought it was admirable, even if my editor wouldn’t let me say so.”

  “I can’t wait to read what you write about my license hearing.”

  “That’s still on?”

  I nodded glumly.

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you ought to look into getting yourself certified.”

  “I don’t think an insanity defense will impress them.”

  Klutsky laughed again. “No. What I meant was as a forensic psychiatrist.”

  I stared straight at him. “You must be out of your mind.”

  “I’m serious. Do you know what those guys make in a year?”

  “A lot more than I do, I’m sure. But I’m not interested in the money.”

  “Then do it for humanitarian reasons. You strike me as the type who wouldn’t give an opinion he didn’t believe in 100 percent. That’s a rare commodity in an expert, and juries can sense it. You’d be passing up the opportunity to help out a lot of folks, and I’m not talking about our friends in the thousand-dollar suits.”

  “I doubt any of them would want to take a chance on me.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong. You remember that scene in To Kill a Mockingbird when Atticus Finch cross-examines Mayella? He has to tread very carefully because if he comes on too strong about her being poor white trash the jury will start rooting for her. Rape victims with a sexual history present a similar problem. Di Marco to one side, I have a hunch most opposing counsel would shy away from criticizing you too harshly for fear of looking like an asshole.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but being an object of pity isn’t my idea of how to supplement my income.”

  “Suit yourself,” Klutsky said, “but don’t be surprised when they start calling. Speaking of which, do you mind if I get in touch with you when this is all over?”

  “Why? So I can sell you my life story?”

  Klutsky leaned in next to my ear. “To be truthful, I was hoping for an exclusive. It would make a great human-interest story. Justice isn’t blind to this psychiatrist, or words to that effect.”

  I knew it. But the temptation to fix some of the unflattering portraits that had been painted of me was strong. “I’ll think about it. But only on certain terms.”

  “Short of writing outright fiction, I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “I get to kill the story if I don’t like how it turns out. No cute puns. No dwelling on the fact that I can manage on my own. And none of the usual ‘living in darkness’ bullshit. I have enough on my hands without everyone wondering whether I’m going to burst into tears.”

  Klutsky said, “I promise I’ll make it sound no more serious than a hemorrhoid. Which, if I have to sit on this bench any longer—”

  His words were cut off by the clerk’s voice booming, “All rise.”

  Hallie didn’t waste much time on the preliminaries. “Your Honor, I have with me this morning a motion for the immediate release of my client from custody and the entry of an order acquitting him of all charges. Two new developments prove beyond a reasonable doubt what we have contended all along—that Charles Dickerson did not murder Shannon Sparrow, and indeed, was the innocent victim in this matter.”

  Hallie paused for dramatic effect.

  “Go on,” Judge La Font said. “I’m listening.”

  “First, according to newly discovered evidence, which forensic analysis has confirmed, it is now abundantly clear that Ms. Sparrow was not sleeping with my client when she became pregnant with his child. Rather, she stole his ejaculate in an effort to create the appearance that they were sexually intimate. Why the prosecution did not uncover this evidence earlier is a mystery, but it demolishes the argument that my client killed Ms. Sparrow out of jealousy. Put simply, they weren’t lovers. They never even held hands.”

  “Possibly because his were otherwise occupied,” Di Marco put in, drawing scattered chuckles from seating area.

  “Quiet,” Judge La Font barked. “You too, Mr. Di Marco. What are you saying, that she took his sperm?”

  “That’s how it appears. Traces of Mr. Dickerson’s DNA were discovered in a turkey baster located in Ms. Sparrow’s apartment. The only logical inference is that she was using it to impregnate herself artificially.”

  “Why on earth would she do that?” Judge La Font asked.

  “For purposes of blackmail. Following upon this new evidence I was informed over the weekend that the authorities had taken another suspect into custody—namely Judith Dickerson, my client’s mother, who appears to have been the target of the blackmail scheme. Mrs. Dickerson was caught trying to dispose of an item of Ms. Sparrow’s jewelry that was taken from her body at the time of the murder.”

  “Is this true, Mr. Di Marco?” Judge La Font asked, showing interest. “Has Mrs. Dickerson been charged?”

  “Only with obstruction of justice,” Di Marco answered. “She was released yesterday after posting bail.”

