Custody of the State (14 page)

18

S
O THE BOTTOM LINE
, Joe Fellows, is that you really don't know where your wife, Mary Sue, is, or your child, Joshua?” Crystal Banes asked.

Joe Fellows squinted under the glare of the camera lights that had been set up in the jail conference room. Spike, the cameraman, stood with his shoulder-mounted camera pointing at the imprisoned man. Joe thought about the question and then answered.

“Like I said, I really have no idea where Mary Sue and Joshua are right now.”

Banes leaned back in the metal folding chair and flipped her notepad closed. She brushed a fleck of dust off her silk pinstriped suit.

This was not the first time that the TV host had interviewed a jail inmate. Throughout her career, she had been in and out of prisons and jails on a number of assignments. But she always found them to be loathsome places—filled with metal cages for humans, the dank odor of perspiration, and a low-level but constant din from the prisoners yelling from their cells.

The Juda County jail was no different. She gazed at a reflection on the floor. It—and the walls and the ceiling—had all been painted with the same glossy grey enamel, like the bottom of a battleship.

And, as usual, Banes had decided that she had definitely overdressed for the occasion.

She smiled vaguely and looked once more at Joe before she stood up. She knew that this prisoner was different. She added
him to her own very small group of inmates—the ones for whom she felt some sympathy.

On another assignment, one dealing with the legalization of prostitution, Banes had interviewed a number of prostitutes and call girls in prison. She personally supported legalization of the practice and felt that these tawdry women with their cheap make-up, dull eyes, and ripped hosiery didn't belong in jail. If they had to make a living with their bodies, then so be it. And further, she felt that most of the drug addicts she'd interviewed in prison deserved to be in a hospital rather than in a cell.

But with only those exceptions, she had concluded that the majority of convicts and prisoners she had interviewed during her career ought to be kept in cages to protect the public. If they weren't guilty of their
present
offense, then they were probably guilty of many other crimes for which they had simply not been caught. Even those on death row she had little pity for, unlike many of her journalistic associates.

But there was something about Joe Fellows that she knew rang true. He didn't belong in jail. That wasn't saying that his wife wasn't a child abuser—but only that this quiet young farmer was probably getting a raw deal.

Not that her opinion on that score would change anything. She was going to track down Mary Sue Fellows because her job was to get the story—and to get it before anyone else. After all, there was a ratings war going on. Crystal Banes did not intend to be a casualty.

As Banes stood up and straightened her suit, Stanley Kennelworth, who had been sitting patiently through the interview in the corner of the jail conference room, jumped to his feet.

“Okay—you going to get some interview time with me? On camera? Like you said?”

Banes broke into a small crooked smile.

“Sure,” Banes answered. “Spike, let it roll.” Then Banes took the microphone, pointed it in Kennelworth's direction, and
asked, “What do you think the outcome of this case will be, Mr. Kennelworth? Innocent or guilty?”

“Well…that's a real good question—real good. Now what I say is—” Kennelworth paused—“what I say is, we're going to let the justice system decide. I'll just do my best and we'll let the court make up its mind.”

“Sharp,” said Banes, turning to her cameraman with a smirk, “Don't you think, Spike—wasn't that a sharp comment?” Spike turned off the floodlight and lowered his camera. He said nothing, but stared at Banes without expression.

“Well, that's a wrap,” Banes concluded, motioning to Spike and quickly heading for the door, where the two deputies stood on the other side of the glass. She gestured for them to unlock the door, and when they did, she and Spike quickly scurried out.

In the background, Stanley Kennelworth, in a louder than usual voice, yelled out, “So when's this gonna be on television?”

“We'll be in touch,” Banes said, tossing the comment over her shoulder but not turning around.

In the parking lot, Spike worked on loading his equipment in the trunk of the car. Banes had a self-assured look.

“So—you think it went okay?” Spike asked.

“Sure. Most of it was a lot of zero. Except for one thing. One very important, small little thing. Something that Joe said. Let's see if you caught it.”

Her cameraman thought for a moment. “Probably the bit about the state hospital.” He paused for a few moments and then added, “Where that big Indian's brother had been hospitalized and where the big Indian had gone over to get him out and bring him back to the reservation. That's the connection. That's where you're going to go to start tracking the big Indian, and the reservation, and the rest of the Indian family—and find out Mary Sue Fellows' location from there.”

Banes cocked her head, and raising an eyebrow very slightly, and responded. “Good, Spike. Good for you. You're learning, I'm proud of you.”

“So tell me,” Spike asked, “exactly why did you have me set up my camera, turn on the floodlight, and never roll film on that interview? What's the deal on that?” As the two of them climbed into the car, with Spike behind the wheel, Banes stretched back her arms behind the seat and began her short tutorial.

“Important note to file, Spike,” she said. “To get interview with prisoner in jail, first get permission from lawyer. Now, how to get permission from lawyer? By promising televised interview and face time for attorney on television. So I call Kennelworth, I give him the pitch, I tell him we are coming in with cameras rolling, Kennelworth jumps like a catfish at a smelly bait ball.”

“But that still doesn't answer my question,” Spike pressed.

“The point was not to do an interview on tape anyway. I was just getting leads from farmer Joe to track down his wife. He didn't know that of course. Besides, at this point I don't want
anything
on tape. If you don't have it on tape, there is nothing for a court or a prosecutor to subpoena.”

“What about your notes?” Spike asked.

“What notes?” she snapped back.

