The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (22 page)

“No! You can’t!” Judge Farnsworth shouted in his sleep, moments before he woke up in a cold sweat. The clock read 4:59 a.m.

Alice Farnsworth stirred at the sound of her husband’s terrified voice. “What’s the matter, Mickey?” she asked. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Judge Farnsworth was relieved to hear her voice and to see her lying in bed beside him. “Oh, thank God!” he said. “It wasn’t real after all.”

“What wasn’t, darling?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me, if I told you,” he said, still shaking from the experience. “Worst nightmare I ever had.”

“Would it help to talk about it?”

“No, it would not!” he growled. His voice still carried some of the resentment toward her that he had experienced in his dream.

“You don’t have to bite my head off,” she said. “I was just trying to help.”

“You’ve helped enough already!” he said, gruffly.

“What are you mad at me for?” she asked him.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, catching himself and softly patting her shoulder. “I’m sorry I barked at you.”

“That’s more like it,” she said. Then, the softness returned to her voice. “All right, baby, I’m going back to sleep. What about you?”

“No. That’s it for me!” the judge said, getting up. He went to the bathroom, where he turned on the light and briefly examined his cheeks for slap marks.
It seemed so real
, he said to himself.
My God, I’m still shaking!

He brushed his teeth, washed his face and shaved. Then, he went downstairs to the kitchen, where he made himself a strong pot of coffee, ate a light breakfast, and occasionally pinched himself for reassurance.

Katie Silkwood arrived at Beverly West’s townhouse office at precisely 7:30 a.m. for her pre-trial meeting. Her mother had slept over the night before so that her daughter could get herself to court on time and not be worried about the children.

Esther’s cooperation had come at a price, though. Eddie had had to sleep at a nearby motel. (His wife had thrown him out several days earlier, and he had immediately moved in with Katie and the kids.) She had missed his presence in her bed. It was all still so exciting. First, there had been the powerful thrill of him coming on to her at the community swimming pool, the previous summer. Initially, she hadn’t taken his advances seriously, dismissing him as a flirt. After all, with his muscular build and dark good looks, he could have had anyone, so why her? Plus, he had two young children, and a darling, albeit significantly pregnant, young wife, who was at least ten years her junior.

But, when he followed her into the lady’s shower, there was no mistaking his intent. She had just started unfastening her bikini top, when he turned the corner, smiling. She blushed at first—she knew it—experiencing a mixture of fear, excitement and guilt. But as he approached, she had found herself unable to stop. Slowly, she brought the straps down off her shoulders. Then, with a sheepish smile, she let the top fall away exposing her breasts. As he continued to advance, she put the soap in her hand and began rubbing it against her breasts as if she were bathing alone—and unseen.

Finally, he was up against her. As he folded her in his arms and pressed his open mouth against hers, she felt herself literally melting away. Katie could barely believe what happened next as they tore off each other’s clothes and made fierce, but silent, love pressed against the ceramic wall under the warm misty shower head. The whole thing took less than five minutes, but it unleashed an erotic intensity in her that she had never known before. Afterward, they quickly dressed. She left first, while he ducked into the adjoining men’s shower, not to emerge again for several minutes.

For Katie, that encounter had been her first real taste of sin, and she had found the experience entirely delicious. After that, she was hooked. For despite its intensity, the sexual pleasure she had felt remained surprisingly fleeting. She literally couldn’t get enough of it, and she wanted—desperately—to feel satiated.

From then on, she was with Eddie whenever the opportunity presented itself. She would let him into her home late on nights when Martin was out of town. On certain Saturday afternoons, while Martin thought she was off bargain hunting, they would meet at a nearby motel. She and Eddie would engage in repeated erotic acts, knowing all the while that Martin was home, dutifully watching the kids. It gave her a strong, erotic rush to know she was worshiping another man’s body behind her husband’s back. Just thinking about it would be enough to whip her into a frenzy again afterward, when she was lying awake in bed next to her sleeping husband.

But soon, she wouldn’t have to hide her affair any longer. Beverly West had promised to help her start a new chapter in her life—a decidedly steamier one—equipped with every conceivable advantage the courts could provide. She had never imagined getting her way would be so easy—or so painless.

