by Alison Cole
"Anyone who would try to kidnap the baby of the man she claims to 'love' has no concept of that emotion. You're sick. And, despite that, I intend to do everything in my power to keep you behind bars, where you belong. Oh, and that goes for your weird-looking friend, too."
The police interview each of us and get our accounts of what happened. Because Cara has been warned several times to stay away from Marcus, the baby and me, she is arrested once again.
Before they put her in one of their cars, I approach the supervisor and speak to him.
"Officer, she's tried to get to my husband several times before. I don't want her released for anything! She tried to kidnap our baby!" I'm getting wound up again. Tim puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me.
"Ma'am, we have a good, solid record of what this young woman has attempted to do. This is the most serious of her crimes, so she will not be given the opportunity to get out. I can't promise you definitely, but I can say that we will do our damndest to keep her behind bars."
"Thank you. That's all I want," I say, wiping tears from my face.
We drive to the station and wait while Cara goes through an interview. That's how we find out that her odd-looking friend - she of the badly done Mohawk haircut - has been involved in tracking us down to our temporary hideout and to our new home! Her friend - Melanie - also helped her find our studio. After obtaining her street address, the police drive to Melanie's flat and arrest her as an accomplice to Lizzie's attempted kidnapping. Now, I'm glad we went, even though we're all completely exhausted!
As the two accomplices are interviewed, the police slowly begin to realize that they could both have mental issues. Before continuing any further with their questioning of both young women, the police take them to their cells, where they are locked up. A magistrate orders evaluations for both Cara and Melanie. He also orders that they be detained until trial - they have already proven that they are willing and able to take dangerous actions to get to Marcus, the target of Cara's...erm, "affections."
Because of our band's fame, word quickly seeps out to all the news outlets - newspapers, tabloids and the telly. All of them get wind of Lizzie's attempted kidnapping. The tabloids especially have a field day with Cara and Melanie. Fortunately, the press sees me in a positive light. No news outlet, no anchor, no reporter appreciates that Cara or Melanie attempted to harm me or my baby in their effort to get to my husband. This means the press, at all levels, treat the defendants roughly in their accounts of the story.
Unfortunately, this also means that reporters are camped out at our house, Marcus' parents' house and my parents' house. Laslow, Linny and Tim are also besieged with reporters. Our studio is overrun with reporters and television trucks and satellite feeds. Every one of our comings and goings - indeed, every facial expression we make - is breathlessly reported upon.
Because of this, the crackpots inevitably come out from under their rocks, nooks and crannies. Soon - too soon, I see breathless accounts of "How I Helped Melanie and Cara Kidnap Johanna's Baby!" or "I Saw Everything Happen! Cara Threatened to Set the Baby on Fire!" It all becomes too much for me, as my imagination begins to run riot. Marcus finally has to set his foot down rather firmly. My mum and dad begin to take care of our food shopping, letting us know when they're nearby so we can let them into the back yard. We unload the groceries from their car, and then they stay and visit for a while. This happens infrequently because we decide to buy everything we need, so that we only need to replace staples and things we run out of often, such as nappies and wipes for Lizzie.
Finally, things seem to be calming down. I notice that the numbers of reporters and satellite trucks swarming around the house and studio seem to be dwindling. I draw a huge breath of relief - as it turns out, prematurely. I learnt the following only after it happened:
Cara, in her overweening desire to keep herself in Marcus' mind, finds a way to do so. A rather enterprising, erm, "reporter," for lack of a better word, disguises himself as a jail guard. He gets into the jail and finds where Cara is incarcerated, then, still in uniform, manages to interview her! She's only too eager to speak. She wants any opportunity to let Marcus know that she still "loves" him. Once that "reporter" leaves, he makes an immediate beeline to his employer's office, where he tells the editor that he has a scoop.
The editor listens to the recording and reads the reporter's notes and he agrees. By the next morning, an accounting of "My Wild Night with Marcus Hadley: A True Accounting by Cara!" is splashed over the tabloids all over the U.K.