As they drove out of the parking lot, Spike glanced over at Banes with a quizzical look.

“What? You have another question?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do have one.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You're a sophisticated, internationally known, globe-trotting television-magazine news host.”

Banes smiled and her eyes widened slightly. She wasn't used to Spike stringing that many words together. Perhaps there was more to her young cameraman than met the eye.

“Well—what's your question?”

“Just this—how do you know so much about catfish bait?”

Banes parted her lips as if she were going to offer an explanation, but then thought better of it. Instead, she reached into her briefcase, retrieved her cell phone, and rapidly began punching in the number of the INN studio line.

After a few seconds, she spoke.

“This is Crystal—give me research. I'm trying to track down the address of a state hospital in Georgia.”

Spike was still looking over at her, naively waiting for an answer to his question. But Crystal Banes had already closed the door and locked it. This was one of her golden rules—
never
get too personal with the techies.
Ever
.

19

T
HE INSURANCE COVERAGE ISSUE
had to be dealt with head-on. Will knew that. The fact that Mary Sue had taken out a $100,000 insurance policy on Joshua's life provided proof for the prosecution that she had a motive to poison her son.

Will pulled up to a small, single-story house. Outside there was a large sign that read, “Bob Smiley Insurance—Life-Health-Auto.”

As Will climbed out of his car, Harriet Bender, the court-appointed guardian ad litem for Joshua, was striding out the front door. She swung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder and then lit a long, slim cigar, pausing for a moment to blow a large smoke ring. She then pulled her Palm Pilot out of the side pocket of her briefcase, snapped it open, and punched some information into her schedule.

As she caught sight of Will walking toward her, Bender cocked her hand back, the cigar resting in two fingers. She watched him approach, and when he was just a few feet away said, “Fancy meeting you here, Chambers.”

“Now, I suppose you might be here to update your health-insurance policy,” Will said with a smile, “But I doubt it. So that means you were talking to Mr. Smiley about the Mary Sue Fellows case. Learn anything?”

“I have a practice, Chambers, that when I am doing guardian ad litem investigations, I never tip my hand until I complete the investigation, arrive at my conclusions, and file my report with the court.”

“So I take it,” Will said, “that you are willing to give Mary Sue Fellows the benefit of the doubt—that she is innocent of child abuse until proven otherwise?”

“Oh, I'm way past that.” Bender said. “This lady is guilty—and she needs help—and I need to get that kid back in the State of Georgia. Are you going to play ball with the court tomorrow?”

“I suppose that means we've got something in common—because I don't like to tip my hand either. But I will tell you this—I consider the judge's order inappropriate. If it's appealed I believe it will be reversed. And more than that, I believe Mary Sue Fellows wouldn't harm that child for anything on this earth.”

“You can save that for your closing argument to the court,” Bender responded. “I've looked at the evidence and I don't buy it. Ms. Fellows may come across like the sweet-looking little-mother type with a tear in her eye. But I believe she's been slipping brake fluid to her son for breakfast. I want little Joshua in a safe, loving home with lots of support systems in place. I don't know what you think about the city of Delphi, Chambers, but we've got very up-to-date resources and services here for this child.”

“There is one support system I am interested in.”

“Let's hear it,” Bender said. “Maybe there's something we could work out. You turn the kid over, bring in Mary Sue Fellows, and I'm sure we could provide whatever services you need. What resource are you thinking about?”

“The Fellows family unit. You know—mother, father, and child. Back together under one roof. Raising their own child. Making their own decisions. Not having to worry about arrest warrants, police tracking them down, or ex parte hearings where custody orders are issued without notifying the parents or their lawyers. That's the kind of resource I'm looking for.”

Bender took a long drag on her cigar, blew the smoke out, and then reached for her car keys.

“This just confirms my suspicions. As long as you approach this case with that kind of ride-'em-cowboy attitude, I don't think we have much to talk about.”

Will was going to respond, but Bender went on. “I've got some summer reading for you, Chambers.
It Takes a Village
by Hillary Rodham Clinton. You need to start joining the twenty-first century. Children aren't the chattel of parents anymore. That went out with the Industrial Revolution.”

“That's true,” Will responded, “but educate me a little on one thing—exactly when did the state adopt the presumption-of-
guilt
rule? I must have missed that.”

Bender didn't bother to reply, but turned and walked away.

Will entered the small insurance building, coming into a pinewood-paneled anteroom that had one empty desk and a few chairs scattered around the room. On the walls were a few plaques commending Bob Smiley for “Highest Sales in Delphi for a New Insurance Agent.” Another plaque recognized Smiley as a member of the Rotary Club. On another wall, a large painted sign read “Why Take the Risk? Get Insured!”

The lawyer heard some movement in an adjacent office, and he tapped the bell that sat on top of the empty desk.

In a moment, a man stepped into the room, quickly thrusting his arms into his sport coat and straightening his tie.

“Yes, sir—sorry to keep you waiting. Bob Smiley. What can I do for you, sir?”

Will shook hands and gave Smiley his card. “I'm Mary Sue Fellows' attorney.”

Smiley's head bobbed back slightly, as if someone had just tugged gently on a string attached to the back of his head.

“Well,” Smiley said, straightening his suit coat, “what's up?”

“I'd like to talk to you about the life-insurance policy that Mary Sue Fellows took out on Joshua, her son.”

“I did just give a statement to that guardian lady, she was just in…”

“Harriet Bender?”