Katie had come to the office when and how instructed. When Beverly West heard her ring, she opened the door, took one look at her client, and broke into an enormous smile.

“You followed my instructions perfectly!” West said, noting Katie’s matronly choice of an ankle-length dress, flat plain shoes, a simple, austere ponytail, her short, un-manicured nails and her pale face that appeared to be completely devoid of makeup. “You look just like the poor wretch I will be telling Judge Farnsworth about,” she said. “Come in. We’ll have some tea and then briefly review the matters at hand.”

They sat down on facing divans in West’s office and briefly discussed Saturday morning’s failed settlement talks.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you the expense of a trial, Katie,” Beverly said. “But that husband of yours! What a fool he is, so angry and so arrogant. In short order, I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!”

Katie saw the fire in her attorney’s eyes and smiled to herself. “It’s all right, Beverly,” she sighed. “At least you didn’t have the pleasure of being married to him for eight years. And thank you for reducing your hourly fee in this case. That really helped.”

“Don’t mention it,” West smiled.

West quickly ran down her standard checklist of pretrial items. She reviewed Katie’s story of how the marriage had begun going downhill the previous summer, how they had argued increasingly and how Martin occasionally had called her some extremely unflattering things.

“When and where did he call you that?” West asked her client.

“Once, in the kitchen before a family dinner, and another time, just after we put the kids to bed.”

“Who, if anyone else, ever heard his remarks?” West asked.

“Our six-year-old son, Justin, did once, I believe,” Katie said.

“How do you know that?” West asked.

“Well, as I was walking by his room later that night on my way to bed. He called out my name, so I looked in on him,” Katie said.

“The defense attorney may object at this point,” West explained, “because your son’s testimony would be considered ‘hearsay’ under normal circumstances. But I’m going to try and argue that it was an excited utterance, and see if the judge will buy it. Just be prepared to stop talking as soon as the objection is raised.”

“Why, Beverly?” Katie asked.

“Because, my dear,” West said, “judges do not like it when witnesses fail to follow the rules. And we want the judge to believe you are someone who plays by the rules, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Katie smiled.

“OK,” West said. “Let’s assume they have objected, and I’ve argued that what you are about to convey was an excited utterance. When the judge says ‘proceed,’ you continue.”

“I looked in on him and found Justin was crying,” Katie said. ‘Why are you and Daddy yelling so much?’ he asked me. ‘Are you guys getting a divorce?’”

“That’s great,” West said. “It’s important that you mention he was crying, because that adds credence to my suggestion that this was an excited utterance.”

“Yes,” Katie said, “but there’s one thing I don’t understand.”

“What’s that?”

“Well,” Katie said, “Justin never really said it was my husband’s yelling or that he had heard him call me that name. Doesn’t that matter?”

“It only matters,” West said, “if your husband’s attorney raises the matter in his objection. Otherwise, everyone may simply assume, based on your earlier testimony that he was referring to the name-calling incident.”

“What about the name’s I’ve called him?” Katie asked.

“You only called him those things in response, right?” West asked.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“We’ve been over this several times now, Katie, are you clear on it?”

“Oh, yes,” Katie repeated. “I’m sorry, Beverly.”

“No problem,” West said. “You are going to do great!”

As planned, Martin met Swindell at the courthouse at eight-fifteen, forty-five minutes before the hearing’s scheduled start. Martin was excited, anxious, and conflicted. He wished he could have accepted West’s settlement offer, especially now that he knew the chances of settling the case during the trial were virtually nil. He hoped that the underground group had completed its covert mission and that everything had gone well. If not, he reasoned, he was screwed. Swindell, however, was completely unaware of Martin’s new friends’ activities, and he was looking decidedly glum.

“I’ve got more bad news, Mahr-tin,” he said. “Remember how we figured your wife had lied about callin’ the police on you, because on each occasion, you were out of town on audits?”

“Yeah,” Martin said, warily.