I'm not aware of the story, so when a reporter raps on my car window, shouting at me as we arrive at the studio, I'm taken completely by surprise. Thankfully, Tim has hired a team of security guards, who wait for each of us to arrive. Naturally, when they see a queue of reporters swarming our car, they run outside, shouting.
"OY! Get away from them! Now!"
"We have the right to get Mrs. Hadley's...OW! Just you wait! I'll call the police and have you arrested...gerroff me! Now! OW!"
The security guards grab each reporter and, twisting arms behind backs, force them away from our car. Each reporter is quick-marched out through the gate and pushed heartily down the street, allowing Marcus to get Lizzie and me into the studio.
Inside, it's not much better. Tim, Linny and Laslow are sitting in a semicircle, each holding a copy of the tabloid with that damned story.
"Em, you need to know what this nut is saying so you're prepared. It's not going down," Tim says quietly.
I take the paper that he hands to me and I read.
"...Loved him since secondary school...See those hot, hard muscles and his steamy, sexy green eyes that radiate hot sex...tracked him down late last year..."
"I've really read enough. This only proves..."
"No, Em. You need to read the whole, sick, sad accounting. Marcus, you too."
Marcus reluctantly takes a copy of the rag from his brother and begins reading.
"...Was at the London concert before Christmas and I bumped into him, quite by chance. He smiled gently at me, and said, 'I remember you. You're Cara!'
"I smiled tremblingly and nodded shyly. 'Yeah, I am. Then, I turned, as if looking for my good friend. I wanted him to see my trim, new body - you see, I had lost several stone and I wanted him to admire the new, smaller Cara.
"I felt Marcus' eyes running up and down my body. I gave him a shy glance and saw the heat in his gaze. He whispered to me, 'My wife still has to perform another set after the intermission. Let's go this way...' He took me to a small closet-like room and stripped down. I saw his cock standing stiff and I knew he wanted me. Seeing his wanting made me want him, too, so I stripped my clothing off and he admired by body art. He gently lifted me to a work table and had his way with me. His cock was hard as it drove deeper into my loin. Much like a bus would drive into a bus station."
I drop the rag as if it carries bubonic plague bacterium. I want to vomit, so I lean over and place my head between my legs, breathing deeply. A few seconds later, I hear Marcus drop his copy of the rag, then hear him run to the loo, where he slams and locks the door. Next, we all hear the unmistakable sounds of my husband retching as he loses his breakfast.
"Guys, I know there's not a lot we can control in this whole nasty, sorry mess, but I'm sure we can control what comes out of this whack job. I'm going to talk to the barrister prosecuting her and Melanie and show her this tripe." I shudder as I pick up my copy of the rag in between my thumb and fingertip. Singlehandedly, she's making my poor husband and me look like witless losers."
"Okay, then, after we have a shortened practice, you and Marcus go talk to the barrister. Before you go, though, I'm calling in reinforcements. The reporters out there aren't going away any time soon - not after this," Tim says.
Marcus comes out, looking sweaty, pale and shaky.
"Lord, that's...nasty." He gags again and I grab the rag, pulling it out of his vision.
"Marcus, we're shortening practice. You and I are going to tal
k to the magistrate's barrister so we can get this kind of shit stopped. Cara's a loon," I say. I stand up and wrap my arms around my husband, who responds by wrapping his arms tightly around me.
After several minutes, he's able to begin writing with Lizzie close by him. Now that we have security guards at each entrance, we all feel safer.
Our short practice is intense and productive - because we don't have very much time, we know we have to work hard in the hours, days and weeks we have remaining until our tour begins.
It's shortly after noon when we leave practice. On a break, Tim spoke to the security guards' supervisor. As a result, we now have a security guard trailing us as we leave the studio and drive to the magistrate's office.
