True Intent

by Michael Stagg

  “There are Toller rescue organizations that keep an eye out for purebreds like this that end up in shelters. Once I learned what had happened, I let them know and Mac was adopted within a week.” She smiled. “He’s in Washington State as we speak.”

  Missy took another drink before she said, “And I'll be honest with you, I don't know that I would've let you take him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “His life had been disrupted enough. Liselle would've been great with him but if she's convicted…” She shrugged.

  “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

  “People usually don't.”

  I thought. “Would you mind if I looked at the paperwork for Mac?”

  Missy cocked her head. “Why?”

  “Lawyer habits. Just to be thorough.”

  She looked at me and smiled, just a little. “Do those lawyer hands get dirty?”

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  “I have three more post holes to dig for our mini bridge. Give me a hand and I'll have one of the kids copy the file while we work.”

  “Done.” We shook hands, set down our coffee mugs, and went out to the yard.

  An hour and a half later, I dusted off my hands, accepted the manila folder with Mac’s paperwork, and said goodbye to Missy Lincoln. I stared at the Great Dane for a while and he stared back at me, but I remembered that I was alone and that I was a lawyer and that I was gone for long stretches of days at a time. In other words, I'd be a pretty crappy dog dad right now. I felt a twinge of regret and an unexpected wave of missing Sarah and went out to the Jeep.

  I got on the road and was about two hours out from St. Louis when I was hungry enough to stop at a drive thru. Apparently, I wasn't the only one because the line was long and it was slow and it didn't appear to be in danger of picking up anytime soon. I grabbed Mac’s folder and opened it. I saw the transfer paperwork for the Toller from a few weeks ago showing that he was being adopted by the Collins family, who’d come all the way in from Washington. It had their address and the licensing information and the records Gateway had provided showing that Mac was current on all of his shots.

  The drive-thru line crept forward. I turned to the next page, which showed the return of Mac to Gateway by one Bre Phillips. It was a brief one-page form that listed her name, address, and the reason for dropping off the dog. The form had checkboxes for age, disease, behavior, biting, or other. Bre had checked “other” and scrawled “owner died.”

  The next page was the paperwork from when Richard had adopted Mac at the Furball. Again, it had all of Mac’s information and proof from the rescue that he’d received all of his shots and was licensed.

  I turned to the last page in the folder, which was again the check-box drop-off form. I read it, read it again, and pulled out of the drive-thru line into a parking space. I put the Jeep in park and stared at the page.

  The man who had dropped Mac off was listed as Jeremy Raines.

  For a fleeting moment I hoped that it was a coincidence but then I saw that his address was an apartment in Kansas City, Kansas.

  Jeremy Raines, protester at Ribbon Falls, stealer of surveying equipment.

  And member of the Forest Initiative. The same organization Liselle was part of.

  It was a long drive back.

  28

  It was late when I got to Liselle’s house. I didn’t care. I was carrying her file cabinet so I knocked with my elbow.

  She told me to wait a moment through the door. When she finally opened it, she was barefoot and wearing blue jeans and a white, V-neck t-shirt. “Nate?” she said. “I wasn't expecting you.”

  “I just got back from St. Louis.”

  Her eyes lightened. “You got my files? Come in.” She opened the door wider and stood aside and I brought the file cabinet into the kitchen “Right there by the table is fine,” she said. She sat down, opened a drawer, and started leafing through the folders. “This is great. Great! I had some of these things online but I hadn’t converted a few of the studies to—”

  “We need to talk about the trial.”

  Liselle stopped, straightened, and closed the file drawer. “Okay.”

  “I’m not going to put you on the stand. You’re not going to testify. That means the prosecutor isn’t going to be able to ask you questions about what happened, or about Rich, or about your past.”

  “Fine.”

  “But I need to know the truth about those things so that I’m prepared to respond to them.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m your lawyer, Liselle. You can tell me the truth.”

  Liselle looked confused. “Of course.”

  “How do you know Jeremey Raines?”

  “Who?”

  “The man from the Forest Initiative who was at the Ribbon Falls protest. The one who stole the surveyor equipment.”

  There was nothing but question in her eyes as she said, “The guy we talked about before?”

  I nodded.

  “I told you, I don’t know him.”

  “He’s a member of the same group as you.”

  “The Forest Initiative doesn't really have meetings. It's more of a society that you donate money to, get their newsletter.”

  “A society you protested with at Ribbon Falls.”

  Liselle shrugged. “With five thousand other people, Nate. I’ve told you that. I think I heard that it was one of the biggest protests the Initiative ever put on. I can’t imagine that I knew more than a handful of the people who were there.”

  “So you’re saying you don't know Jeremy Raines?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “And you weren’t involved in sabotaging any of the equipment at the fracking site?”

  Liselle's brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

  “Even though it was right in your backyard?”

