Beyond Justice (11 page)

Rachel came to my side. "When?  By whom?  He hasn’t been served."

The guard pointed to the entrance.  I turned around and saw Lieutenant Jim O’Brien walking towards us, his black and white squad car parked just outside the glass doors.  A different partner, a female officer, remained inside the car.

"Jim," I said, sighing with relief.  "There’s been a misunderstanding here."

"Afraid not."  He handed me an envelope.  "Consider yourself served." The TRO was filed by Oscar and Maggie Lawrence’s attorney.

"Unbelievable," I muttered and showed it to Rachel.

"I’m sorry," Jim said, thumbs in his belt.  "Seems like the grandparents are suing for legal custody as well."

Dave joined the huddle.  "I’m going up to speak with Aaron’s doctor."  The security guard got Jim’s approval and permitted Dave to go.  "I’ll be back,"

"I can’t believe this," I said, taking the paper back from Rachel.  "They’ve hired Chatham, Young & Bauer."

"Oh dear," Rachel said.  "Them."

Jim scribbled his signature on a Proof of Service document.  "Do I need to stick around to enforce this?"

"No."

"I’ll be on my way, then."

Before he got to the exit, I called out, "Just one question, Jim." He turned to face me.  "How did you know?"

He pointed down to the GPS tracker on my anklet.  "The Lawrences’ wanted to make sure you didn’t get within a thousand feet.  I would’ve preferred to wait at least until the morning to serve you, but when we saw you were approaching the hospital..."

"You really think I would hurt my son?"

"You’re a suspect.  I was assigned to serve you the TRO.  I have a duty to uphold."

"You didn’t answer my question."

"Yes.  I did."  And with that, he tipped his hat to Rachel and left.   I stood there stunned.  How could they do this? 
He’s my son
.

Rachel and I sat side by side, on blue, vinyl-padded chairs in the general waiting area for what seemed an eternity.  I spent most of the time with my head in my hands, fretting, unable to speak.  There were moments that I forgot Rachel was there, she was so quiet. 

At one point, I picked my head up.  She appeared to be asleep, sitting back in her chair, her eyes shut.  But her lips were moving.  Her brow knitted while this was happening.  I thought she might be having a bad dream.

"Rachel?"  I whispered, gently nudging her with my elbow.  "You okay?"

She opened her eyes.  Sharp and lucid.

"Bad dream?" I asked.

"I was praying."

"Yeah, well.  The way things are looking, prayer might not help."  She patted my knee and smiled.  "Know something I don’t?"

"In a way."

"Care to let me in on it?"

She turned to me, glowing like the dawn of a new day.  "You might not appreciate it the way I do."

"What?"  How could she possibly look so positive, so excited?

"I’m going to be completely open with you, all right?" I nodded, having no idea of where this was going.  But I was determined to find out.  "I just got a word."

"A word?"

"Yes.  From God.  Sometimes it’s referred to as a word of knowledge or a prophetic word."

"So, what did God say?"

She grasped both of my hands, and took a deep breath.  "Okay.  It’s really five words."  She just smiled.

"Would you please?"

"All right, here goes." She paused—I wasn't sure if it was for drama, or to further torment me.  Then she said the words.  "It’s going to be fine." A subtle, smile stretched across her face.  "Isn’t that wonderful?"

My mouth remained slightly agape until I spoke. "Is that it?"

"What do you mean, is that it?"

"Can’t God be a little more—I don’t know—specific?"

"It was like a sense of assurance.  I don’t know specifically what He meant, but I know the word was for you.  Have faith.  God loves you.  He loves Aaron.  It’s going to be fine."

Rachel was intelligent, hadn’t an ounce of deceit in her, nor was she insane.  What motive could she possibly have to lie?  And, I wondered, when God spoke, shouldn’t there be thunder, lightning bolts, writing on the wall, a burning bush, like Charleton Heston in
The Ten Commandments
?

