On the green arrow, Andie made a left and steered onto the Expressway. “Must be a great view.”
“Yeah,” Keith said without heart. “If you go out on the west balcony you can see all the way to the pretrial detention center.”
They were first on Dr. Balkany’s surgery schedule for the day, and they reached the surgery center sooner than expected. The receptionist steered them to the waiting room. Keith and Andie found seats in the corner, while Melany tried to teach Riley the Hong Kong version of hip-hop.
Andie smiled. “Melany’s such a great kid.”
“She always loved music. It will never sound the way it sounds to you and me, or even the way it used to sound to her before the meningitis. But that doesn’t seem to make a difference. She still loves to dance.”
“That’s a wonderful thing.”
“It is. Isa gets a lot of the credit. The implant surgery is a miracle, but mainstreaming a child with a cochlear implant is work. Isa really stepped up.”
“I’m sure you deserve some credit, too.”
He smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. “Not really. I love Melany with all my heart. People say I’m a good father. But all this makes me realize that, for the most part, my job is to be ‘Fun Daddy’—playing games, reading to her at night, taking her to the ice-skating rink where she pretends to be a princess from Frozen. It was Isa who got up in the middle of the night when Melany was scared. Isa who comforted her or took her to the doctor when she was sick. Isa who knew what to say and how to calm her when her anxiety was up.”
Andie’s gaze drifted toward Riley. “It’s work being a mommy. I can vouch for that.”
“Oh, you get no argument from me. Isa was working on her doctorate when we got married. Looking back on it, I kind of took for granted Isa’s decision to put her studies on hold and be a stay-at-home mother.”
“It’s good that you recognize that.”
“I didn’t always. I never criticized her to her face, but in my mind I sometimes questioned that choice—for focusing exclusively on motherhood and not being one of those supermoms who somehow manages to do it all. Husband, kids, career, triathlons in her spare time. You know what I’m talking about.”
Andie fell silent, and Keith realized that he was talking to a supermom. “Sorry, I wasn’t making any judgments or comparisons.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just that your mind goes in strange directions in circumstances like these. This wasn’t something I had time to prepare for. It was like a light switch. Boom: Melany’s mom is . . . not gone, but suddenly out of the picture. I mean, I tell Isa all the time how beautiful she is. But I can’t really remember telling her what a great mom she is. What an amazing job she’s doing with Melany. I’m rambling. I’m probably not making any sense.”
“You’re making total sense,” said Andie.
“Am I?”
“Yes,” said Andie, and he could hear it in her voice that she meant it. “More than you realize.”
Sylvia Hunt and a junior prosecutor entered the grand jury room at 8:03 a.m. Inside were twenty-three grand jurors who had sworn an oath to keep secret all matters that occurred before them, and to consider all evidence presented against Isabelle Bornelli.
The proceeding had begun Thursday afternoon. Sylvia had read the charges aloud, explained the law, and given the grand jurors a broad overview of the evidence that she intended to present. They adjourned for the evening. On Friday morning, the prosecution was ready to call its first witness.
“Let’s get started,” said Sylvia.
The junior prosecutor opened the door, and a pair of Florida state troopers escorted the witness into the room.
Everything presented to the grand jury is eventually disclosed to the defense, and Sylvia had no intention of tipping her prosecutorial hand. She and the state attorney were in complete agreement that the proper strategy was to present just enough evidence to the grand jury to secure an indictment—to dispel any notion that the case against Isabelle Bornelli wasn’t strong enough to take to trial. Depending on how things went this morning, one witness might suffice.
“State your name for the record, please,” said Sylvia.
“David Kaval.”
Kaval seemed relaxed, slouching in the hardwood chair, his tattoos swelling as he folded his forearms across his chest. He needed a shave and a haircut, but he had handsome features, and Sylvia detected potential “jury appeal” beneath the rough exterior. The rugged and unpolished look was good enough for this proceeding. For the actual trial, Sylvia would groom him, dress him up, and have him looking like the humble and responsible architect that women in romantic comedies brought home to Mom and Dad before dumping him for “the One.”
Losing the ankle shackles and orange jumpsuit wouldn’t hurt, either.
“Mr. Kaval, where do you currently reside?”
“Raiford, Florida.”
“Where in Raiford?”
“Florida State Penitentiary.”
“Are you currently serving a prison sentence?”
“Yep.”
“For what crime?”
“Armed robbery.”
Sylvia checked the jurors. She had their attention. “What was your sentence?”
“Ten years in the state penitentiary.”
“How much longer do you have to serve?”
“About two years.”
“Are you currently facing any other charges?”
“Yes. Conspiracy. But it has nothing to do with the robbery.”
The prosecutor nodded, confirming it. “The conspiracy charge relates to what we’re here to talk about today, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Have you reached any agreement with the state of Florida regarding that charge?”
“Yes.”
“Could you please describe that arrangement to the grand jury?”
He turned in his chair and faced the jurors. “I will plead guilty and receive a sentence of ten years. But I get credit for time served.”
