by Tim O'Mara
As if on cue, the front door opened, and in walked the man himself. He took one glance at the three of us on the couch and looked as if his parents’ home had been invaded by mice.
‘I want you to know,’ he said, his voice filling the room, ‘that I told my parents not to speak with you. I’m here to make sure they don’t say too much.’ He looked at the three of us for a while and, with his eyes on Marty, said, ‘Sorry again about your dad.’
‘Thank you,’ Marty said. ‘And thanks for the flowers. My mother loved them.’
Bobby nodded. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m getting a beer.’
A lot of people might have added, ‘Can I get anybody anything?’ But Bobby Taylor was not a lot of people. What he did say was directed at his parents.
‘Don’t say anything until I get back.’
None of us did as we waited for his return. When he came back, he had a green bottle of beer in his hand. I couldn’t make out the label. He went over and sat in the biggest chair in the room. I had the feeling it was the chair reserved for his visits.
‘So,’ he said after taking a long sip from his bottle, ‘what’re you trying to get my parents to say?’ His glare was focused on Allison.
‘I’m not trying to get them to say anything,’ she answered. ‘I just want to ask a few questions about what the family went through and how they feel now.’
‘You coulda just asked me,’ he said.
‘I want the parents’ point of view, Bobby. You’re more than welcome to add yours, as well. Quite honestly, I’d like that.’
‘I don’t give a shit what you’d like.’
‘Robert,’ his mother said.
He mumbled an unconvincing apology and took another sip. When it was clear he was done talking, Allison began her interview. She started with the basic questions, stuff I probably could have answered for them. Questions about how they felt when Billy was originally accused, when he confessed, and when they realized he was going to spend the final part of his teens and most of his twenties in prison. They gave the expected answers.
‘How often did you visit him when he was … incarcerated?’ Allison asked.
‘Every week,’ his parents said in unison.
‘It was very important for us to let him know that we still loved him,’ Mr Taylor said. ‘There was some pretty ugly stuff said about him – in the press – and he needed to know that he was still our son and we loved him. No matter what.’
Allison jotted that down in her pad. She went through some questions about his time in prison and how it changed him.
‘He took every class they offered,’ Mr Taylor said. ‘At least the ones we felt he could handle academically. He was also in group and individual counseling, four times a week. We knew he needed to keep as busy as possible. We were also fortunate …’ He looked at Marty for this part. ‘Fortunate to get him into a minimum-security facility. Thanks to your father.’
Marty nodded as Allison wrote that down. I looked over at Bobby, who seemed to be listening to every word, making sure his parents didn’t slip up. His eyes were darting from speaker to speaker as if filming a mental movie. It was this kind of awareness of what was going on around him, I knew, that had made him such a good ballplayer.
‘And the past ten years,’ Allison said, ‘since his release. How have they been for you as a family?’
Both parents looked over at Bobby. Mrs Taylor said, ‘Thanks to Robert, and the work William was able to do while he was away, he was able to start a new life almost immediately. He’s a changed person. We feel blessed to have him back home.’
Allison asked a few more questions about the family’s life now. The family’s reliance on faith came up more than once, and if I heard the word blessed one more time, I was going to take out my New York Atheist’s card. After maybe five more minutes, the interview reached a natural break. Natural, except for the fact that we had planned it exactly this way on the ride out here.
‘Mrs Taylor,’ Allison said, ‘maybe I will take you up on that offer of tea. May I help you?’
Mrs Taylor looked at her husband. He took a few seconds to nod his approval. Again, the Taylors were nothing if not well mannered. He helped his wife off the couch, and she and Allison made their way to the kitchen.
After Mr Taylor sat back down, and when I was sure the ladies were well out of listening range, I clapped my hands together. ‘Great. Now the boys get to chat a bit.’
Bobby leaned forward. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
I smiled. ‘You have no idea how glad I am you asked that, Robert.’
For the first time since I’d met him, Bobby Taylor flinched. Maybe it was my using his given name. Maybe he felt the power in his parents’ home shift a bit. Either way, he recovered quickly, and then stood up.
‘I don’t think I like your tone of voice, Raymond.’ He closed the space between us with three steps and looked down at me. ‘Maybe I’ll have to rethink kicking your ass.’
I stayed where I was, next to Marty on the couch. I reached into my front pocket and pulled out my cell phone.
‘Should I be scared now, Robert?’ I asked, holding his gaze. ‘Or should I just call the cop who’s parked outside? The one who drove us here.’
He stared at me as he considered that. It didn’t take long.
‘You brought a lawyer and a cop with you?’ he said. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘It’s time to talk some business, and I’d like to be done with it before your mother comes back with our tea.’
He continued to stand there, his breathing getting heavier. The look he gave me was similar to the one a hungry man gives a pizza. After a while, his father spoke.
‘Sit down, Robert. Let’s hear what Mr Donne has to say.’
‘What does he possibly have to say I’d be interested in?’
‘Two words,’ I said. And then I paused for effect. ‘Maura O’Neal.’
The mention of her name took both Taylors by surprise. The father showed it more than the son, but the look was there on the younger Robert’s face as well.