  “Bail in the amount of half a million dollars, Judge,” Hallie put in quickly. “If that doesn’t speak volumes about my client’s innocence I don’t know what else does. I would also remind the court of the state’s refusal to afford the same treatment to my client, a mentally disabled youth with no history of violence, who has been detained in prison for more than a month, suffering untold psychologica
l harm. All because his caretaker set out to kidnap his unborn child.”

  “Does either of these developments bear on the admissibility of the defendant’s confession?” Judge La Font asked, predictably concerned that her ruling might come under criticism.

  “Certainly, as they demonstrate, yet again, that my client was tricked into admitting culpability for a crime he did not commit,” Hallie replied. “It’s obvious that the police had no interest in pursuing other theories after Mr. Dickerson was arrested. They didn’t even search Ms. Sparrow’s apartment until last week. I’m asking that this travesty be ended now. If nothing else, my client should be committed to home custody while the prosecution continues to spin its wheels.”

  “Do you have a response to that, Mr. Di Marco?”

  “Sure,” Di Marco said, seeming unworried. “Nothing Ms. Sanchez has offered proves a thing. Suppose they never had intercourse. So what? If the defendant was as badly abused as his counsel claims, he still had a motive to kill her, possibly even a better one. And the other suspect is the boy’s mother, who was captured attempting to dispose of evidence that would have further tied the noose around his neck. The fact that he didn’t mention Mommy during his confession is irrelevant. I would have done the same thing if my mother had helped me murder my girlfriend.”

  “She wasn’t his girlfriend,” Hallie shot back heatedly. “Your Honor has viewed the videotape of the confession. There was no mention of an accomplice at any point during the interrogation. Indeed, the prosecution’s entire theory at preliminary hearing was that Mr. Dickerson acted alone in retaliation for the withdrawal of Ms. Sparrow’s sexual favors. We now know that was a lie. Frankly, I’m surprised the prosecution hasn’t already agreed to drop the charges against him.”

  “That’s her theory,” Di Marco rejoined. “I have a different one. The victim asked the defendant to masturbate because she liked it that way. Or maybe she couldn’t stand to be touched by him. He got angry after being denied the real thing, so he killed her. He was found alone so he probably acted alone, but maybe Mommy was there to cheer him on. In either case, that’s for the jury to decide. As for the confession, Your Honor has already ruled it to be both competent and admissible. Nothing has come to light to alter that opinion. Frankly, I’m surprised Ms. Sanchez would engage in such a transparent attempt to influence public opinion before jury selection.”

  Hallie’s response was cut short by the judge. “I tend to agree with Mr. Di Marco. You’re just arguing the evidence, Counsel. You can make the same points in front of the jury when we try the case. Which will be soon, unless the defense is willing to waive speedy trial.”

  “We’re not waiving, Your Honor,” Hallie said strongly. “Not while my client remains locked up behind bars.”

  “Then let’s get a date on my calendar.”

  That was all it took.

  I heard a shocked “No!” followed by sounds of a scuffle. “No, no, I won’t have it,” Judith’s voice rang out. “I listened to you before and this is what it’s brought. I will speak. I demand the right to speak.” She was standing, almost shouting, struggling bodily with someone I took to be Nate. He implored her to sit back down.

  “Please, darling. This is craziness. You won’t be doing him any good. I’ll . . .” I waited anxiously for him to complete the phrase.

  “What is this disturbance?” Judge La Font demanded before he could finish.

  “I’m his mother. I have a right to say what I know,” Judith wailed to the now utterly still courtroom. She was weeping openly, filling the air with ragged sobs. Even Judge La Font seemed at a loss to know what to do. “Will someone, anyone, please tell me what is going on?” she cried in frustration.

  “May I have the court’s indulgence?” came a deep voice I didn’t recognize. “It will only take a few moments.” Judge La Font assented and Judith was persuaded to sit down. A round of spirited whispering ensued, followed a few minutes later by footsteps moving toward the podium.

  “Your Honor, I sincerely apologize for the interruption. My name is Matthew Fenton. I was retained last week to represent Judith Dickerson, the mother of the accused. My client apparently desires to make a statement in open court. I realize such a request is highly irregular and I wish to be on record that I have counseled her in the strongest possible terms to refrain from such a course of action. However, Mrs. Dickerson will not be persuaded. Frankly, I fear I lack the means to stop her.” He seemed to be begging Judge La Font to do it for him.

