Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way

by Rohn Federbush

  “I’m not in town very often. Sit, sit. My son deserved better.”

  Max plopped down on the couch. Helen sat on the arm of one of the leather chairs. She found it difficult to ask for painful details. Max asked for her, “Dr. Handler reassured you Larry would be all right?”

  “He spoke to my wife.” Tom ground his teeth. The dog growled.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Amy Schneider’s Home

  Max and Helen found Amy Schneider’s nest glorified in pink and mauve peony designs, which spread over chintz-covered, matching love seats and hassocks. Three Siamese cats reclined in various poses of disinterest. Lamp tables strained under the weight of books. Tomes were left opened. Others were cracking their spines under precarious stacks. Every bookshelf was stuffed with horizontal and vertical disorderly piles of books. Verdant philodendrons grew on top of the bookshelves as if sustained by the volumes of deep, captured thoughts. Light rose carpeting clashed with the coffee table lilacs, which splayed out their luxuriant hypnotic odors.

  “What a lovely home you’ve made for yourself.” Helen accepted tea in a china cup.

  “Tell me the names of your cats,” Max said.

  Amy stroked the cats as she passed them. “Hamlet is white, of course. Rosencrantz is the calico and Guildenstern is all black.”

  “Was Larry your only son?” Max sank into one of the loveseats.

  “He was our only child. Tom has never forgiven me.”

  Max sipped the tea as he stalled, hoping for Divine aid to give this bereft mother an offering of comfort. He placed his empty cup and saucer on the stack of books next to him, before his answer arrived from Helen. “You forgave your husband?” Hamlet positioned himself on Helen’s lap.

  “Tom never does anything wrong,” Amy said.

  “He left you,” Max said.

  Amy brushed her fingers over her dry forehead. “Because of Larry’s death.”

  Max bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Dr. Handler is the person to blame, not you.” He wanted to fix the chasm between this husband and wife. “Would you accept your husband’s return?”

  Amy shook her head. “He won’t want to come back. I remind him of Larry’s death.”

  “All your husband’s memories of your son include you.” Max stood up to leave.

  “Has Tom seen your lovely home?” Helen asked.

  Amy smiled; a hint of happiness moistened her eyes. “You’re right, I should invite him.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Third Wednesday in May, 2008

  The Firm

  Max greeted Andrew with less hesitation than he felt. “Helen phoned. You expect the district attorney this morning?”

  “First thing.” Andrew carried a watering can into the back computer room. He stopped with his foot holding open the door to the reception area. “Could you carry a couple chairs up to your office? It’s the most impressive room.”

  “No problem.” Max easily slung one computer chair under each arm and mounted the steps to his office. Andrew quickly followed on his heels with a pot of coffee and warmer. Max piled up some of the papers on his desk. “Should I let Mr. Warner sit behind my desk?”

  “I don’t think we have to go that far.” Andrew surveyed the room. “We look like we know what we’re doing.”

  “Hello?” They heard Helen’s voice sing out downstairs.

  “Come on up,” Andrew called. “I’ll wait for Roger downstairs. We don’t need to call him ‘Mister,’ do we?”

  When Helen arrived in his office, Max felt his heart rate change. He sat down behind the desk to calm down. She was dressed professionally, suit and blouse. She was so endearing, small and capable all at the same time. He felt a little dizzy with the realization he might one day ask this beauty to marry him, if he ever found the nerve to be rejected. ‘Please, God,’ he prayed for he knew not what. ‘Your will be done.’

  Six-foot-eight District Attorney Roger Warner was all business as soon as he thanked Andrew for the delicious coffee blend. “We will need every bit of hard evidence you can find on Handler if we’re going to prosecute him for negligence in Larry Schneider’s death. What do you have besides claiming he paid a nurse to keep quiet?”

  After looking up for once to shake a man’s hand, six-foot-five Max knew if anyone could nail Handler, Warner would have the best shot. “Seven wives can be called to testify that he was involved with Marilyn Helms.”

  Helen spoke up. “He claims he was paying her for sex. The woman is enormous.”