“So at the end of the day you would have two felony convictions, and you would spend a grand total of ten years in state prison. Then you’re free. Is that right?”
“Right, that’s what I just said.”
“And under this arrangement, what are you required to do in exchange?”
“I have to testify against Isabelle Bornelli.”
“You have to provide truthful testimony in the case against Ms. Bornelli, correct?”
“Yes. Truthful testimony.”
“Thank you, sir.” The prosecutor stepped closer, signaling to the grand jury that the next part mattered. “Mr. Kaval, do you know the accused, Isabelle Bornelli?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How do you know her?”
He smiled a little. “I was her boyfriend when she was in college.”
Sylvia glanced again at the grand jurors. Some were taking notes—a good sign. “Now, Mr. Kaval, I want to take you back to Ms. Bornelli’s freshman year of college. To a certain night. A certain Friday night.”
Keith checked the clock on the waiting room wall: 10:07 a.m. A whole two minutes had passed since his last time check.
Andie had stayed until the start of surgery, and then she had to drop Riley off at preschool and head to work. Time passed more slowly with no one to talk to. The procedure was supposed to take three hours, and they were only a few minutes over the estimate. Keith wasn’t worried—no more worried than he should have been, at least. But a “Melany update” from the nurse would have been nice.
He rose and was walking toward the reception window when the pneumatic door opened. Dr. Balkany emerged from the surgical suite. And he was smiling.
“Everything went great,” he said.
Keith could have hugged him. He did, in fact, but he wanted details. “When you say it went great, you mean—”
“We’ll know for certain when the incision heals and she’s fitted with the external components. But I fully e
xpect her right ear to be every bit as functional as her left.”
That took Keith’s breath away. They were due for some good news, and this couldn’t have been any better. “Thank you so much, doctor. When can I see her?”
“She’s in recovery now. We used general anesthesia, but she’ll come around soon. The nurse will take you back.”
Keith thanked him again, and a few minutes later the nurse arrived. She led him through a maze of color-coded hallways. A green line embedded in the tile floor led to the recovery room. Melany was in bay number 3, behind a plastic privacy curtain that hung from the ceiling. Another nurse was checking the dressing behind Melany’s ear when Keith entered. The surgeon had shaved a two-inch patch of her scalp for the incision, but Melany had plenty of hair to cover it.
With a push of a button the nurse raised the mattress so that Melany was almost in a sitting position, but her eyes were not really open.
“How you feeling, big girl?”
Melany didn’t respond.
“She’s still kind of out of it,” said the nurse.
She also wasn’t wearing her external audio processor on the left ear, so she wouldn’t have heard him even if she were fully conscious. The new audio processor wouldn’t be programmed and operational until they returned to Hong Kong—if they returned to Hong Kong.
Keith stood at the bedrail and took his daughter’s hand. Slowly, she was coming around. The nurse retrieved Melany’s existing processor from her bag of personal items and attached it behind her left ear. It only took a minute, but that was enough time for the fog of anesthesia to lift and for her to recognize her father.
“Welcome back,” said Keith.
Melany smiled. He leaned over the rail to give her a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed the breath out of him.
“Mommy,” she said, still hugging him.
Apparently the fog had not yet lifted completely. “No, honey. It’s Daddy.”
“Mommy, Mommy! She’s right behind you!”
Keith turned around, his mouth agape.
Isa was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in the clothes that she’d worn on the flight from Hong Kong.
“Wha-a-t?” he said, but the words seemed to be on a several-second delay. Isa went to him, and they hugged until they laughed. Then it was Melany’s turn.
“You’re back!” said Melany as Isa wrapped her arms around her.
“Yes, honey. Mommy’s back.”
Chapter 12
Jack spent the morning at the civil courthouse in downtown Miami, miles away from his usual criminal haunts. He was trying to convince a very skeptical judge that eleven years wasn’t too long for his client to wait before suing the college professor who’d flunked her for refusing to do what he’d required a half dozen other women to do in exchange for a passing grade. Jack powered-on his cell phone as he left the courthouse, and he was preparing to tell his client that she could appeal the judge’s dismissal of her case when Keith’s text message popped onto the screen.
Isa is out on bail. Call me!
Jack had to read it twice, and even then he didn’t fully comprehend. He continued down two tiers of granite steps, hurrying to put distance between his phone and the ninety-year-old courthouse with its impressive limestone façade and Doric columns—and its notoriously bad cellular reception. Some said the historic old building was falling apart, but from the standpoint of handheld technology, it was a veritable fortress. Jack had been on zero bars all morning.
He found a seat at the bus shelter on the corner and dialed Keith’s cell. He got no answer, which was frustrating. He’d left three messages for Isa at the detention center on Thursday and had heard nothing in response. Jack’s last communication with his client was on Wednesday, when he’d told her that there was no chance she would be out in time for Melany’s surgery.
His cell rang. Keith’s phone number appeared on the screen, but it was Isa on the line.