The next ten minutes might as well have been ten years.  I paced around until Rachel asked me to stop.  It was making her anxious.  Finally, Dave returned.  We ran up to meet him.

"How is he?" I asked.

"He had an infection from fluid build up in his lungs and a high fever.  He stopped breathing.  But the Motrin got him down to 101 and he’s on a ventilator now."

"He made it," I said, so relieved I almost laughed.

"He’s still non-responsive, but alive."

I sighed, "Thank God."

Rachel and Dave smiled at each other.

"Amen," Dave said. 

Chapter Eighteen

The trial was set for December 19.  Rachel spent the days leading up to it interviewing just about everyone I knew in search of witnesses who might prove helpful to my case.  She ran herself ragged, sometimes working eighteen hours a day and on weekends.

She secured a private detective by the name of Richard Mackey, a friend of Alan and Samantha.  He liked to be called "Mack."  With my innocence as his starting point, he was investigating every angle, every lead, in search of the killer.

Mack was an ex-cop from Poway who had retired early, after winning seven million dollars in the California Super lotto—his share in a 31 million dollar jackpot that he and others from his softball team had claimed.  The money hadn’t spoiled Mack, though.  Aside from retiring at the ripe age of forty-one and moving to a slightly larger, slightly newer house, he and his family lived pretty much the same as always.  He took on only the most interesting cases and charged only a nominal fee.  He took my case
pro bono
.

Oscar and Maggie secured a Domestic Violence Restraining Order with relative ease, doing away with the temporary one.  My only contact with Aaron came vicariously through Dave, Rachel, and some of the other Bible study group members. 

Now Oscar and Maggie were suing for legal custody.  They got it.  Painful as it was, the ruling neither shocked nor hindered us from plowing headlong into the murder case.  One oblique benefit to Oscar and Maggie taking guardianship was that they could claim Aaron under their medical insurance.

Pastor Dave offered me a position at his church cleaning the sanctuary, offices, bathrooms.  The pay wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.  "I would have offered it to you from the start," Dave said, "But I knew you had to try to make it on your own first."  He was right.  I would have been insulted, too prideful to have considered a janitor’s job just a few weeks ago.  Now, I was happy with whatever I could get.  I have a feeling Dave knew I'd get really depressed or go crazy, without something to do every day.

My house sold within a day of listing.  The San Diego real estate market was still strong back then.  Houses stayed on the market for less than a week before they got snatched up by hungry buyers.  A seller’s market.  Escrow was to close just one week before my trial.

The time came for me to pack up and move out.  Anything I had not already sold, I packed away into a total of twenty cardboard boxes.  These were the last physical remnants of my home.  All the furniture was sold along with the house—the buyer loved Jenn’s taste in home decor and that gained me an extra ten thousand dollars in the selling price.  I would actually come out a couple of thousand dollars in the black.

Three days before the close of escrow, I walked through the house, packing items of sentimental value.   Rachel came over to help me decide what to keep and what to let go.  She knew it would be too difficult for me to do alone.

We started in the master bedroom.  All the furniture had been covered with pale sheets.  The bed hadn’t been slept in since the night of the murders.   I packed away photos, a large framed wedding picture, some of Jenn’s favorite books, her unfinished manuscripts.

Packing Jenn’s clothes away in boxes proved more difficult than I could have imagined.  As Rachel and I stood in the closet, taking things down from hangers, something caught my eye.  It was that silly necklace of seashells I made for her on our first date.   As a girl, she had always dreamed of going to Hawaii.  With that necklace, I made a promise to take her there one day.

"Why do you keep that old thing," I would ask, years later.

"It’s a reminder.  Of your love, of how you always keep your promises." She wore it on our honeymoon in Maui, and every time we went to the beach. 

Gazing at the necklace in my fingers, I recalled Jenn’s perfume, her silken auburn hair that draped over my arm as we walked the La Jolla shores on brisk moonlit evenings, enjoying our time off and trying to ignore our guilt for leaving the kids with a baby sitter. 