  Roger Warner shook his head. “Anything else?”

  “Both the boy’s parents will testify.” Max said. “Do we need to make a deal with the nurse to testify?”

  “She’s accused of murdering Sally Bianco to keep the racket intact?” Warner asked.

  Max could see the case against Handler contained more problems than solutions. “Are you going to offer her a deal to testify against Handler?”

  “Sally gave her life to bring these doctors to justice.” Helen’s voice held the same note of despair Max felt.

  Roger Warner stood up. “I’d like to crucify the guy, too. Andrew, give me affidavits from each of the wives. I understand Marilyn Helms is friends with another nurse and a nun? I’d like both of them to be at the trial with Marilyn. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Yes.” Max pulled out his middle drawer to delay breaking the bad news. “Handler said he has tapes of Marilyn.”

  “Videos?” the D.A. asked.

  Helen nodded. “Should we ask for them before the trial?”

  “No,” Roger said. “Let’s hope the matter won’t come up.”

  After he left, Max was sure Handler would be freed. “The tapes are his only defense.”

  “Maybe he possesses a thread of decency,” Helen said.

  “No.” Max was sorry he could not reassure her. “There’s no question of any integrity on his part.”

  “I’ll ask Sister James Marine to talk to Marilyn.” Helen walked around the desk, hugged his shoulder, and kissed the side of his face.

  Max was afraid to move. Andrew appeared with his watering can and began to water Max’s silk plant hangings.

  Helen and Max shouted at him together, “They’re silk!”

  Then they laughed at Andrew’s surprised face and dripping watering can. “Sorry.” Andrew said. “I’ve been watering them since you went to Cape May.” Andrew laughed. “I wondered why Max’s office floor kept getting wet. Listen, Max, I printed out the list of Handler’s wives. Take a tape recorder. Let’s hope their resentments will help dig a hole for Handler to fall into.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  “We need to talk, again.” Max’s tone was too serious when he spoke to Andrew. On the way down the steps from Max’s office, Helen wondered if it was possible Max might quit The Firm. She nervously turned on the message machine.

  Sister James Marine sounded urgent. “It’s Marilyn,” she said. “I told her Dr. Handler might get off by claiming she was a prostitute. If you can settle on manslaughter for Sally Bianco, Marilyn says she left evidence at the convent which will prove she only blackmailed Dr. Handler. She said to ask Sharon Daley about the point. Marilyn says she and Sharon were lovers. Neither one of them have been with a man. I think you told me Sharon was a long-time friend of hers. Call me. I’m back at the convent. Marilyn should be arriving with Officer Creeper at the Ann Arbor jail today or tomorrow. Sister Alice says there are notes in shorthand in the margins of her diet book. Apparently Marilyn’s mother wanted her to be a secretary instead of a nurse, so of course she became a nurse.”

  “The diary is there,” Max had followed her down the stairs. “Sister Alice said there were Gregg shorthand notes in the margins.”

  “Great,” Helen said. “Do you want to go down with me to retrieve it?”

  “No.” Max seemed to lose his excitement about the new evidence. “I need to talk to your dad.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

 
; Third Wednesday in May, 2008

  Adrian Convent

  In Adrian, Sister Alice was paging through the diet book while she waited at the entranceway of St. Anthony’s Convent. Helen was a little disappointed not to be invited in.

  “The place is filled with guests,” Sister Alice explained. “We only charge $55 a night, which includes three meals.

  “No wonder you’re mobbed,” Helen said. “Sister James Marine said the sisters might enjoy my collection of dollhouses. I brought ten with me.”

  Sister Alice started to follow her down the steps, then changed her mind. “Oh, wait right here. I’ll get help.”

  Helen didn’t count, but she was soon surrounded by a bevy of nuns oohing over her dollhouses. “Please,” she said. “Pick whichever ones you want.” Within minutes, the Honda was devoid of Helen’s childhood memories.

  Sister Alice cradled her choice, a twin-gabled bungalow. “Mother Superior said to tell you she will be at Dr. Handler’s trial.”