Bases were loaded, and he’d just thrown three straight balls.
He walked backwards until he was seated again. I let out the breath I’d been holding as inconspicuously as I could.
‘Let’s not waste a lot of time going back and forth about Maura,’ I said. ‘Like I said, I’d like to have this part of the conversation done before your mom comes back.’ I leaned forward. ‘Long story, short: Maura’s done rather well for herself since high school. Specifically, since she spoke with Marty Stover, Senior, about the events of the night Melissa Miller was attacked. She went through two years of school, and with your family’s help, was able to start her own business at the age of twenty.’
‘It was an investment,’ Mr Taylor said, shifting his body on the couch. His response sounded like one he’d been rehearsing for two decades.
‘That’s exactly what it was,’ I answered. ‘But not really in Maura. More, I would say, in young Robert’s future. And your family’s.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bobby said.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do. Maura spoke to Marty Stover twice. The first time, she said that you and she had left the party early because you were paying too much attention to Melissa Miller. She was angry, and like the good, horny boyfriend you were, you left.’
‘That’s what happened.’
‘Yeah … but then you went back to the party after an argument with her. That’s what she said the second time she spoke with Marty.’ I looked at the briefcase Marty had brought with him. ‘We have the notes. Would you like to see them?’
The two Taylors looked at each other. The father spoke first.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I see where you’re going with this, Mr Donne. And there’s nothing you or your reporter girlfriend can do about it. It was twenty years ago. Ask your lawyer friend here. There’s something in the law called statute of limitations.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘There’s also something called freedom of the press.’
‘Your girlfriend prints a word of that,’ Bobby said, ‘and my lawyers will be on her and her paper like fleas on a dog.’
I turned to Marty Junior. It was his turn now.
‘That’s probably true,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely no way Ms Rogers’ paper could print that your father bought Maura O’Neal’s silence twenty years ago.’
Bobby smiled, leaned back, and picked up his beer. He looked at me with victory in his eyes and said, ‘See?’
‘However,’ Marty said. ‘There’s nothing to stop her paper from printing that Taylor Holdings’ first piece of business – two years before you signed your first baseball contract – was to purchase the property Maura O’Neal used to start her beauty salon. They can also mention that Maura O’Neal was your girlfriend – your alibi – at the time of the attack and the main reason the police did not consider you a suspect.’
‘That’s libel,’ Bobby said. ‘I’ll own that paper after the trial.’
Interesting how Bobby knew the difference between slander and libel.
‘It’s only libel if it’s not true. Your lawyers could sue, of course, but they’d have to prove the presence of malice on behalf of the paper. But,’ Marty picked up his case and put it on his lap, ‘it’s all true.’
‘And it fits into a few sentences,’ I added. ‘Easy reading.’
The silence that filled the living room after those two words would have been painful had I not been on the side I was on. It was the Taylors’ turn to talk, and neither one knew what to say. The only sound in the house was the clinking of teacups in the kitchen. Bobby Taylor, to give him credit, was as at least going to go down swinging.
‘You still can’t prove a thing,’ he said.
‘There’s nothing to prove,’ I said. ‘Just printing the truth.’
‘Who’s gonna care? It’s old news.’
‘Not to your brother it isn’t.’
Over on the couch, Mr Taylor let out an audible groan like someone who’d aggravated an old injury. Bobby looked over at his father with sympathy in his eyes.
‘And,’ I said, ‘I’m willing to bet your mother has no idea about this either.’
Bobby stood again. ‘Keep her out of this.’
‘That’s up to you, Robert.’
‘Fuck you,’ he said. ‘Fuck the three of you. Coming into my parents’ house with this shit.’ He pointed to the door he’d paid for with his Major League Baseball money. ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
‘We’re not done yet,’ I said.
‘I think you are.’
He again took three steps and was a foot away from me. This time, I stood. I looked over at Mr Taylor and said, ‘How does it feel, sir? Giving up one son to save the other. The more valuable son?’
‘Fuck you!’ Bobby repeated and pushed me hard enough to send me into the couch and almost into Marty. I was considering the merits of getting up again when Mr Taylor spoke.
‘He confessed,’ he said. ‘William confessed.’
‘Because he was told he was guilty,’ I said. ‘By the very people who should have been looking out for him. Instead, you figured out a way to quiet the only witness who, at the very least, could have provided an alternative to what the police were led to believe. However unpleasant that alternative was.’ I scooted over away from Marty. ‘Maybe you truly thought you were protecting the family. But don’t for a second try to make me believe you didn’t realize you were sacrificing your other son to do so.’
‘Is that what you think I did, Mr Donne?’
‘Convince me otherwise,’ I said.
More silence. Then, ‘Melissa Miller said it was William who attacked her,’ Mr Taylor said. ‘We just wanted to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. If you want to call that protecting my family, then, yes, that’s what I was doing.’
‘And buying Maura O’Neal her own business?’
Mr Taylor shook his head. ‘She was confused,’ he said. ‘We didn’t need that.’
We looked at each other, both unconvinced by his words. I shook my head.
