"I asked the court to exercise its inherent power to set the earliest possible date. Much to my surprise"-he stared at Karen-"the other side agreed not to demur. I pointed out that the immediate health risks to the baby required that we deter-mine custody as soon as possible." A wave of illness permeated Karen.
"Fletcher's lawyer got the judge to spike my application for our taking temporary custody. The judge said that it was moot, since the child was in the hospital for the time being. And Shawn Deyo-the hospital's lawyer-he got the judge to sever the case against Bayside from the rest of the suit because they'd turned Fletcher in the moment they found out about it. We lost a deep pocket, but on the other hand, we'll get this over with in no time. Don't worry." He stood over Valerie and stroked her golden hair.
Karen stepped back from the bed. "I'll go, now. I hope you'll feel better soon."
"Thank you," Valerie said.
Ron muttered something under his breath.
When Karen's footsteps receded down the corridor, Valerie asked him what he had said.
"Nothing." He continued to stroke her head. "I'm sorry I couldn't show up earlier. It's just been a bitch of a morning. Want to hear it?"
Valerie closed her eyes for a moment. "Not really." She opened them. Her voice was soft but strained. "Could you call the nurse? I really need something to handle this pain."
"
Mark Landry would have preferred not to run into Dr. Fletcher, but by the time he saw her, there was no graceful means of escape.
"`Morning, Doctor," he mumbled. He tried to keep walking, but Fletcher took him by the arm.
"Don't worry," she said in an even voice. "I'm not going to break your neck." Her hand released him.
"It was all bound to come out sooner or later. I just objected to your sneaking around instead of confronting me directly."
"You evaded my questions."
"You didn't ask what was on your mind." She folded her arms and looked at him with that weary expression doctors reserve for when they are particularly professionally frustrated. "Look, let's just ignore all that. I've got to concentrate on Renata and all my other patients and a lawsuit. You saw that line of pickets out there this morning. And the cops. And the reporters. Any-one in white coming and going here is going to be considered fair game. I admit I brought this down on all of us, but-"
"You certainly did," growled the voice of Dr. Lawrence. He strode up to the pair, dark anger across his brow. "I wish the board would get off its duff and agree to file a cross-suit against you. We had to admit one of our own residents with a gash on his head from one of the protesters. Damned pro-lifer tried to beat the kid to death with her picket sign." He narrowed his gaze to Fletcher. "I hear the trial begins next week."
"Actually, just jury sel-"
"I'd advise for everyone's safety that you attend all the pro-ceedings and come here only under the most urgent neces-sity."
"I can't do that," she replied.
"Try." He turned to the young man. "And you, Landry. Back to the lab." He continued on his way.
"Pompous jerk," Landry muttered after the administrator turned a corner. He looked at Dr. Fletcher.
"I always wondered why you seemed so unconcerned to be running both the baby factory and the abortion mill. I think I understand why you had to do things the way you did. Maybe after the trial I'll find out why you bothered at all. It doesn't seem to pay to rock the boat either way." Fletcher's voice was grim. "Sometimes a boat has to be rocked hard to steer a new course."
XIV
Terry smiled with satisfaction. Using every peremptory chal-lenge in his possession, he had managed to put three women on the six-person jury. Czernek had engineered three men. Now the battle for their souls could proceed.
He gazed at the six. He had wanted the full twelve, but Judge Lyang had pressured him to settle for six in order to save court time. He agreed-it was only fair, since Lyang had been kind enough to arrange for a speedy trial. Two of the women were in their thirties, both housewives. The third was in her fifties, a real estate professional. He figured he could get the young ones to side with Karen, the older one to identify with Dr. Fletcher. His task was to convince the men to see his side of it. Piece of cake.
Ron smiled with satisfaction. Having exhausted his peremp-tory challenges, he wound up with three men to counter Johnson's women. He wanted men who would side with his own interests as the genetic father in this case. While he wor-ried that his unmarried status might put them off, he hoped that he had tap-danced around the problem by making Valerie the sole plaintiff. The three men were all fathers, in their for-ties, from working-class backgrounds that most likely did not cotton to newfangled medical shenanigans. He pondered the women with amusement. If Johnson thought they would save him, he was wrong.
Rhetoric Ron will have you weeping for Valerie by summa-tion time.
L.A. Superior Court Judge Madeline Lyang watched the court clerk swear in the jury. They had to demand a jury, she thought. Since the odd, hybrid suit dealt with issues of fact, though, and not just equitable relief, they had a right to it. A small sigh escaped her. Juries always meant greater histrionics on the part of the lawyers. In her fifteen years on the bench, she had developed a fair instinct for determining how a case would proceed.
This one will be a killer.
She was a woman of moderate height. Sitting at the bench, though, she looked impressive and forbidding. At fifty, she still retained the smooth, sculpted features of her Chinese ances-try. Open and expansive in private life, she capitalized upon the myth of oriental inscrutability in the courtroom setting, maintaining an impassive, unreadable expression when she wanted or needed to. Custody cases usually demanded that. Such trials involved few villains and fewer heroesÛjust two people trying to do what they saw as best for the children.
While this was not strictly a simple custody battle, it had wound up in her docket by those most powerful of judicial forces, expediency and mere chance. She knew on first sight, though, that this case would be a publicity H-bomb.
She used the gavel she'd received in high school, where she had served as chief (and only) justice of the student court.
"Court will come to order. In the case of Valerie Dalton ver-sus Evelyn Fletcher and David and Karen Chandler, jointly, I'd like first to address the question of televised proceedings." Here we go, she thought, expecting the first of many tugs of war. "Counsels will please approach the bench."
"The plaintiff," Ron whispered to the judge, "favors allow-ing the presence of the press." Terry chimed in immediately. "The defendants welcome the opportunity to let the truth be heard." Judge Lyang permitted a smile to cross her face. Publicity hounds. "Fine." She addressed the courtroom. "Permission is gran-"
The sound of plastic and metal scraping and sliding ema-nated from the back of the courtroom. Photographers and video crews lined the back wall, eagerly setting up their equipment. Lyang rapped once. "Granted, but on condition that court-room decorum is maintained back there. Quiet down." She gazed at the plaintiff. Valerie Dalton sat beside Czernek. She wore a stereotypically middle-American house dress in light blue. It made her eyes take on a sapphire hue and went flatteringly well with her blond hair and very light makeup. Per-fect, the judge decided, for someone playing the part of be-trayed innocent. She admired Czernek for stopping at a solid color and not going all the way to gingham and bows. His own outfit was a solid navy business suit with a light blue oxford cloth shirt under a midnight-blue tie with the smallest, most tasteful maroon-dot pattern. The defendants seemed to be using much the same tactic. David Chandler wore an unimpressive grey business suit, not expensive enough to seem like a spendthrift, yet just well fit-ting enough to imply fitness for fatherhood status. His wife wore a simple beige Victorian-collared blouse and matching skirt. Neither woman wore any extra jewelry, though-in ad-dition to her wedding ring-Mrs. Chandler sported a nice little cameo on the collar of her blouse.