  “I had other things on my mind, Nate.” She tapped the file cabinet. “I was spending my time working on things I hoped I could actually change. Every day I did something else was another day that this burrowing plague had to destroy our forest. Sabotaging fracking equipment doesn’t save ash trees.” She pulled a leg under her. “Why do you care about this guy?”

  “You got a call from Gateway Animal Rescue.”

  No flash of guilt or panic. Instead, Liselle looked at her phone. “I did?”

  “At your office. I went to see them. Mac got returned.”

  Real dismay seemed to cross Liselle's face. “Richard’s Mac? What's wrong? Is he okay?”

  “After Richard died, Bre returned Mac to the shelter.”

  “Oh, no. Does he need a home? You have to help me get him!”

  I raised a hand. “Missy found him a home.”

  Liselle visibly relaxed. “Missy is the best.” Then real anger darkened her face. “He should be with the others, with Ozzie and Tony.”

  “Who?”

  She smiled. “Richard’s other Tollers. He was a real Cardinals fan.” She scowled again. “Mac’s had enough disruption as it is. Uprooting him again is cruel.”

  “Missy placed him easily. She said there are groups of owners that keep an eye out for Tollers like Mac that turn up at shelters. You know how unusual that is, right?”

  “How unusual what is?”

  “For a rare breed of hunting dog to show up at a shelter?”

  “Absolutely. That's why I was so interested in Mac. He could’ve run with me all day in the field. If I’d known Bre had brought him back, I’d have taken him in in a heartbeat.”

  I handed her the folder on Mac that Missy had given to me. “He's with a good family now. Here's his paperwork if you’re curious.”

  Liselle opened the folder and read. “Oh, good. The family’s in Washington State. It’s beautiful out there.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said and watched. She flipped the page then shook her head. “Bre returned him within a month? Mac must be so confused.”

  “I'm sure,” I said.

  She turned the page and then turned a few mo
re in quick succession until she came to the last one. She froze. “Nate.”

  “Yes?”

  She looked up, her eyes filled with alarm. “This says that Jeremy Raines abandoned the dog at the shelter.”

  I nodded. “It does.”

  “Nate, that looks awful!”

  “I’m glad you see that.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “That's what I keep asking you, Liselle.”

  “I don't know!”

  I stared at her. She was sitting there with one leg folded under her, giving off nothing but fear and concern. I wasn't getting a vibe of deception at all.

  I suppose I wouldn’t if someone was really good at it.

  “That's a pretty big coincidence, Liselle.”

  “That's my point, Nate. It looks terrible!”

  “So what's the explanation for it?”

  “I don't have one,” she said.

  “That's not very helpful.”

  “Well, if I were involved in it, I’d have one. But I'm not, so I don't.”

  “I'm going to need to be able to explain this at trial.”

  Liselle looked all around the room, at Mac’s file, at me, at the table. Her panic was palpable before she said, “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Going to have to explain it at trial?”

  I was silent for a moment before I said, “Probably not. I only contacted Missy because of her message to your office. I don't know that the prosecution has tracked that far.”

  “Let's hope not because I can’t explain it all,” she said.

  “You have some time to think about it,” I said.

  “Time to think doesn't change the truth, Nate. I don't know why this guy dropped Mac off at the shelter.”

  She got up and grabbed a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge and gave me one. I thanked her, left it unopened, and said, “I also talked to Nick Heyward.”

  She froze for a second, then cracked the bottle and took a drink. “How is Nick?”

  “We didn't talk about his current life much.”

  “Where was he?”

  “At a plant over in Springfield.”

  “And?”

  “And he remembers you.”

  “Of course he remembers me! What did he say?”

  “He remembers the night he took molly with you.”

  “And with about thirty other people,” she said.

  “And he remembers collapsing and waking up in the hospital.”

  Liselle shook her head. “They warned us, the kids who had taken it before. They told us that we could dehydrate and have heat exhaustion.”

  “That's just it,” I said. “He didn't dehydrate.”

  Liselle cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Nick didn't dehydrate. He had hyponatremia. He had too much water.”

  “What?”

  I looked at the bottle sitting on the table in front of me. “And he said you gave it to him.”

  “That can’t be,” she said.

  “Did you give him the water, Liselle?”

  “They said we could dehydrate!”

  “Did you give him the water?”

  “They said we could overheat and die.”

  “Did you give him water?”

  “Of course I gave him water! I didn't want anything to happen to him!”

  “Why did you tell me he dehydrated?”

  “Because that's what the paramedics told us! That's what they told all of us!”

  “That's not what Nick found out when he woke up in the hospital.”

  Liselle's eyes were wide. “I never saw him again, after he went to the hospital. His parents wouldn’t let us see him in the hospital and he never returned my calls.”

  “Why did you give him the water, Liselle?”

  “Because I thought I was protecting him!”

  And for the first time since all this had started, Liselle began to cry. Not small tears gently rolling out of the corner of her eyes. No, she put her head into her hands so that her blonde hair tumbled around to hide her face and she sobbed. She wasn't loud but her breath came in ragged gasps and her shoulders trembled and her arms shook and, in that moment, she projected nothing but abject distress and utter vulnerability.