We wait, along with Lizzie, in the office. When we announce ourselves and show them why we need to speak to the barrister, the receptionist's eyes widen.
"He's occupied right now, but I'm sure he can give you a few minutes. If you'll wait right over here?"
Five minutes later, she comes out and tells us that he will be with us in a few minutes. A "few minutes" stretches out to more than twenty, but I'm willing to wait.
Finally, we are escorted into his office. Marcus and I explain our reason for being there.
"This was thrust upon us by a very dishonest, though enterprising 'reporter,' says Marcus. "When we showed up for Johanna's practice this morning, we had to read this rubbish, which literally made me sick. Is there any way you or the magistrate can get this nonsense stopped?" Marcus asks. The exasperation is clear, lining his voice.
"I had heard of this, but this is the first I've gotten to read it, if I may." The barrister holds his hand out and I hand my copy of the rag to him. By the time he finishes, his face looks as though he has caught a very offensive body odor. His lips turn down at the corners and his nose is wrinkled.
"I can call this...paper...and find out how this reporter got in to talk to this defendant." The barrister looks for, and finds the reporter's name. "I can petition the magistrate for a gag order that forbids all sides from speaking out on this case before and during trial. That includes you two," he says, pointing at us.
"Sir, we just want to see this media attention die down. Seeing the reporters camped outside our house and the studio is very unsettling for my wife. Her band is preparing for a big European tour and she needs to be able to focus fully on practicing and learning new material," Marcus points out. "As for me, I am a freelance writer. I can work anywhere, but, for potential clients to see my name splashed all over the paper - that could affect my ability to get future writing work."
"So, I take it, you don't want to say anything to any media, at all?"
"No, sir! Definitely not!" I speak up. "I just want to practice for our tour and take care of our little girl."
"Okay, then. I'll draft up an order and ask the magistrate to sign it. You do know I would have to include every media outlet, whether legitimate or otherwise, and enjoin them from reporting on this."
We both nod.
"My secretary will call you when the order has been signed. I can tell you that the magistrate is very disgusted by the level of reporting, so I believe he'll happily sign off on it."
Marcus and I look at each other, feeling relief. Peace and quiet! They're within reach! Marcus and I communicate this message to each other, grinning in the meantime.
"Thank you, sir!" I say, offering him my hand.
He unbends long enough to smile back at me, give my hand a gentle shake and say, "My wife greatly enjoys your CDs. She was at you last Christmas concert and can't stop raving about the talent of your band."
I know I can't offer anything to him, so I smile.
"Our second CD is coming out by year's end, sir. Perhaps she would be able to buy a copy when it's in the stores."
"Oh! I'll tell her - I know she'll quite look forward to buying a copy. Perhaps she'll buy several for her friends as well," says the barrister.
"Excellent! Thank you!" I stand up to leave, then decide to ask the barrister one more question. "Sir, I don't know if you have any information on this, but - is it likely that Cara or her friend could be suffering from some mental condition?"
"You're right. I can't say much. However, given what she said in this interview..." he says, picking the rag up delicately in between his thumb and forefinger. "I do have some very strong questions in that direction. It's something I intend to pursue. She's proved she can be dangerous, so I don't want to rule anything out."
"Thank you, again. We'll let you get back to work," I say. Leaving, we return home. After everything that's been happening, we are very wary and we look all round us to make sure we're not being watched - or followed. Five minutes later, we pull in through the electronic gate.
Chapter 5
Inside the house, Marcus goes from window to window, peering outside. We don't rest easy until he comes into the baby's room with an expression of relief.
"Nobody followed us. Now, I'm glad we exercised so much caution when we moved and didn't have a housewarming party. I know it was painful for you, your family and mine, but I think the alternative would have been far worse."
I shiver. He's right, of course. I pull Lizzie's blanket up closer to her tiny chin and rest my hand on her back as she sleeps peacefully. Oh, for the innocence of a child!
