Wednesday, September 12
I’d always suspected I had a touch of ADD: I was never much good at multi-tasking and my thoughts often drifted off-course without warning. As a child, I’d gotten more than one report card with the comment, “Caroline is easily distracted.”
So it was no small task for me to concentrate on Kate’s detention hearing when I’d rather be thinking about our prospective gestational carrier, or traveling to Guatemala to adopt twins, or getting a call from a birth mom who just knew we were the right parents to raise her baby, or…
But my well-honed work ethic—and the thought of Kate in her vomit-stained orange attire—carried me through the morning. I formulated my arguments and bolstered them with some on-line research, outlining everything neatly on my legal pad with a purple felt-tipped pen.
I made a list of three criminal lawyers and their contact information to give to Kate, omitting “that son-of-a-bitch” Ed Benson in light of Corbett’s caustic comments. But before I left my office, I added Benson’s name. Kate needed the best, despite her father’s thoughts on the matter.
When I arrived at the Hilton, Margaret and Corbett were just walking out of the hotel coffee shop, looking as disheveled as I’d ever seen them. Margaret absently wiped at a spot on her lapel with a linen handkerchief. Corbett’s tie was askew and a lock of his salt-and-pepper hair fell awkwardly on his forehead.
“The courthouse is only about five blocks from here,” I said. “I thought we’d walk over and get a bit of air.”
They both nodded distractedly as I preceded them out the revolving door. It was a long walk, brimming with uncomfortable silence.
At the courthouse, I settled Kate’s parents on a bench outside Judge Brillstein’s courtroom and reluctantly went to meet her at the marshals’ lockup.
The change in Kate astounded me. Maybe all she did need was a good night’s sleep. And maybe we taxpayers are springing for better jail mattresses than we know about. In a clean orange uniform, she managed to look imperious and somewhat chic. Her thick wavy hair, always the envy of all her college friends, gleamed and elegantly framed her face. While I doubted make-up was allowed in the jail, Kate’s lips and cheeks had the rosy glow of lipstick and blush. Her deep-brown eyes and white teeth sparkled.
“Hey, girlfriend!” she said with a grin. “Did you bring me a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card?”
“Well, not exactly free. But I think we’ve got the ticket.” I summarized the proposed plan to win her release. To my surprise and relief, Kate raised no objection to her parents posting the bail.
As I got up to walk out, Kate blew me a kiss. “Thanks, Caroline. You’re a real friend.”
There’s the Kathryn Daniels I know and love. Thank God she’s back!
Before the proceeding began, I huddled in the courtroom with George Cooper and Monica Smith-Kellor and explained the release plan. Cooper nodded but didn’t commit to supporting it. I hoped he’d at least give it strong consideration.
The marshals escorted Kate into the courtroom a minute later. She walked proudly—it brought to mind some political prisoner using body language to say “fuck you” to her captors. I fleetingly thought she should tone the pride down a notch. But, no matter: the judge didn’t see her entrance, and her demeanor instantly alleviated her parents’ fears. They watched in anticipation from the front row as Kate flashed them a smile and sat beside me at the table.
The interior of the courtroom matched the building’s modernistic design: heavy light-oak furnishings, upholstered walls with silver accents and sleek oak trim. A small blue acrylic sign on the table read, “Please! Silence your cell phones.” Thankful for the reminder, I powered mine down just as the judge took the bench.
After the formalities, Judge Brillstein said, “Okay, Mr. Cooper. You’ve moved for detention. It’s your burden to convince me.”
Cooper stood up. “Your Honor, based on a plan proposed by Pretrial Services and defense counsel, the government withdraws its motion to detain Ms. Daniels. We’ll agree to the defendant’s release on a $50,000 bond signed by her parents and secured with $5,000 cash. We’ll want her to report for supervision, etcetera. Ms. Smith-Kellor has some suggestions for specific conditions, to which I understand the defendant agrees.”
“Ms. Smith-Kellor?” the judge asked, nodding toward her.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Monica said. “We believe the bond and conditions will ensure the defendant’s future appearances.” She went on to list the conditions: the defendant would report to her in person weekly, the defendant would refrain from any use of alcohol and illegal drugs, the defendant would give urine samples to prove she was drug-free, the defendant would surrender her passport…
I was struck by the tendency to refer to Kate as “the defendant”—it seemed almost calculated to depersonalize her. I glanced at Kate during the recitation. She seemed nonplussed by the terminology or any of the conditions. “Okay with you?” I whispered. Kate nodded.
The judge turned to me. “Ms. Spencer, your comments?”
“Your Honor, Ms. Daniels requests she be released on the terms described by Ms. Smith-Kellor,” I said.
“Well, folks,” the judge said, “this is all fine and dandy. But I’m the one who has to sign the release order, and I’m not convinced Ms. Daniels will come back to court. The bail report I read two days ago hasn’t gone away. And for all I know $5,000—or even $50,000—may be a pittance to Ms. Daniels’ family. Maybe they’d gladly spend $50,000 to give her the opportunity to skip town. I want to hear from these people.”
