Saving Sophie: A Novel (14 page)

During lunch, Jack nodded to Marcy. “Pretty damn tasty. Right up there with Taylor Street.”

She smiled.

“I have something for you.” Jack pulled out Malani’s business card. “Give this woman a call tomorrow. She’d like to see some of your work.”

“Seriously?
Hawaii Magazine?
Son of a bitch. How did you do that?”

He shrugged. “I met her on the plane and called her earlier today. Simple as that. But when you call her, you have to tell her you’re a friend of Jack Montgomery.”

“Jack Montgomery? Is that the name you gave her?”

“Right.”

She had a look of consternation. “Jack, what’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Marcy shook her head. “There’s a virtual wall between us, Jack, and given our past, it makes me very uncomfortable. You’ve set all these artificial limits to our conversation, and I don’t like them. We have too much history, you and I. Besides, given the way you ditched me at the bar the other night, can I ask, why the hell did you call me today?”

“I called you because you’re my friend. Because I’m in a tough spot. Today was rough, like every other goddamn day, but even more so. And as much as I need to be invisible, I need a friend more. I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“Wow.” Marcy took a drink of wine. “As long as we’re being honest, I’m a little worried about getting too close to you. You’ve obviously got some scary things going on. I have the feeling you’re not out here on business. And, Jack, as your good friend, I’m worried about you. Why aren’t you home with Sophie?”

Jack leaned across the table. “Hold on to yourself, Marcy. I’m not home with Sophie because she’s gone.”

Marcy’s face froze in shock. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh my God.”

“No, it’s not like that. She’s alive. But she’s been taken from me. She’s been kidnapped.”

Tears formed in Marcy’s eyes. “By whom? When?”

“A few months ago. By Arif.”

“Arif? Alina’s father has her? Is she in Hebron?”

Jack nodded. “I don’t know for sure, but that’s my best guess. Now you know why I’m so mysterious. I’m working on a plan to get her back, and I need to be real careful. Before coming out here, I had to do some things. Cross some lines. I had to associate with people who may not be doing things aboveboard. So, I had to drop out of sight. You don’t want to get involved in this mess. Let’s keep it that way.”

“You called me today, not the other way around.”

“I know. Sometimes need trumps wisdom.”

“What does Arif say? Did you call him?”

“He changed his numbers. I can’t reach him.”

“If Sophie’s in the Middle East and you know where she is, why are you going through mobsters? Why don’t you go get her yourself? Hell, I’ll go with you.”

“Well, first of all, who said they were mobsters? They’re just some guys with connections. And as to going into Hebron and rescuing Sophie myself, that’s a near-impossible task and a last-ditch effort. Hebron’s a violent, dangerous city. It’s a Palestinian stronghold and Arif’s well protected. It would be a risk not only to me but to Sophie as well. I’m not saying I won’t do it as a last resort, but right now my plans call for me to wait here while others do their part. One day I’ll tell you all the details.”

“One day, my ass. You’re talking to Aunt Marcy.” She stood. “You can’t leave off in the middle of the story. I want to know these details.” She turned and waved at Giovanni. “Let’s see if I can talk Gio into giving us another bottle of Grenache. We’ll take it back to my place. At least I can say it’s my place for a few more days.”

T
WENTY
-T
HREE

C
ATHERINE SAT AT HER
dining-room table. Stacked before her were twenty-four hundred pages of trial transcripts from
In Re: the Guardianship of Sophie Sommers
. The trial, which began in August 2012, lasted six days. They started with reports from the agencies. Jack took the stand on the afternoon of the third day and faced grilling cross-examination from al-Zahani’s lawyer. Catherine flagged certain pages of his testimony:

(By Jerome Gibbs)
“Mr. Sommers, after your daughter, Sophie, was born, did your wife continue to work?”

(John Sommers)
“Not as a social worker. After Sophie was three or four months old, she returned to teaching piano.”

“In the home?”

“That’s right.”

“In the five years of Sophie’s life, did your wife ever have a job outside the home?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’ll ask the questions, sir, if you don’t mind. Did she work outside the home at any time after Sophie was born?”