Marcus and I go back downstairs and sit, cuddling on our couch. As we sit, we offer comfort to each other, in our words and our embraces of each other.
"She's locked up and they tell us that she's not being released. That's something," says Marcus.
"There's one thing I wonder. We've seen her picture in your school yearbook. How could she think that you would be interested in her some fourteen years past secondary school, if you weren't interested in her during school?"
"The human mind is a fearsome thing, Jo. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Cara believed that, if she lost even a fraction of the weight she needed to lose, I would somehow, magically fall in love with her. She convinced herself of this 'fact,' so much so that, I think she became delusional. As the barrister said, we don't know what kind of diagnosis she will be given, if any. What counts more than anything is that she is safely locked away behind bars - where she belongs. And her friend is, too. Neither one of them can do us any harm as long as they stay where they are. We also have to keep our guard high - keep a watch on when we are out and about and, more than anything make sure that nobody can get to our precious little girl."
That's the day the phone calls from tabloids begin. Starting at the beginning of the day and continuing until well after we came home, they call us repeatedly. Of course, we have nothing to say to them - but because they mask their phone numbers, we don't know who's calling us. We resort to screening our calls. When a family member or friend calls and we hear their voice on our voice mail, we pick up immediately.
Marcus calls the magistrate to register this newest development with them. Now that the gag order is in effect, the press is starving for any word from anyone involved in this sorry case. The calls disrupt Lizzie's sleep and she becomes a little crankypuss. Even when we dial the volume of the phone's ringer down, it's audible in her bedroom.
As a result of Marcus' call to the magistrate, the press is forbidden from any contact with us, at all. Of course, we love these gag orders, so we say nothing when we're approached. The press doesn't give up - instead, they resort to camping out in front of our house or the studio to see if they can get any word from us.
Tim and the boys are gathered in a small cluster when Marcus, Lizzie and I arrive for practice this morning. They go quiet as we open the studio door, so we know they're talking about us.
I set Lizzie into her play pen as Marcus gets ready to start working.
"Marcus, Johanna, we've been talking about your situation and we think we may have something of a temporary solution," Tim says.
Of course, this grabs our attention. Marcus lifts the baby out of her pen and we join the boys.
"What
is it? Short of murder, that is," says Marcus darkly.
"Nothing that extreme. We were thinking of giving the press what they want - then, at the end, unleashing a complete surprise on them and giving them exactly...nothing," says Tim mysteriously.
I have to admit, I'm lost when he says this.
"Tim, what do you mean?"
"I mean, talk to the magistrate and see if he'll give you lot the right to meet with members of the press. Act like you're going to answer all their questions. Build up to a huge denouement. Then, at the end, when it looks like you're going to give them a huge scoop, give them the big zero. Of course, you'd have to decide ahead of time what you're going to say and how you're going to build up to that big zero."
I look at Marcus, completely confused. The past few nights of interrupted sleep are telling on me.
"I don't know, Tim. I'd need to think about this and talk to Marcus about it. Right now, thinking of anything beyond Lizzie's next nappy is too much for me."
"Guys, can we think about this and decide if it would work? If we think it might, we'll talk more about it then," Marcus suggests.
"Okay, Johanna, I know you're completely exhausted right now. Let me explain why and how we came up with this idea. The press are dancing you two a very un-merry jig right now. Every time they are stopped by an injunction or gag order, they pop up somewhere else you don't expect them to. This is what we're thinking: Talk to the barrister for the magistrate. Let him know what we've suggested. Which is this...Marcus would call the tabloids and rags that have been bothering you the most. Promise a huge scoop to them - provided they leave you alone after you talk to them. They're going to jump at that. Then, we all sit down and decide just what you will give them. We'll decide what we're going to use as bait for the Big Reveal. Then, as you're talking to them, you reel them in with harmless little tidbits. Start building up to that Big Reveal. Then, when it's time, wind them up and give them - absolutely nothing. And usher them back out the door, all the while reminding them of what they've promised you."