“Your Honor,” I said with confidence, “since I hadn’t anticipated Mr. Cooper would withdraw his motion to detain, I’m fully prepared to present evidence. Ms. Daniels’ father, Dr. Corbett Daniels, is here to testify.”
“Good. Good. Have him come forward.”
Corbett took the stand, and we mechanically went through the preliminary questions: his name, address, and relationship to Kate.
“Dr. Daniels,” I asked, “could you please describe the nature of your relationship to Kathryn. What I mean is, how do you get along? Do you have frequent contact? That kind of thing.” I’d deliberately asked open-ended questions because I thought Corbett would be most comfortable giving an uninterrupted response.
Corbett’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment. I immediately regretted my approach. It would have been far easier for him to answer individual questions.
Leaning forward, he took a deep breath and began. “Kathryn is the youngest of our four children. She was a beautiful, mild-mannered baby—always smiling. From the beginning it was clear she was very bright, perhaps even smarter than her older siblings, who were straight-A students. Kathryn was always fascinated with my work—I’m a surgeon. Even as a young child, she’d come to my office to read my books and medical journals and ask questions of my staff and me. I was so proud when she decided to go to medical school and make surgery her career. I guess you could say Kathryn was—” Now he sobbed audibly, and the tears spilled down his cheeks.
I can’t go through with this. This man should not have to be here justifying why his daughter should be released from jail.
Corbett inhaled deeply and dabbed at his eyes with a Kleenex proffered by the court clerk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Kathryn was and is the apple of my eye. She’s been half a continent away from us physically since she moved to Wisconsin. But she’s always kept in touch—calling at least a couple times a month. And she comes home for holidays and important family functions. She cares about her family.”
I glanced over at Kate, who sat slumped in her chair, pointedly avoiding her father’s eyes.
“Your Honor,” Corbett squared his shoulders and continued, his voice stronger, “you question the extent of our fortune. I won’t lie to you. Losing $50,000 would not break the bank, but it would not be a small matter either. I made a lot of money during my career, but I also put four children through graduate school, and—I’m ashamed to say—I’ve made some bad investments. But if necessary, I will pledge every penny I have to secure my daughter’s release. You see, I know Kathryn, and I know she is not one to run from her problems. We are a law-abiding family. We will fight these unfounded charges with everything we’ve got, but within the law. I promise you she will appear in court for every proceeding.”
I couldn’t wait to excuse him from the witness stand, and I was confident the judge had heard enough. “Thank you, Dr. Daniels—” I began.
Corbett raised his hand to interrupt. “Excuse me. There’s something more.” He turned to face the judge. “Your Honor, my dear wife of forty-five years, Margaret Shenstone Daniels, is present in the courtroom. She’s given me permission to speak for her, since she is very much afraid of public speaking. But if you wish to hear from her directly, she, too, will testify.”
I looked over at Margaret who—her eyes glazed with tears and, I suspected, terror—nodded her head in agreement. “Thank you, Dr. Daniels,” I said again. “I have no further questions.”
“No questions, Your Honor,” George Cooper said.
“Very well,” Judge Brillstein said, pausing as if to collect his thoughts. “Dr. Daniels, you may step down.” I said a brief, silent prayer that he would not ask me to call Margaret to the stand. I certainly didn’t intend to offer her testimony without his request.
The judge waited respectfully while Corbett resumed his seat and my anxiety for Margaret grew. Finally he spoke. “I don’t think it will be necessary to hear from Mrs. Daniels,” he said, and I imagined everyone in the courtroom joined me in a sigh of relief. “I’m satisfied with Dr. Daniels’ assurances, and I’m prepared to release the defendant on her father’s $50,000 bond, with $5,000 to be posted in cash. I’m also ordering the conditions recommended by Ms. Smith-Kellor. The clerk will prepare the order.”
I’d been entranced by Corbett’s emotional statement and Margaret’s anxious moment and hadn’t been watching Kate’s reaction. I reached over and squeezed her hand, expecting to sense in her the same satisfaction I was feeling. She smiled at me, but it felt false. It was as though she’d shut down emotionally and a robotic Kate Daniels had taken her place.
Magistrate Judge Stanley Brillstein looked straight at Kate. “You’re a very fortunate woman, Ms. Daniels. Do you promise to appear at all times as scheduled and agree to comply with the terms we’ve discussed?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, and I was relieved she managed to sound engaged.
Kate’s release didn’t occur immediately. The U.S. Marshals had to take her back to the county jail, where—of course—there was more “processing.” I, too, went to the jail. While waiting in the sparse, ground level lobby for her to be booked out, I puzzled over Kate’s mood swings. She’d been so upbeat when I met with her in the morning and when she walked into the courtroom. Was it her father’s moving testimony on the witness stand that deflated her mood? Or was her seemingly precarious mental state understandable given the circumstances?