“No.”

“And you, sir, am I correct that you have been an attorney at the firm of Jenkins and Fairchild the entire time that Sophie’s been alive?”

“That’s correct.”

“How many hours did you bill last year?”

“Billable? Just about two thousand.”

“Is that in line with what Jenkins and Fairchild requires of its attorneys?”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you also required to log nonbillable hours?”

“Yes. Client development, community involvement, bar association activities.”

“And don’t you have to spend several hours in continuing legal education to keep your license?”

“Yes. About twenty a year.”

“Altogether, Mr. Sommers, how many total hours did you report to Jenkins and Fairchild last year?”

“I’m not sure. About 2,400.”

“Oh, I think it was 2,714, wasn’t it?”

“That could be right.”

“Now if my math is correct, that amounts to 226 hours per month, correct?”

“If you say so.”

“And taking away the holidays and vacation time, that would be about fifty hours per week, am I right?”

“If you say so. I haven’t done the math.”

“And would you agree with me, sir, that some of the hours that you spend at the office in a day just aren’t billable or recordable at all? I mean, you have lunch, right? Occasionally get a cup of coffee?”

(Witness is silent)

“Sir?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget commuting. How long does it take you to get to work?”

“Half hour.”

“So, we’re really talking about sixty or more hours a week that you’re away from the home, right?”

“I guess so.”

“And that’s pretty much been your habit for the last five years, hasn’t it?”

(Witness nods)

“During the time that Sophie was growing up, and you were putting in your sixty or more hours per week, who was caring for the child?”

“My wife.”

“Exactly. Did she make her breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Get her off to school?”

“Yes.”

“Make her lunch and dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Bought her clothes, took her to the park, read her the bedtime stories?”

(By Judge Karr)
“Counsel, we get the idea. Move on.”

(By Mr. Gibbs)
“Mr. Sommers, are you still working at Jenkins and Fairchild?”

“Yes.”

“Now that you don’t have a wife to assume the entire responsibility of raising your child, are you still putting in your sixty hours a week?”

“No, I work fewer hours.”

“Well, I have your report for the last thirty days. May we mark this as an exhibit, please?”

(Exhibit is marked)

“Did you log 220 hours last month?”

“Yes, but it was—”

“How many Saturdays did you work?”

“That’s not fair. I had a large transaction to close and—”

“How many, Mr. Sommers?”

“Two.”

“And two Sundays?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s a sufficient answer, sir. Did you enroll Sophie in day care?”

“Preschool. I did.”

“Does she go every day?”

“Weekdays.”

“Isn’t it true that for weeks and weeks Sophie cried hysterically when you dropped her off at day care?”

(Witness is silent)

“Mr. Sommers?”

“There were some adjustment problems we had to work through.”

“She clung to you at the door and begged you not to leave her, didn’t she?”

“Damn you, Gibbs, her mother had died. She was only five.”

(Whereupon a break was called)

(By Mr. Gibbs)
“Getting back to the day care, did the director of the facility recommend that Sophie seek professional help?”

“I was already bringing her to a child psychologist.”

“A five-year-old girl in psychotherapy?”

“Her mother had died, you bastard.”

(By Judge Karr)
“Settle down, Mr. Sommers.”

(
By Mr. Gibbs)
“Are you in therapy as well?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s move on to a different subject, Mr. Sommers. Let’s talk about your wife. Was she in therapy?”

“No, never.”

“Would you say she was well-adjusted?”

“Absolutely.”

“Kind, loving?”

“Absolutely.”

“Would you describe her as a happy woman?”

“Yes, I would, and so would everyone that knew her.”

“Was she a good mother?”

“Yes.”

“Was she a good wife to you?”

“The … the best.”

(By Judge Karr)
“Would you like some water, Mr. Sommers?”

(Whereupon a break was called)

“Did your wife possess all the skills necessary to make a happy home for you and your daughter?”

“Without question.”

“In fact, isn’t it true that you would love for Sophie to grow up to be just like her mother?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Would you agree with me that Dr. and Mrs. al-Zahani did a first-rate job raising Alina al-Zahani?”