“Surprise!” she said, her voice filled with excitement.
“You took the word right out of my mouth. Where are you?”
“In a taxi, heading back from the hospital. Keith and Melany are with me.”
Melany. Jack had many questions, but one seemed more important. “How did the surgery go?”
“Absolutely perfect. By the time I got to the hospital the surgery was already over, but I was there when she woke up. It was the most wonderful moment in my life. I’m so grateful to Manny.”
“Manny? Who’s Manny?”
“Manuel Espinosa. He said he knows you.”
Espinosa was a high-profile and successful attorney, but not one Jack held in high regard. “Slick” would have been a polite way to describe him. “I know Espinosa. But what does he have to do with this?”
“I was really down after you and I spoke on Wednesday. My cellmate—who frankly scared me to death when I first met her—turned out to be an amazing help. She recommended I call Espinosa. So I did.”
The bus stopped at the curb, and the driver opened the doors. Jack didn’t move.
“You called another lawyer?” asked Jack, a cloud of diesel fumes covering him as the bus pulled away.
“Yes. I hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m not mad. I just need to understand. Am I off the case?”
“No! Not at all. Manny’s expertise is bail.”
Jack knew that wasn’t true. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes. He guaranteed that he would get me out on bail.”
“Isa, no lawyer can guarantee that in a first-degree murder case.”
“Well, he did. And he got me out.”
“This still makes no sense to me. I never got a call from the judge’s secretary about a hearing. I never heard from the prosecutor, or from Espinosa. I said a minute ago that I’m not mad, but actually I am mad. I don’t work this way. I can’t work this way.”
“I’m sorry. This may sound selfish, but your feelings weren’t the first thing on my mind in all of this. I just—”
She stopped, and Jack could hear the emotion in her voice.
“I just wanted to be with my daughter.”
“I understand,” said Jack. “This is not about me. We can file a simple substitution of counsel and Manny will be your new lawyer. No big deal.”
“What are you talking about? I want both of you.”
“You want us to be cocounsel?”
“Yes. Keith will pay both of you. You’ll be a great team.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Please, Jack. Let’s all meet at Manny’s office. He can explain how he got me out on bail, and we can all make a plan going forward.”
Jack was definitely interested in the former—how Manny pulled this off. “All right,” said Jack. “I’ll set something up with Espinosa.”
“Great. And thank you, Jack. I would never have reached out to Espinosa if you hadn’t been so honest with me about not being able to get it done.”
It didn’t exactly feel like a compliment, but he supposed she meant well. “Any time,” said Jack.
The call ended, and before Jack could even pull up a phone number, Espinosa’s secretary called to confirm a one o’clock meeting at the Espinosa Firm, LLP. Jack was just a few blocks away—he didn’t even have to move his car—so he agreed.
Jack rose from the bench and started down the sidewalk along Flagler Street. Reception continued to improve and more messages populated his inbox as he walked toward Espinosa’s office.
A voice mail at 9:52 a.m. from Sylvia Hunt caught his attention.
He pressed the phone to his ear, straining to hear over the excited chatter of about fifty Brazilian tourists who were headed back to the green-and-yellow motor coaches after cleaning out the electronics shops.
“Jack, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” said the prosecutor, “but your secretary said you’re in court. The state attorney and I met with Manuel Espinosa, and he showed us the letter signed by Isabelle
Bornelli indicating that he is in fact her attorney. In any event, I wanted to let you know that we have investigated Mr. Espinosa’s allegations, and we have agreed to release Ms. Bornelli on bail in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Call me if you have any questions.”
Mr. Espinosa’s allegations?
Jack would have liked to return the call immediately, but he would lose all credibility if she knew just how deep in the dark he was.
Never have friends for clients.
Jack walked a little faster down Flagler, not wanting to be even a minute late for the meeting with Espinosa.
Chapter 13
The meeting started just after one o’clock. Jack, Isa, and Manny were at a round table in Manny’s spacious office. Jack took the seating arrangement as a conciliatory gesture—an olive branch of sorts. Espinosa could have put Isa and Jack in the armchairs facing his desk, and he could have run the show from a position of power. The round table left neither lawyer visibly in control.
“The first thing I want you to understand, Jack, is that this is not a coup. I did not come on board to replace you. We are building a legal team.”
“I’m open to that,” said Jack.
“I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” said Isa. That “relief” was all over her face. A shower and change of clothes were part of the transformation, but it was deeper. “Being there” for Melany had turned Isa into a new person.
“But we have to act like a team,” said Jack.
“Agreed,” said Manny.
“Some differences are a matter of style. Other things are fundamental.”
“That’s what makes the world go ’round,” said Manny.
“That’s not exactly the point I was making,” said Jack. “Let me start with a concrete example. I never guarantee results to my clients. When I spoke to Isa on the phone, she told me you guaranteed that she would be released on bail.”
Espinosa smiled. “She may have heard it as a guarantee. But I never said it that way.”
Most Dangerous Place Page 7
