Presumption of Guilt (14 page)

“He’s making progress, but it’ll be another few weeks before he has anything for us.”

“Okay. Hopefully he’ll be able to figure out how they padded the invoices.” Dani knew that finding concrete proof of excess billing for the jail was essential, but only a start. They’d need more to get a new trial.

“Can Ellen Michaels testify about the bank account?” Melanie asked. “Is the spousal privilege still in effect?”

“I hate to say someone’s death is fortunate, but in this case the spousal privilege died along with her ex.”

“If Ellen can testify and the accountant finds proof of billing fraud, will that be enough for a new trial?” Melanie asked.

HIPP represented clients throughout the country, and Dani realized this was Melanie’s first case in New York. Law schools didn’t teach students the ins and outs of court procedure. Most didn’t even teach students the specific laws of each state. It taught students the “how,” not the “what.” How to read the law, how to analyze cases, how to think like a lawyer. But the nuts and bolts—that was something lawyers learned on the job.

“We’ll file a motion under section 440 of the criminal procedure law to vacate the judgment on the grounds of new evidence. We have to show that if the new evidence had been heard at Molly’s trial, it’s probable that she wouldn’t have been convicted. We need to convince the judge that others had a greater motive to murder the Singers and, if the jury had known that, they wouldn’t have convicted Molly. We’re not there yet. At the least, we need to show that Singer knew about the skimming. If we can show that, we can argue he was killed to quiet him. And Sarah Singer was just collateral damage.”

As they finished their discussion and rose to leave, Tommy noted, “You know, even though Quince Michaels’s death paved the way for his ex-wife to testify, he may have been the only chance we had to find out who else was in on the scheme.”

“Unless he told his new wife and she’s willing to admit it,” Dani said. “Tommy, I think you need to go back to Miami.”

It was parent-teacher conference night at Jonah’s school, and Dani left work early to make sure she wouldn’t miss it. Traffic on the FDR Drive moved steadily north to Westchester County, and she arrived home in time to have a leisurely dinner with her family. Katie had agreed to stay until they returned from their meeting, and so she joined them for dinner.

“Katie, how come everything you cook tastes so delicious, and when I make something, it’s barely edible?”

“It’s because she’s acknowledged, Mommy.”

Usually Dani understood Jonah’s meaning, even though he often mixed up words. Now she was at a loss. Doug had cocked his head, too. “How is she acknowledged, Jonah?” she asked.

“Well, she went to school and studied cooking, so now she’s efficient at it.”

“I see.”

“Like I’m acknowledged as a composer.”

“Yes, although I’d say you’re more than an efficient composer. You’re quite brilliant at it.” Jonah beamed at the compliment.

Dinner over, Dani helped Katie clean up, changed out of her work clothes, and then she and Doug headed over to Jonah’s school. It was a private school geared toward children with developmental disabilities. Jonah was one of several Williams syndrome kids there.

Dani and Doug passed corridor walls adorned with drawings and projects by the students, just as in any public school, and then waited on chairs outside his classroom until their turn came.

Mrs. Radler called them in and they sat in two chairs in front of her desk. Dani understood why Jonah gushed over his teacher. She appeared to be in her early thirties, and with shoulder-length brunette hair, porcelain skin, and thickly lashed eyes, she was quite pretty. More important, though, she had a smile that made them feel welcomed.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Mrs. Radler said. “Jonah is one of my favorite students.”

“Thank you. We’re happy to hear that,” Doug said.

They discussed Jonah’s progress in class, and then his teacher asked, “Have you made future plans for Jonah?”

Dani understood the question. That’s just what it was:
the
question. It was one they, and all parents of Williams syndrome kids, knew had to be dealt with at some point, but Dani and Doug had kept pushing that point further away, unwilling to face the inevitable. It was unlikely that Jonah would be a self-sufficient adult, one who could live on his own and be responsible for his basic needs. At some time, hopefully in the distant future, she and Doug would no longer be around to care for him. Plans needed to be made, but not yet. She wasn’t prepared to face that future. “There’s still plenty of time for that,” Dani answered.