“Well, last Tuesday, I asked the police to produce those documents, if they had them. I’ve got an old friend workin’ there, and she agreed to expedite thin’s. That was lucky for you, Mahr-tin, because they have up to ten business days to comply—even in ex-parte cases like yours. Anyway, one of my paralegals went over there yesterday and picked up copies of each of those police call reports.”

“What?”

“Yes sir,” Swindell said, “you may not have been in town, but your wife did call the police on four separate occasions regardin’ domestic disturbances at your home.”

“Who was she having the disturbances with then, herself?”

“Maybe,” Swindell shrugged, studying his client closely. “But since she actually made the calls, we’re now goin’ to have to prove you were out of town on each occasion.”

Martin sighed. “And how do we do that?”

“Leave that to me, Mahr-tin. I’ve got an idea or two. I didn’t mention this to you before our meeting on Saturday because I thought we would settle the case, and then none of this would matter.

“We’re goin’ to need to be resourceful, since settlement clearly is no longer an option.”

“Look, I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. Do you have to keep reminding me?”

“Well, you need to know what we’re up against, Mahr-tin. I ran into Beverly West in the hallway and I’ve never seen her so torqued. I expected flames to leap from her mouth.”

“How bad could things get? You don’t actually think she could get a permanent restraining order against me, do you?”

“All I’m sayin’,” Swindell explained, “is that, based on my experience in district court, and in particular, dealin’ with West, you never know. You just never know.”

At nine o’clock, the bailiff announced Judge Farnsworth to the waiting courtroom. “All rise. The District Court for the State of Maryland, Montgomery County, is now in session, the Honorable Michael J. Farnsworth presiding.”

Judge Farnsworth entered the courtroom slowly and looked around as if he was experiencing this setting for the first time. Only those who knew him best would have detected anything at all unusual. For instance, they might have noticed that his typically somber expression now seemed decidedly more pained. Nothing else suggested that this hearing would be different, in any way, from any other.

The judge asked for the docket and began calling out cases. “Wilkens v. Wilkens, protective order.” The clerk approached the bench and whispered something in his hear.

“I see,” Judge Farnsworth said. “That matter has been settled. What other matters do we have before the court this morning?”

“Silkwood v. Silkwood, restraining order petition, Your Honor,” the clerk said.

“Are the parties present?” Judge Farnsworth asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Beverly West said. “Beverly West here, representing Mrs. Katie Silkwood, the petitioner, who is seated beside me.”

“And you, Chester?” Farnsworth asked, looking at his old friend.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Swindell said. “Chester T. Swindell, representin’ my client, Mahr-tin Silkwood, who is seated to my right and who is the designated Respondent in this matter.”

“Very well,” Judge Farnsworth said. “Come forward, and let’s get started.”

Once the attorneys and their clients had taken their seats at their respective tables, Judge Farnsworth resumed.

“Ms. West,” he asked, glancing in her direction, “what issues does the petitioner wish to bring before the court today?”

“Well, judge, we will be asking the court to make permanent the temporary restraining order and related decisions it ruled on last week. In addition, we are seeking a determination regarding Mr. Silkwood’s child support obligation.”

“Very well,” Farnsworth said. “How many witnesses will you be calling?”

“Just my client, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Swindell?” he asked. “How many witnesses do you intend to call?”

“My client is the only witness I have designated, judge.”

“Very good,” Farnsworth said. He made a few, brief notations. Then, without looking up, he continued, “How long do each of you think you’ll need to present your cases?”

“A half day or less, judge,” West said.

“The same for our side,” Swindell added.

“Fine,” Farnsworth said, looking up once more. “Ms. West, given the limited issues in this case I think we can dispense with opening statements, don’t you agree?

West rose up briefly off her seat. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very good.” Farnsworth sat up straight, folded his hands before him, and nodded at West. “Ms. West, you may proceed and call your first witness.”

West stood. “I call Katie Silkwood to the stand.”

Once Katie was sworn in, Beverly West asked her the perfunctory questions: her name, address, age, place of employment and marital status, and then she went right to work.

“Mrs. Silkwood,” she said, “do you know why we’re here this morning?”

“Yes,” Katie said, “This is my husband’s chance to answer the abuse charges I raised in the protective order petition one week ago.”