Kate hugged me tightly as the jail door banged shut behind her. The distinctive sound of a three-hundred-pound steel door closing against a concrete and steel doorframe is one I’d gladly not hear again.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “I’m just sorry it took so long. Your folks are waiting for us at the hotel. But first, we need to go over to pretrial services and get you signed up. I know you weren’t really pleased with Monica before. But I’ve been more impressed with her during my recent conversations, and she did support your release. So please try—”
“I get it, Caroline,” Kate interrupted wearily. “I promise to play nice. And though I’m not happy to be under her thumb, it sure beats the alternative. I don’t know how long I would have lasted in jail.”
The meeting with Monica Smith-Kellor went well. Kate maintained eye contact and nodded appropriately as Monica carefully outlined the requirements of her bail. While the conditions were somewhat inconvenient and demeaning—Kate would need to report once a week to prove she’d not left town and to give urine samples witnessed by Monica or one of her coworkers—they would not be difficult. Before we left, though, Monica asked Kate to give her first sample.
She explained, “If this sample were to test positive for any controlled substances, you would not be in violation, because it would reflect prior usage. But some drugs, like marijuana, stay in the system a long time. We need to send the urine to an off-site laboratory for a baseline reading of any drugs in your system on the day bail supervision begins.”
While Kate went with her, I sat and waited in Monica’s office. The whole notion of having to urinate in front of a stranger—or to watch a stranger urinating—made me shudder. I thought of how difficult it had sometimes been for me to give urine samples in the doctor’s office, and that was only with a technician waiting but not watching. Kate and Monica returned surprisingly quickly and, even more surprisingly, both seemed unperturbed by the whole episode. I understood this was part of Monica’s job, but how had Kate managed to remain nonplussed?
As we left the building, I turned to Kate. “I need to head back to my office and check on a few things. Your mom said they got a rental car and they’ll give you a ride home from their hotel. Okay?”
Kate shook her head. “I can’t face him alone, Caroline,” she said, her voice faltering. “Come with me—please.”
She looked unkempt—wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she was arrested—and I imagined what it would feel like for her to walk into the Hilton to join her elegantly attired parents. I nodded in tacit agreement and walked with her to the hotel.
In the lobby, Kate used the house phone to dial her parents’ room. No answer. “That figures,” she muttered. “They’re probably in the bar.”
They sat in a corner of the quiet, dimly lit bar—Corbett staring into his half-empty glass of amber liquid and Margaret running her forefinger around the rim of her coffee mug—and didn’t see us at the doorway. Kate took a deep breath and walked toward them.
Margaret glanced up from the table as we approached and practically jumped from her chair. “Thank God,” she said, taking Kate into her arms. “Thank God that’s over.”
Corbett remained seated and took a swig of his drink. “God had nothing to do with this, Margaret,” he said caustically. “We owe our thanks to Caroline. And this is far from over.”
I stood to the side, wanting nothing more than to extricate myself from this awkward reunion. Bless her heart, Margaret came to the rescue. “Of course—thank you, Caroline! Now, Kate, let’s get you home and into some fresh clothes.” She reached for her purse and turned to her husband. “We’ll be back in time for dinner and can talk more then.”
Corbett waved a hand in acknowledgement and promptly resumed his fixation with his drink.
“So that’s how he’s gonna play it,” Kate said to her mother when we reached the lobby. “I’ve shamed him, so I get the cold shoulder.”
Margaret shot her a look that seemed to say, “Not in front of Caroline,” and fumbled in her bag for the car keys. “It’s been a long, emotional day for all of us, dear,” she said aloud.
“Yes, it has,” I echoed. “And I’ve got to run. Kate, I’ll be at home tomorrow. Give me a call around ten, okay?”
“Ten it is,” Kate said. She and Margaret each gave me a quick hug, and I escaped through the revolving door, anxious to return to my normal life.
**
David had picked up Lily at school that day, and they were so engrossed in a game of “Who Am I?” that they barely nodded at me when I walked in. Seeing Lily’s look of glee as she guessed his character washed away the trials of my day.
“We think a special treat’s in order,” David said to me when the round was over. “How does some dinner out and a trip to Vitense for mini-golf sound?”
“Divine!” I said. Although leftovers, a glass of wine, and a foot rub would have been my preference, I would gladly expend a little extra energy to prolong their sparkling mood.
But as we strolled through the golf course that evening, I found myself distracted, replaying in my mind the day’s events. An inexplicable uneasiness overcame me as I thought of the equally inexplicable positive changes in Kate’s appearance and demeanor in the marshal’s lockup and in court that morning. You’re being silly. It’s a good thing, I told myself. But I couldn’t shake the feeling.
A few minutes later, I flashed on the engraved sign that had been sitting on the courtroom table. Shit! Did I turn my cell back on? Reluctantly I pulled the phone from the pocket of my jeans. I pushed the power button and watched it come to life.
I had missed two calls, and there was one message, left at four o’clock: “It’s Doug Connaboy. We’re releasing your client’s car—it’s clean. But we need to talk to her again. Call me.”