  I stood up, put my water bottle on the counter, and picked up a box of tissues, which I set next to her on the kitchen table. Liselle took one, wiped her tears, then looked up at me, her light green eyes brimming and filled with fear. “I'm in trouble, aren’t I, Nate?

  “Yes.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “That's what I'm trying to do.”

  “Thank you,” she said and reached out her hand.

  I stepped back. “No surprises, Liselle. If there's anything else I need to know, you need to tell me now, before trial.”

  She pulled her hand back. “There isn’t anything else,” she said and collapsed into herself a little bit.

  “Then I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll let myself out.”

  It’s not natural to leave someone in anguish, to refuse to comfort them when they’re afraid and distressed and alone. But it wasn’t my job to comfort Liselle, even if she reached out to me. It was my job to save her, to win regardless of whether she had killed Richard Phillips or not.

  And I found that right then, on that particular night, I had no idea if she had.

  29

  Over the next months, the prosecution’s case became clear. Victoria Lance was going to argue that Liselle gave Richard Phillips a tea laced with St. John’s wort that neutralized his blood pressure medication, fed him foods and drinks that would spike his blood pressure, and then danced with him until he went down. They would portray her as an environmental extremist upset over fracking.

  The day for both sides to disclose our witnesses came. Neither Nick Heyward nor Jeremy Raines was on the prosecution’s witness list. I breathed a little easier.

  Danny and I prepared, with the occasional research help from Olivia. Liselle and I continued our weekly lunch walks at the Botanical Garden. I thought they might be awkward after our conversation when I returned from St. Louis but Liselle acted as if nothing had happened and she didn’t break down before trial again. She continued her research and shared the latest with me and it lightened both of our moods when the weather grew warm enough that spring for us to move to the outdoor sections of the garden.

  I continued the visits with James and Justin and Joe. Mark and Izzy were more than happy to let me and bowling night became a couple’s game night which became co-ed softball night as summer approached. The boys and I continued The Narnia Chronicles and, when we finally got to The Last Battle and the Pevensie children had gone farther up and farther in, I thought we might be done, but I still wanted to come over and they still wanted me to read so we started on The Belgariad by David Eddings. We eventually made it to where Garion had met the half-dryad Ce’Nedra when I told the boys that I had to stop and put the book aside for a few weeks, and met their protests with promises that yes, yes, we would start up again soon.

  It was time to go to trial.

  ROOTS

  30

  Danny and I had decided that jury selection might be the most important part of this trial. Apparently, Victoria Lance did too.

  Judge French ran a good court. He’d been a bailiff before he had become a judge so he had an inherent sense of how these things should flow and he would accommodate almost any reasonable suggestion so long as it moved the case forward. At the same time, he wasn’t shy about dropping the hammer, in the calmest, most courteous way, when an attorney or witness went too far afield.

  We were approaching the limit of his patience by noon of the second day when he said, “Counsel, please see me in chambers before we break for lunch.”

  I let Liselle know I’d be right back. She sat at the counsel table, back straight, hands folded, and nodded. Danny and
I followed Judge French back to his office.

  Victoria brought her whole team. She had an associate—Carrie Landon, I think—and a man and a woman who looked to be in their mid-forties. I wasn’t sure what their role was but they’d been passing notes to Victoria the whole time she was questioning jurors. The man’s head had been buried in a laptop while the woman had been making furious notes on a tablet with a stylus.

  The judge had three fabric chairs in front of his desk and a sagging couch on one wall. Victoria, Carrie, and I took chairs while Dan stood off to one side. The man and the woman hesitated, then took a step toward the couch.

  “I believe I directed counsel to come back,” Judge French said.

  Victoria gestured. “Your Honor, this is David Jenson and Elizabeth Korzwyski from—”

  “Are they attorneys representing the State?”

  “No, Your Honor. They’re jury consultants. I assumed we were going to talk about the jury selection process.”

  “We are. You’re free to consult with them when you’re done here.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.” Victoria nodded to the consultants and they left.

  When the door had shut, Judge French took one side of his glasses between his thumb and forefinger and straightened them. “Counsel, this has gone on long enough. We are seating a jury after lunch and we’re going to have opening statements this afternoon.”

  Victoria straightened in her seat. “Your Honor, I’m certainly sorry that it’s taken this long to seat a jury. I thought we’d be giving openings yesterday too. But we have a right to explore the jurors’ beliefs so that we get an impartial panel.”

  I stayed silent.

  Judge French sighed. “You’re not trying to get an impartial panel, Ms. Lance. You’re trying to seat older women. Mr. Shepherd is trying to seat men of any age. I’m not going to comment on whether such a strategy is sexist but I will say that I’ve reviewed the current pool of jurors, I’ve listened to their answers and there will be no more challenges for cause granted. After lunch, you’re each going to get your three peremptory challenges to strike three jurors and we’re going to get underway.”