“Correct. And would you briefly tell the court the circumstances that led you to file that protective order petition?”

“Yes. Martin and I had a good marriage for the first few years, but then about two years ago—”

Swindell stood up. “Objection! Irrelevant. Your Honor, what possible bearin’ could incidents two-years old have on the petitioner’s decision to seek a protective order
last week
?”

Judge Farnsworth frowned. “Sustained. Mrs. Silkwood, please try and restrict your comments to events that occurred in the immediate past.”

“Perhaps, if I narrow the question, Your Honor?” Beverly West suggested.

“Proceed.”

“Now, Mrs. Silkwood, could you please tell the court about the events of Thursday night a week ago?”

“We all had dinner together as we usually do,” Katie said, “and everything was fine. We put the kids to bed at about eight, and then I went to the kitchen to make some herbal tea.”

“What happened then?”

“Oh well, Martin came into the kitchen, and he seemed really angry.”

“Objection.” Swindell again rose to his feet. “The witness’s opinion is irrelevant.”

“Sustai─. No,” Judge Farnsworth said, shaking his head and catching himself. “Overruled. The witness can express her opinion about her husband seeming to be angry. That is certainly relevant to the issue here.” 

“Please continue,” West said to her client.

“Martin came into the kitchen, and asked if I had scheduled a meeting with a marriage counselor yet,” Katie said.

“Was seeing a marriage counselor something the two of you had agreed on?”

“Objection,” Swindell said. “She’s leadin’ the witness.”

“Overruled. I think counsel is merely seeking a point of clarification,” the judge said. “Let’s not put her in a strait jacket. Proceed, Ms. West.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” West smiled faintly at her client. “Had you and your husband made any decisions regarding seeing a marriage counselor?”

“We had talked about it, and I hadn’t objected, or anything,” Mrs. Silkwood said. “But I don’t recall us setting up time tables or anything like that. Anyway, I said, ‘No, not yet. I’ve been busy.’ That’s when he went completely ballistic on me.”

Swindell stood. “Objection. The witness’ answer goes beyond the scope of the question. Move to strike.”

“Sustained,” Judge Farnsworth said. “Strike everything after ‘anything like that.’”

West continued. “Did this conversation end in a confrontation?”

“Yes.”

“Would you please describe the nature of that confrontation, Mrs. Silkwood.”

“He said, ‘Damn it, Katie! Isn’t this even a priority for you?’ – or something like that. I don’t remember exactly.” As he said it, he knocked a plastic cup off the kitchen table, and it went sailing across the floor!”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Objection,” Swindell said. “Leadin’ the witness.”

“Overruled.”

“Well, I was scared. I jumped and I said, ‘Martin, what’s come over you? You’re frightening me.”

“What happened next?” West asked.

“Martin said, ‘I wish you were scared Katie. You should be—about our marriage.’ Then, he walked over to where I was standing at the counter and got real close to me, into my space and everything.

“He was about six inches away from my face. He was staring at me intently. I could feel his breath on my cheeks. ‘Do you care about saving this marriage, Katie?’ he asked me. I was starting to feel real uncomfortable and scared. I thought he was going to hit—.”

“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant. The witness is givin’ us a narrative.”

“Overruled. Let’s let her tell her story.”

“Proceed, Ms. West.”

West looked at Katie Silkwood. “You may continue, Mrs. Silkwood.”

“Well, as I said, it looked like he was going to hit me.

‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Don’t you care about what happens to our family? Do you want our kids to grow up in a broken home? You used to really care about them.’”

“That got me upset, so I said, ‘How dare you question whether I care about the kids! I’m the one who’s always here for them, when you go out of town every other week on business!”

“‘You know I don’t have any choice in the matter, Katie. It’s my job,’ he said. And I said, ‘Well, no one’s sentenced you to work there for life. Get another job! Be a man!’

“‘I am a man,’ he said, ‘and a damned good one, too!’ Then, he announced that, as the ‘man of the house,’ he was going to take matters into his own hands and schedule a counseling session at the earliest opportunity with a marriage counselor we had heard good things about. ‘All you’ll have to do is show up, Katie,’ he said, ‘if that’s not too much trouble.’”