Some of the necklace’s shells were broken, their color faded.  But holding it, I still sensed her presence.  Her smile, her goofy laugh.

"That one special?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah."

"You should save it," she said, giving my hand a warm touch.  The necklace went into a single container which I’d labeled ‘Keepers.’  A small box that held only the most precious of mementos.

In Bethie’s room, there were too many things to consider.  I picked out the keepers—one of her baby pictures, her first violin, a 1/16th size, concert recordings and programs.  I couldn’t watch as Rachel packed the rest away for long term storage or donations.

Aaron’s room proved equally difficult.  Because he was not actually gone, it seemed wrong to be putting his things away.  The Thomas train table, his most prized earthly possession, was too large to be put in storage.  I refused to sell it, rationalizing that it would be difficult to explain why I had gotten rid of it when he awakens.

For the first time in a long while, I sat by the train table as I’d done with Aaron many times after work.  Every night when I came home, he’d run up to me and make me "fly" him around the house.  I’d pick him up, hold him horizontally and together we’d say, "Up into the sky!  Past the moon and into the heavens!"  Then we’d race down the hallway with his wings spread, and we’d shout, "to infinity and beyond!"

The warmth of Rachel’s shoulder against mine reminded me of her presence.  She pushed little green Percy around the wooden tracks and said, "My nephew has the same table."

"His pride and joy, right?"

"Yeah."

What I wouldn’t give to fly Aaron again.  Or to sit there playing trains with him,  making up stories and acting them out—just one more time.  "God, I miss him," I said, my voice cracking as I held the blue Thomas engine in my hand.  "I miss them all."  I bit my lower lip to keep from breaking down.

"Oh, Sam."  She put her arms around me as I wept, still clutching the train engine in my fist.  I didn’t want her to see me this way—empty, broken, weak.  But there was no use hiding it.  "It’s okay," she said, whispering warmth into my ear.  "You’re entitled to a good cry."  She tightened her arms around me, pressed her cheek to mine and stroked my back.  "Just let it all out." 

Her breathes punctuated her own muffled sobs.  A tiny whimper confirmed what I had suspected all along.  After all the stories she’d heard, all the pictures, she’d grown to love Jenn and my kids like her own family.

I don’t remember now how long we stayed in each other’s arms.  But it occurred to me that besides Jenn, my mother, and Maggie, I had never held another woman this close since I got married.   Pulling back, I wiped Rachel’s tears.  She studied the floor.

  With all the negative publicity that comes with being a defendant in a murder trial, I had become a pariah in San Diego.  Most of the time it made me angry.  But deep down, the worst part of it was the loneliness.  Rachel touched a part of my soul that so desperately needed to be known.  With her eyes still shut, she lifted her head with glistening lips parted.

I leaned in towards her, placed my fingertips on her face, let them rest there.  My breath grew short.  It felt so natural.  I brought my lips so close to hers that I could feel her breathing.

I wanted this.

So did she.

Just as our lips were about to touch, we both pulled back.  She turned her head and I pushed myself back to a respectable distance.  "I’m sorry, Jenn— Rachel!" 
Dammit
.  As if I wasn’t already mortified enough.

She smiled demurely and shook her head.  "No.
I’m
sorry.  Should have known better." Neither of us wished to dwell on what might have proven a mistake.  We stood up and acted as if it never happened.

"Thank you for all your help," I said.  "Not just for today, but for everything."

"Come on.  Let’s finish up."

After Rachel left, I spent the rest of the evening preparing for my evacuation.  The next day, Dave helped me move the boxes into a self-storage unit.  A couple of boxes went next door into his garage.  I'd be staying in his house until I found a place of my own, which, on a church janitor’s salary, could well have turned out to be a homeless shelter.  Dave welcomed me to stay as long as I liked.