  Helen would have been happier seeing where each of her dollhouses were positioned in the sisters’ rooms. Letting go of all the hours spent with each of the homes seemed to tug at her heart. ‘Indian giver’ she told herself. She tried to take comfort in the knowledge each of the nuns might be replaying their childhood reminiscences. The world was a better place by giving away her precious clutter. God awarded riches in order to share with others. But the silly grief of loss was real.

  Helen raced her father’s new gas-saving Honda back to Ann Arbor. She did obey the speed limit, not like when she was younger and sped down the roads in Waterloo at a hundred miles an hour. As she placed her briefcase under the desk of the accounting data computer, she wondered why it never occurred to her to make one end of the long back room into an office for herself. She could bring her best dollhouse in to decorate.

  A coldness in the pit of her stomach alerted her to the ridiculous immaturity of the idea. She needed to grow up and stop acting like a dim-witted Barbie doll. She would call the contractor to start work on the new office. Helen didn’t want a second floor place to work like Max’s, even though there was room on the roof. She could afford the outlay. What she wanted was to be close to her dad, close to the front door. She laughed at herself. Helen wanted to be in control of the choice of cases. Her new clients should have a place to meet with her privately.

  The reception area was out, as was her home, where her mother’s weekly mah-jongg group packed every available inch. The game resembled gin rummy using plastic tiles instead of cards. At Helen’s last count, three tables were also crammed into the kitchen. Her mother ought to join the City Club before the ladies wore out the flooring and eventually her mother’s new gift of hospitality.

  Helen tried to make sense of her father’s accounting spreadsheets on the computer as he pulled up a chair next to her. “Dad, didn’t you return Mr. Brent’s and Mrs. Clapton’s fees?”

  “I tried. They both said they were happy with our services.” Her dad patted her arm to get her attention away from the computer screen. “Max is insisting on another chat with me.”

  “Has he decided what he’s going to do about the baby?”

  “What baby?”

  “His baby. Anita Brent tricked him into fathering a child for her.”

  “I think you let the cat out of the bag. But the child is something you two should decide.”

  Helen felt confused. “What do I have to do with Max’s decision?”

  “Probably everything.” Dad scratched his head. “For smart people, you two are emotional midgets.”

  “Have you asked Max to leave The Firm?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

  Relief spread through Helen. She had worried after her father learned about Max’s child he might not trust him to stay at the Firm. “I’d miss his voice.”

  “His voice? Child when are you going to wake up and realize you’re in love with the hulk?” Helen stared at her father.

  Max interrupted them. He came into the back room, chose a chair with its back to the computer next to Helen’s and spread out his long legs. “Did you get the diary?”

  “Yes.” After handing Max the diary, Helen put her hand on Max’s knee. Max brushed her hand away, rose and stalked around the room.

  Helen acknowledged the rejection to her father. What good was loving Max, if he wouldn’t accept her touch?

  Max coughed. “Helen, who do you know that reads shorthand?”

  Dad answered, “Julia does. I’ll take it home with me.”

  “Helen,” Max coughed again. “There’s a movie at the Michigan Theatre you might enjoy. Jane Austen?”

  Helen turned back to the computer. “George and his friend Mitzi are going. Do you want to meet us there?”

  Dad threw up his hands. “Youth! I’ll take the diet book over to the DA after Julia types up the notes.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Then the congregation shall Judge between the slayer

  and revenger of blood accordingly.” Numbers 35:24

  Second Friday in June, 2008

  Washtenaw County Court House

  At the end of the courthouse’s second-floor corridor, Helen opened the heavy door into the courtroom’s old-fashioned, glassed-in entranceway. Sister James Marine waltzed in past and settled into a front row seat in the spectators’ gallery behind the D.A.’s table. Helen assumed the nun had attended more than one court case. Along the opposite wall, on the left side of the room, Marilyn Helms and a burly police matron were seated in uncomfortable looking chairs. Marilyn was gnawing at her fingernails.

  Sharon Daley waved at Marilyn, who nodded. Then Sharon scooted into the bench row to sit next to Helen. “I’m still betting Dr. Handler will con his way out of trouble.”