“‘You better make
all
the arrangements then, including getting a sitter for the kids,’ I told him. “Then, he said he would try and schedule a session for that Saturday afternoon or the next, and I got upset.”

Swindell rose to his feet. “Objection. Irrelevant, Your Honor. Now, we’re not only gettin’ a play-by-play narrative but dialogue, too. Mrs. Silkwood is testifyin’ for both parties!”

Judge Farnsworth knitted his brow. “Sustained. Ms. West, the court is trying to give you and your client some latitude, here, but I think you need to help rein in your client.”

The faintest hint of a blush was beginning to penetrate West’s layer of concealer. “Certainly, your honor. Mrs. Silkwood. Katie,” she said, “you indicated you got upset. Could you please tell the court why your husband’s remarks upset you?”

“Because Martin knows Saturday afternoons are my personal time, when I go shopping and just chill out from being with the kids all week. He deliberately said he would schedule the appointment during my free time.

“Did you let him know you were upset?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I spilled my tea in the sink and told him he could schedule it then, but he’d be going by himself, and I started to brush past him to leave the room.”

“Did the confrontation intensify at that point?” West asked.

“Yes.”

“Could you please tell us what happened?”

Swindell stood up. “Objection! Counsel’s question appears to be invitin’ yet more narrative.”

“Sustained,” Judge Farnsworth said. He sighed and gestured for West to continue.

“Did your husband do anything when you attempted to leave?” West asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he do?”

“He stopped me, grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me real hard.”

“Was that the extent of the confrontation?”

“No.”

“What else happened?”

“He asked me what it was going to take for him to finally get through to me.”

“And how did you react to that?”

“I raised my hand up like I was going to slap him.”

“Then what happened?” West asked.

“He let me go.”

“What did you do next?”

“I went to the bedroom and locked the door.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want him to ‘do anything’ to get through to me.”

“Did things go back to normal after that?” West asked.

“No.”

“Describe what happened to disrupt the normal household routine.”

“The next day, while Martin was at work, I took the kids and the dog and left the house.”

“Where did you go?”

“We went to a friend’s house where I knew we’d be safe. I needed time to think.”

“Objection,” Swindell said. “Non-responsive.”

“Sustained. “Strike everything after ‘friend’s house.’”

“What was it about that incident that caused you to flee the house?” West asked.

“Well, that wasn’t an isolated case. We had been having a lot of arguments lately, and each one seemed a little worse than the one before.”

“Are you thinking of any occasions in particular?” West asked.

“Yes, the four times, in recent months, when I had called the police to the house—”

“Objection,” Swindell said. “Irrelevant. Once more, Your Honor, they’re attemptin’ to expand the time frame!”

“Is there a reason why we need to hear about these other incidents?” Farnsworth asked West.

“Well, yes, Your Honor. We contend that Mr. Silkwood had become increasingly belligerent and out-of-control in recent months. It was the escalating nature of those outbursts that made Mrs. Silkwood fear for her safety and flee.”

“I’m going to allow the testimony, for now, Counselor,” Judge Farnsworth said, “but you could be getting onto shaky ground. Don’t make me regret it.”

Both West and Swindell looked intently at the judge. Such an admonition to the petitioner’s counsel was completely out of character.

Swindell leaned over toward Martin and whispered. “Somethin’s up. I’ve known Farnsworth a long time, and I’ve never seen him press the petitioner’s counsel like this.”

“Is that good?” Martin asked.

“It looks like it could be very good for us,” Swindell continued, “very good, indeed.”

“OK, Mrs. Silkwood,” West said. “I’d like to return to those four incidents you spoke of, when the police were called to your house. I’d like you to briefly recount what happened on each occasion and the significance of its effect on you.”

“Well, the first one occurred on a Tuesday night in November, the fourth, I believe. We were arguing about a problem Justin was having in school. On this occasion, Martin got upset and threw his glass of scotch into the fireplace. I was concerned for my safety—and the safety of my kids—so I called 911.”