“I’d like to speak to one of the Assistant Registers of Probate,” said Patrick to one of the bored clerks. She had a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, making her cock her head to the side to keep the smoke from stinging her eyes. She pointed to a man facing away from them.
Hearing the request, the man turned; he was on the phone but put up a finger for them to wait. After finishing his conversation, he came over to Cathryn and Patrick. He was tremendously overweight, a middle-aged man with a thick, flaccid layer of fat that shook when he walked. His face was all jowls, wattles, and deep creases.
“We have an emergency,” explained Patrick. “We’d like to see one of the judges.”
“Hospital guardianship case, Mr. Murphy?” questioned the Assistant Register knowingly.
“That’s correct,” said Patrick. “All the forms are filled out.”
“Must say, you fellows are getting efficient,” said the man. He looked up at the face of the institutional clock. “My God, you’re cutting it close. It’s almost four. I’d better check to be sure Judge Pelligrino is still here.”
He waddled through a nearby doorway, his arms swinging almost perpendicularly to his body.
“Glandular problem,” whispered Patrick. He put his briefcase on the counter and snapped it open.
Cathryn looked at the attractive young lawyer. He was dressed in the typical attorney fashion with a boxy, Ivy League, pin-striped suit. The slacks were slightly rumpled, particularly behind the knees, and they were about two inches too short, exposing black-socked ankles. With great attentiveness, he arranged the forms which Cathryn had signed.
“Do you really think I should do this?” asked Cathryn abruptly.
“Absolutely,” said Patrick, giving her one of his warm, spontaneous smiles. “It’s for the child.”
Five minutes later they were in the judge’s chamber, and it was too late to turn back.
As different as the Boston courthouse was from Cathryn’s imagination, so was Judge Louis Pelligrino. Instead of an older, gowned, Socratic figure, Cathryn found herself sitting across from a disturbingly handsome man wearing a well-tailored designer’s suit. After donning stylish reading glasses, he accepted the papers from Patrick saying, “Jesus Christ, Mr. Murphy. Why is it you always show up at four o’clock?”
“Medical emergencies, your honor, adhere to a biological rather than a probate clock.”
Judge Pelligrino peered at Patrick sharply over his half-glasses, apparently trying to decide if Patrick’s retort was clever or presumptuously brazen. A slow smile appeared as he decided on the former. “Very good, Mr. Murphy. I’ll accept that. Now, why don’t you fill me in on these petitions.”
As Patrick skillfully outlined the circumstances surrounding Michelle’s illness and treatment as well as Charles’s behavior, Judge Pelligrino examined the forms, seemingly not paying attention to the young lawyer. But when Patrick made an insignificant grammatical error, the judge’s head shot up, and he corrected him.
“Where are the affidavits by Doctors Wiley and Keitzman?” asked Judge Pelligrino as Patrick finished.
The lawyer leaned forward and anxiously thumbed through the papers in the judge’s hands. He snapped open his briefcase, and with great relief found the two documents and handed them over with an apology.
The judge read them in detail.
“And this is the adopted mother, I presume,” said Judge Pelligrino, capturing Cathryn’s attention.
“Indeed it is,” said Patrick, “and she is understandably concerned about maintaining the proper treatment for the young girl.”
Judge Pelligrino scrutinized Cathryn’s face, and she felt herself blush defensively.
“I think it’s important to emphasize,” added Patrick, “that there is no marital discord between Charles and Cathryn Martel. The only issue is the wish to maintain the established method of treatment advocated by the appropriate medical authorities.”
“I understand that,” said Judge Pelligrino. “What I don’t understand or like is the fact that the biological father is not here to be cross-examined.”
“But that’s precisely why Mrs. Martel is asking for emergency temporary guardianship,” said Patrick. “Just a few hours ago, Charles Martel rushed away from a meeting with Mrs. Martel and Michelle’s doctors. Mr. Martel expressed the belief that Michelle’s treatment, which is her only chance at survival, be stopped, then left the conference. And, off the record, the attending physicians are concerned about his mental stability.”
“That sounds like something that should be part of the record,” said the judge.
“I agree,” said Patrick, “but unfortunately that would require Mr. Martel seeing a psychiatrist. Perhaps it could be arranged for the full hearing.”
“Would you like to add anything, Mrs. Martel?” asked the judge, turning to Cathryn.
Cathryn declined in a barely audible voice.
The judge arranged the papers on his desk, obviously thinking. He cleared his throat before he spoke: “I will allow the emergency temporary guardianship for the sole purpose of maintaining the recognized and established medical treatment.” With a flourish he signed the form. “I will also appoint a guardian ad litim on the petition for guardianship to serve until the full hearing on the merits, which I want scheduled in three weeks.”
“That will be difficult,” said the Assistant Register, speaking for the first time. “Your schedule is fully booked.”
“The hell with the schedule,” said Judge Pelligrino, signing the second document.
“It will be difficult to prepare for a hearing in just three weeks,” protested Patrick. “We’ll need to obtain expert medical testimony. And there is legal research to be done. We need more time.”
“That’s your problem,” said the judge without sympathy. “You’re going to be busy anyway with the preliminary hearing on the temporary guardianship. By statute that must be in three days. So you’d best get cracking. Also I want the father apprised of these proceedings as soon as possible. I want him served no later than tomorrow with a citation either at the hospital or at his place of work.”
Cathryn sat bolt upright, stunned. “You’re going to tell Charles about this meeting?”
“Absolutely,” said the judge, rising. “I hardly think it fair to deprive a parent of his guardianship rights without telling him. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“But…” blurted Cathryn. She didn’t finish her statement. Patrick thanked the judge and hurried Cathryn out of the judge’s lobby, back into the main room of the Probate Court.
Cathryn was distraught. “But you said we wouldn’t use this unless Charles actually stopped treatment.”
“That’s correct,” said Patrick, confused at Cathryn’s reaction.
“But Charles is going to find out what I’ve done,” cried Cathryn. “You didn’t tell me that. My God!”
Ten
Although the sun had set on schedule at four-thirty, no one in New England had seen it go down, including Charles, who was parking at the base of Main Street in Shaftesbury at the time. A heavy bank of clouds had moved in from the Great Lakes. The New England meteorologists were trying to decide when the front was going to collide with a flow of warm air from the Gulf of Mexico. They all agreed it was going to snow, but no one could decide how much or when.
By five-thirty, Charles was still sitting behind the steering wheel of the Pinto parked in the lee of the row of deserted old mill buildings. Every so often he’d scrape off a bit of the frost on the inside of the windshield and peer out. He was waiting until it was completely dark. To keep warm he started the engine every quarter hour and let it idle for five minutes. Just after six he was satisfied that the sky was a uniformly dark blanket and he opened the door and got out.