  A low wooden fence separated them from Roger Warner and Captain Tedler, who dwarfed the prosecutor’s table.

  At the defense table, Verne Chapski, Dr. Handler’s attorney, was of slight build but his carrot-red ring of hair drew further attention to his green plaid suit. At perhaps four-foot-eleven, the man resembled a Trappist monk with a shaved bald spot to acknowledge God’s austerity.

  Dr. Handler wore an expensive blue suit the same color as his suede shoes. His crop-haired wife leaned forward to touch him, once. He dismissed her presence with a perfunctory shrug.

  Several well-dressed women sat a few rows behind Helen. She drew Captain Tedler’s attention to the group and he nodded. The group of various ages was undoubtedly the collection of Dr. Handler’s ex-wives.

  Andrew and Julia Costello had slipped into the courtroom without Helen noticing.Her mother whispered to her, “We rented a truck for you for Saturday.”

  Helen appreciated her parents’ assistance. However, their eagerness triggered a certain nervousness. “Max and George will help carry out my bed and dresser.”

  “Take the furniture in your sitting room, too,” her father said. “We ordered tread mills and a digital TV screen for the wall. We plan to exercise in rainy weather.”

  Helen wanted to ask how long her parents had planned for her to leave home, but she knew enough about courtroom tactics not to ask a question to which she might not like the answer. She had scheduled to arrange her things in the condo while Dr. Handler’s trial progressed. Her mother had shown her a catalog with pans, silverware, dishes – linens. Helen dutifully pointed out the ones she liked, but didn’t order anything. Apparently, she was going to be living alone a lot sooner than she had anticipated.

  The entire courtroom noticed when Max Hunt arrived. He banged his shoulder into the entranceway door and the glass panels rattled in response. Nothing broke. Max rubbed his arm.

  After her mother and father made room for him, Max sat behind Helen. “The ox has landed,” he whispered.

  Helen only had time to pat Max’s hand as it rested on her shoulder before the bailiff requested everyone to stand for Judge Joe Wilcox’s entrance.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
>
  When Helen touched Max’s hand, his senses came alive. His awareness telescoped to the back of her fragile neck where her curls attempted to create ringlets. Max glared at Marilyn Helms who was trying to read Sandra Daley’s lips-sync. He wished he could throw Marilyn out of the wooden chair she was sprawled on and pummel her with it the way she had beaten his Helen. Marilyn was lucky Helen didn’t let her get her wish for ‘suicide by cop.’

  The jury members seated themselves in the tiered rows along the right side of the room, which was as far away from Dr. Handler’s persuasive tricks as possible.

  Helen, Max, and Andrew had participated behind the scenes. Their careful background profiles contributed to the selection process of the six women and six men. Four of the men were churchgoers. Two were divorced more than once. Five of the women were married to their original husbands. One older woman was unmarried and an atheist. The moral persuasions of each sounded conservative. However, their leanings for or against Dr. Handler’s mismanagement of Larry Schneider’s case were unknown.

  Then Max recognized Maybell’s long blonde hair in the crowd behind Dr. Handler’s present wife. He touched his nose with his left hand to stop a sneeze. Had he suddenly developed an allergic reaction to his old lover? When he included Mr. Brent in his survey, Max grabbed his onyx belt buckle. He relaxed recalling his Iraq PTSD mantra ‘Stay at peace in a safe place.’ Here was the mother of his embryonic child…in the same room with him…and Helen. Max’s temptation to touch Helen’s neck was quelled by the bailiff’s call for attention.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Marilyn Helms was the prosecutor’s first witness. Prison food seemed to agree with her. Helen was not surprised when Sister J. M. whispered, “She’s lost weight.”

  Sharon agreed. “Maybe her five-year sentence will break her drug habit.”

  Helen knew enforced abstinence would not alter Marilyn’s addictive personality. Once people were free to follow their own wills, only God could intervene. “Is she in a twelve-step program in prison?” Neither Sister J. M. nor Sharon seemed to know.