‘With all due respect, Mr Taylor,’ I said. ‘Don’t piss on my leg and tell me the game’s rained out. We both – all of us in this room – know what you did.’
Bobby Taylor said, ‘Don’t speak to my father like that. In his home.’
I waved that away. ‘The home you bought him, Robert.’
The sound from the kitchen got a little more active. Tea was about to be served.
‘So what do you want, Raymond?’ Bobby Taylor said. ‘How much to keep this from making the newspaper?’
I smiled and shook my head. ‘That’s not like you, Robert, telegraphing a pitch like that. It’s like I’m sitting dead red on a fastball, waiting for you to throw it.’
‘So it’s not about money?’
I laughed. ‘Oh, no, it is about money. Just not for me.’
He waited and said, ‘For who, then?’
I looked at Marty and he opened his briefcase. He took out the papers he had prepared after I called him a few hours ago. Boilerplate stuff, really.
‘First,’ he said, ‘you’re going to hire Melissa Miller as a consultant to your car dealerships. She will earn a salary of fifty thousand dollars a year.’
Marty took out the contract he had drawn up and placed it on the coffee table.
Bobby had difficulty processing that. When he had, he said, ‘You’re nuts. Why would she work for me?’ He was looking at the contract, not me.
‘We didn’t say she was going to work for you, Robert. I wouldn’t put her through that. I said you’re going to hire her as a consultant. Call it quality control if you want. But she will never step foot in one of your dealerships or have anything directly to do with you except cash your checks.’
‘That bitch put you up to this?’ His face turned red. ‘I shoulda known that.’
‘She has no idea about this yet. She’ll find out tomorrow.’
He got up and paced across the small space twice. When he was done, he took a seat next to his father on the couch.
‘That’s it?’ he asked.
‘Not quite,’ I said.
Marty took out another contract. Actually it was one piece of paper.
‘You,’ I said, ‘are going to make a generous donation to Bridges to Success.’
‘How generous?’
‘Half a million dollars generous,’ I said and waited for the shock to pass. ‘And, just so you know, that will also make the papers. But Allison will make sure it sounds like you wanted it kept anonymous. She’ll have someone else write the piece and interview you and good will and all that shit.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, the sarcasm coming through loud and clear. ‘Is that all?’
‘One more thing,’ I said and Marty took out one more piece of paper.
‘Am I signing away my kids now?’ Bobby asked. I ignored that.
‘You will also be donating another five hundred thousand dollars to RAINN – the Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network. They do great work with victims of sexual abuse and their families, and you’re going to be proud to be a part of their mission.’
Marty spread out all three pieces of paper, reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen and held it out to Bobby. ‘Please sign on the designated lines,’ Marty said. ‘We’ll take care of the actual checks on Monday. You can come to my office, or I can meet you at yours if that’s more convenient for you.’
Now there were two faces in the room Bobby Taylor wanted to take a bite out of. To his credit, he waited, took a breath, and then signed all three documents. That’s when his mother and Allison came back into the living room. His mother held an actual tea service tray like they have on those PBS shows from England. Allison held a tray of cookies and what looked like brownies.
Picking up on the awkward silence in her living room, Mrs Taylor said, ‘Is everything OK in here?’
‘We’re fine,’ Bobby said as Marty scooped up the papers to make room for our refreshments. He put them in his case and the case back on the floor. ‘You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble, Mom.’
‘These people came all the way from the city, Robert,’ she said. ‘It’s the least we can do to be hospitable.’ She paused. ‘Even if the reason for their visit is not as pleasant as we would all like.’
I found myself truly liking this woman and realizing how much it would devastate her if she ever found out what her husband, her son, and their lawyers had conspired to do twenty years ago. The fact that one of those lawyers was my father would be eating away at me for a long time.
The papers Marty Stover, Junior, had just placed in his briefcase would ease that somewhat.
The sins of the fathers somewhat undone by their sons.
At least that’s what I told myself.
THIRTY
Much to his mother’s chagrin and embarrassment, Bobby Taylor didn’t stay for the tea. Marty, Allison, and I spent another half hour with the Taylors making small talk. I don’t believe Mr Taylor contributed a syllable. We said our good-byes and gathered in the early evening darkness next to Marty’s car.
‘I’ll have all the paperwork drawn up and ready for Bobby to sign on Monday,’ Marty said. ‘Nice job in there, guys. I thought Bobby would put up more of a fight.’
‘He wanted to,’ I said. ‘But then his mother, brother, and the rest of the world would never look at him the same way again. I think he did a quick risk analysis and chose the best possible outcome.’
‘They say that’s what the best pitchers do.’
‘I’ve heard that.’ I stuck out my hand. ‘Thanks for helping out. It’s nice to have had a lawyer on our side. We owe you one.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘And you don’t owe me a thing.’
‘Let’s talk on Monday. Make sure things went well on both our ends.’
‘You got it.’
Marty got in his car. Allison and I walked over to my uncle’s car where Officer Gray awaited our return. I realized too late we should have brought him some cookies from inside. Oh, well.