“That’s true. But we like to start transition planning with parents when their child is Jonah’s age. We think it’s best to start the process early.”

Dani nodded. “I appreciate that. But it’s too soon for us.” She stood to leave and motioned to Doug to follow.

“Mrs. Trumball, I think it’s especially important in Jonah’s case to start the planning early.”

Dani slowly sat down again. “Why is that?”

“Well, he’s so talented musically. I think he would do well at a college specializing in music.”

Dani was stunned, unsure that she’d heard his teacher correctly.

“We’ve never thought of college as a possibility for Jonah,” Doug said.

“Well, of course it would need to be a school that provided support services,” Mrs. Radler said. “Jonah is at the high end of functioning for Williams syndrome students. Many of our students do go on to college. Usually a community college. More and more schools now have programs that teach students practical academics.”

“What does that mean?” Dani asked.

“Well, they might teach skills such as check balancing and money management. Or offer courses that prepare the students for independent-living skills. Much more is being done now to reach out to developmentally disabled persons so they can maximize their potential.”

A smile had erupted on Dani’s face. When she looked at Doug, she found the same smile engulfing his. It was a smile of relief, a smile of happiness, a smile for her son’s future. She’d worried so much about what would happen to him. Now this angel of a teacher was telling them that Jonah might have a much more independent future to look forward to than they’d allowed themselves to dream of for him. Without even realizing it had been there, Dani felt a heaviness lift from her body and float away.

“But I wanted to focus on his musical ability with you,” Mrs. Radler continued. “I think you should think beyond community college for him. Many of our students hold responsible jobs after they finish their studies, but usually lower-level positions. I think Jonah could make a living as a composer. He’s shown remarkable potential in that area. And there are a lot of opportunities composing music for all sorts of things—advertising, TV, even sound tracks and scores for movies.”

Dani looked over at Doug. He, too, seemed shaken.

“But where would he live?” Doug asked. “Wouldn’t he be ostracized in a college dorm?”

“That’s why I think we should start the process of exploring possibilities early. To me, the ideal solution would be a music college, such as the Berklee College of Music in Boston, or a four-year college with a strong music program, and where there’s a group home nearby where he could live off campus.”

Dani wanted to stand up and hug Mrs. Radler. She wanted to run home and hug Jonah. Neither of those things was possible, but there was no stopping herself from throwing her arms around her husband.

C
HAPTER

26

T
he last time Molly had been this nervous was when she’d awaited the jury verdict. It had taken days. Days of unspeakable agony, not knowing whether she would emerge from the nightmare of the previous five months. And knowing that if she did somehow escape the hell she’d been through, she would return to an empty home. After the jury found her guilty, she’d been too numb to worry about her sentence. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except the baby growing inside her.

Finn’s letter had taken her by surprise. Sophie wanted to visit her. Sophie. Her daughter. Molly had named Sophie after her grandmother, and she still smiled at the memory of getting a bear hug from her nana every time she’d visited her. It had been ten years, seven months, and six days since Molly had stopped caring for Sophie in the mother’s ward of the prison. Ten years, seven months, and six days since she’d last held her in her arms, fed her meals, rocked her to sleep. She’d counted every day since the guard came and pulled her daughter from her arms, mother and child both wailing as they were torn apart. She’d agreed when Finn said he should stop bringing Sophie for the weekly visits, that it was too traumatic for Sophie when she had to leave. In truth, it was too hard for Molly. She’d return to her cell on those Saturdays and sob for hours.

Now Sophie waited in the visitors’ room. Each step Molly took alongside the guard brought her closer to her daughter. Her hands shook, and as the guard opened the door to the long room lined with chairs, a Plexiglas partition separating the prisoners from the visitors, she stopped, afraid to move forward.

“Move it, Singer,” the guard said.