“Alina was a wonderful woman.”

“No further questions.”

*   *   *

C
ATHERINE’S CONCENTRATION WAS BROKEN
as Liam walked into the room.

“How do you like working for Walter Jenkins again, Cat?” he said as he slipped off his coat.

Catherine gave him an angry squint. “I don’t work for him. J and F has engaged my professional services. I work for Catherine Lockhart, Attorney at Law.”

Liam smiled. “Take it easy. I didn’t mean to rile you up. I know you went by the office today. I’m only asking how it was.”

“Weird. To tell you the truth, I did not like being there. It brought back all the bad memories of my separation two years ago. I could see Walter sitting in my office, ordering me to withdraw from Ben’s case because suing Elliot Rosenzweig was too offensive to his big insurance clients. I remembered the day I came to pack up my office and he arrogantly barged in and tried to pay me off—a huge bonus if I dropped Ben’s case.”

“So why are you back there?”

“If you recall, I wasn’t going to. Then you told me the story about Jack and Alina, and it brought back my memories of Jack Sommers. I didn’t know him well, but from what I knew, I just can’t believe that he stole that money. And then, when Walter sat in my office, and begged me to take the case, I don’t know, I had a lot of friends back at J and F. They’re personally on the hook for thirty-eight million dollars. I thought I could help.”

Liam patted the couch. “Sit down, I have some information for you. I spent the afternoon with Jeff Miller at the FBI office. Miller is the agent assigned to the case.”

Catherine headed toward the kitchen. “Would you like a beer?”

“I’ll never say no to that.” Liam raised his voice to be heard in the kitchen. “Miller told me that Sommers never went to Brazil. He checked in at O’Hare, went though security, he even scanned his boarding pass, but he never went through immigration in Rio. There are no records of his passport being swiped.”

Catherine came back into the room with a bottle of Blue Moon for Liam and a frosted glass of Corona for herself. She set them on the coffee table and curled her feet underneath her on the corner of the couch next to Liam. “Maybe Sommers had a fake passport, or a forged passport, in someone else’s name?”

“Nope. They checked the videos around the time the Chicago flight arrived. He didn’t enter the country.”

“Does Miller have any idea where he went?”

“If he does, he’s not telling me.”

“Israel?”

Liam shook his head. “Tel Aviv airport security has facial recognition software. They’re pretty sure he hasn’t landed in Israel.”

“Maybe he could change his looks, false papers?”

“Cat, this guy is a transactional lawyer, he’s not Jason Bourne.”

“Do they think he has the money?”

“They’re not sure he does, but they think he’s involved. And they’re positive there must be others. After all, at least one of the direct participants is dead. Harrington went missing the day after the theft and his body was fished out of the lake.”

“Could Sommers be dead as well?”

“Possibly. But again, his body hasn’t turned up, so who knows? Given Sommers’s profile, the FBI doesn’t think he’s a murderer. Miller is convinced that Sommers was an enabler and that someone else was pulling his strings.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“That’s all he would say. They have more going on, but it’s all secretive. He wants to set a meeting for us at J and F tomorrow. He has someone for us to meet.”

“So that’s why Walter called me,” she said.

“Right. Ten
A.M.
tomorrow. It’ll be you, me, Walter, Miller, and the other guy he’s bringing.”

“Who’s he bringing?”

“He wouldn’t say. But he doesn’t want me to talk to anyone else until after the meeting.”

Catherine shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” She took a sip of her beer.

Liam turned to face her. He leaned over to put his arm around her and give her a kiss.

Catherine looked at him as though something was on her mind. “Liam, I’ve been thinking a lot about our talk the other night at Café Sorrento, and you know what I can’t get out of my head? That quote from
Julius Caesar,
the one that hung on Alina’s wall. About the tide. Do you suppose there’s always such a moment in relationships?”

Liam took a gulp of beer. “You mean for you and me—for our relationship? Are you talking about when we were in college, that we should have run off together? Like Jack and Alina did? That maybe I should have grabbed the moment?”