  Di Marco jumped in before the judge had a chance to respond. “I’d like to hear what she has to say, Judge. It might spare the court a great deal of time—especially since Mrs. Dickerson is here right now and apparently anxious to tell us.” What he meant was, before her lawyers had another opportunity to clamp the lid on her.

  “If it would speed my client’s release, I’d like to hear it too,” Hallie said, reminding the judge that another life was at stake here.

  “Counsel, approach the bench,” Judge La Font ordered. “You too, Mr. Fenton.” Since there was no jury present, I assumed the sidebar was to give herself time to think. Several minutes went by while the judge debated which was worse—sanctioning a procedural anomaly or having the hearing end on a huge question mark. In the end, according to Hallie, what appeared to sway her was the risk to her own reputation if she cut the inquiry short.

  The attorneys resumed their positions and Judge La Font asked Judith to rise.

  “Mrs. Dickerson, you are neither a party to this proceeding nor an officer of the court. Because of that, I cannot allow you to take the podium. However, if you are willing to be placed under oath as a witness, the court will hear your testimony. I must warn you that if you take the stand you will be waiving your constitutional rights against self-incrimination, as well as subjecting yourself to possible penalties for perjury. Do you understand these admonitions?”

  “Yes,” Judith said in a firm voice.

  “And you wish to proceed despite them and against the advice of your counsel?”

  “Yes,” she said, even more firmly.

  “Then I will ask the bailiff to swear you in. Mr. Di Marco will handle the questioning.”

  Di Marco began quietly, even sympathetically.

  “Mrs. Dickerson, I take it you have something to tell us. Does it have to do with the morning the victim was murdered?”

  “Yes. I was there. I saw her. Where we had arranged to meet. It was early. Before Charlie was up.”

  “Can you be more specific about the time?”

  “Sometime between seven and seven thirty.”

  “Where were you when you saw Ms. Sparrow?”

  “At the New Horizons Center. In the alley behind the school. It was where she said I should come.”

  “And what was the reason for your meeting Ms. Sparrow there?”

  “I was to bring the money. It was what she demanded to leave Charlie alone. She told me they were in love.”

  “You believed her?”

  “I did then. Now I know it wasn’t true.”

  “You say Ms. Sparrow asked you to bring money. Was she blackmailing you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what precisely were you paying Ms. Sparrow to do?”

  Judith was confused by the question. “I don’t understand.”

  “Were you paying her to have an abortion?”

  Judith took sharp offense at this. “Certainly not. Even if she were the mother, I could never have allowed it to be murdered. It would have been Charlie’s child, my grandchild.”

  Di Marco seemed surprised by her answer. “Then what was your arrangement?”

  “She was to live at a home for unwed mothers I support charitably. Until the baby was born. So that she and the child would have the best possible care. Afterward I would pay her the rest of the money to leave it there and go away.”

  “And after that, what did you envision happening to the child?”

  “I was going to adopt it. To love it and raise it
as my own. That is why I had to allow her to live. Even though she’d taken advantage of Charlie.”

  “I see,” Di Marco said, although it was plain he was having trouble following. “Did anyone else know of this plan? Your husband, for example.”

  There was a long pause before Judith answered, as though she were debating something internally.

  “No. If the baby were a girl she would have been like Charlie and he wouldn’t have wanted it. No one else would have, either. I know because my work involves counseling families with genetically abnormal fetuses. They almost always choose to abort the child.”

  “I see,” Di Marco said again, before resuming. “Let’s get back to the day Ms. Sparrow was killed. How did you arrange to meet?”

  “By phone, the night before. I was supposed to call her to find out where to go. She wouldn’t tell me beforehand. When I heard it was to be at the New Horizons Center I protested. I was worried someone—Charlie or one of his teachers—might see us there. I asked if there wasn’t somewhere else we could go, but she told me to shut up. I was afraid she would change her mind about having the baby, so I agreed.”

  “Is that when you purchased the gun?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was foolish, of course. I couldn’t shoot her without harming the baby.”

  “Was that the only time you spoke to Ms. Sparrow that night?”

  “No. I called her again later, after I’d become calm again, to confirm that I was still coming.”

  Di Marco apparently liked this answer well enough to move on. “Where were you when you first saw Ms. Sparrow the next day?”

  “In my car. I had just pulled up to the parking lot when I spotted her.”