Cautiously, Molly stepped into the room. The fluorescent lights shone brighter than the dull lights lining the prison cells and cast an artificial glow over the space. The hum of murmured conversations filled the air. She looked down the row of visitors, some sitting opposite a prisoner, telephones in their hands, others sitting alone, waiting for the women they’d come to see. Their wives, their mothers, their sisters. Maybe just their friends. Whatever the relationship, they were a window to the outside world for the women inside.

Molly scanned the room until she glimpsed a young girl sitting alone, and gasped. Her silky blonde hair hung straight to her shoulders, and her eyes were half closed, as though she could shut out the nastiness of her surroundings. Her slim frame sat slumped in the seat and her arms were folded across her chest.
She looks like me. Like I once looked, when I was still a child.
Molly could barely breathe as she moved closer.

“Right here, Singer,” the guard said as she pushed her into the chair opposite Sophie.

Sophie’s eyes opened and she stared at her mother. She picked up the phone next to her and Molly did the same.

“Hello,” Sophie said in a child’s high-pitched voice, though Molly could see she was beginning to mature.

“Hello, Sophie.”

“Um, I don’t know what to call you.”

“Why don’t you call me Molly.” She wanted to cry out,
I’m your mother! I nursed you and loved you and would have cared for you if I’d been allowed to. Call me Mommy, or Mom, or anything but Molly.
But she was no longer her mother. Another woman was.

“Daddy said it was time for us to meet.”

“I’m glad.”

“He said you didn’t murder your parents. Is that true?”

It was as though Sophie had reached through the glass and stolen the air from her lungs. These awful words, coming from her daughter. But Molly forced herself to answer simply, directly. “No, I didn’t.”

“But you confessed. That’s what the newspaper said.”

“Did you look up the stories from back then?” Molly asked.

“Yeah. Well, now you don’t have to look anything up, like in a library or something. Everything is online.”

“Of course. I keep forgetting.”

“So why did you? Confess.”

Molly sighed. How could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself? “The police officer who questioned me said I didn’t remember doing it because I’d taken sleeping pills. He told me they found evidence that proved I’d killed them. I didn’t think he would lie to me, so I thought I must have.”

“But you didn’t?”

“
No
, Sophie. I loved my parents. I don’t believe it was in me to ever hurt them. Later, I found out there was no evidence I’d murdered them.”

Sophie scrunched up her face. “Can they do that?”

“What?”

“Lie to you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s something you should always remember.”

“It doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

Sophie squirmed. She still held the phone to her ear, but cast her eyes downward.

“Is there something you want to ask me?” Molly said.

“Um, I just wondered—never mind. Forget it.”

“It’s okay, Sophie. You can ask me anything.”

“It’s just, I wondered . . .” She brought her eyes up and looked at Molly. “Why did you give me up?”

Molly struggled to keep her breathing under control despite her racing heart. Just looking at Sophie, so grown up, so beautiful, so hurt, made her ache. “I didn’t give you up. You’re my daughter. You always will be.”

“But you told Dad to stop bringing me here for visits.”

Molly shook her head vigorously. “No. I didn’t. I always wanted to see you. But your dad thought it would be easier for you if you stopped coming here. It made sense to me then.”

“Kim told me you didn’t want to see me. Because I was so bratty.”

Molly struggled to hold back her tears. “Oh, no, sweetheart. You were never bratty. I loved seeing you every week. It broke my heart to give you up.”

“Kim hates me.”

Molly didn’t know what to say. If only she could reach through the Plexiglas and wrap Sophie in her arms, tell her she wasn’t hated, by Kim or anyone else. Tell her that things would get better, even if it didn’t seem so. But all she could do was tell her she was sorry.

Their time together was, of course, too short. In what felt like seconds, the guard was tapping her on her shoulder.

“Time.”

What an awful word.

Molly turned back to Sophie. “Will you come again?”

Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know—I guess so.”

It had been many years since Molly had given up hope of ever getting out. Now, as her daughter walked away, her only thought was a desperate longing for HIPP to uncover the truth behind her parents’ murders and unlock the door that kept her from her girl.

C
HAPTER