Chapter 7: What the Lawyer Said
Her name was Patricia Vane and she had been my college roommate's divorce attorney for three years before I ever needed her number.
I had saved it anyway.
I didn't know why at the time.
She answered on the second ring.
"Nora.
It's been a while."
"I need advice," I said.
"Tonight if possible."
A pause.
"How serious?"
"My husband concealed a stalking situation involving our son for fourteen months.
His mother was in direct contact with the individual and warned him that a private investigator was looking into him, which allowed him to destroy evidence.
There's a dismissed paternity filing in a county court.
And nobody told me any of it."
Silence on the line.
"Are you and your son safe right now?" Patricia asked.
"Yes.
The police are following up on the individual's location."
"Okay." Her voice shifted into something precise and careful.
"I can be at your house in forty minutes.
Don't discuss anything further with your husband or his mother until I arrive.
Don't sign anything.
Don't agree to anything."
"I haven't."
"Good.
One more question." A brief pause.
"When you say you need advice — are you asking about your son's legal protection, or are you asking about your marriage?"
I looked at Baxter's sleeping face.
"Both," I said.
Patricia arrived in thirty-eight minutes.
She sat at my kitchen table with a yellow legal pad and asked questions for ninety minutes without stopping.
Calhoun answered most of them in a voice that got quieter as the evening went on.
Hester answered the ones directed at her with the careful precision of someone who had spent the afternoon deciding exactly how much truth to offer.
Patricia wrote everything down without expression.
When she was done, she set her pen on the pad and looked at Calhoun.
"The paternity filing is dismissed and carries no legal weight," she said.
"Your son's status is not in question.
That's the easy part." She folded her hands.
"The harder part is that you employed a private investigator to surveil your wife, redirected that surveillance to your minor child without informing the child's mother, and withheld knowledge of a credible threat to that child's safety for fourteen months.
Depending on how a family court views those decisions, that is a significant problem."
Calhoun's jaw tightened.
"I was protecting my family."
"You were making unilateral decisions about your family's safety and your wife's right to information.
Those are different things." Patricia glanced at Hester.
"And your mother's contact with the individual, including the warning she provided, may constitute obstruction of an informal investigation at minimum.
If the police determine the storage unit clearing destroyed material evidence, it could be more than that."
Hester's chin came up.
"I was trying to manage a family situation."
"You were managing it in a way that kept your daughter-in-law uninformed and potentially endangered her child." Patricia's voice didn't change in temperature.
"I understand you had reasons.
I'm telling you how it looks from the outside."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"What does Nora need to do?" Calhoun asked.
"That's for Nora to decide." Patricia turned to me.
"What I can tell you is what your options are.
You can pursue a formal protective order against Daniel Fosse once the police have confirmed his location.
You can request a full accounting of the private investigator's records — you're entitled to them, given that the surveillance was conducted in your home environment.
And you can choose to address the breach of trust in your marriage through whatever process you feel is appropriate." She paused.
"That last part is not a legal matter.
It's a personal one."
I nodded.
"One more thing." She picked up her pen.
"The letter and the document Daniel left — I'd like copies of both.
The letter in particular.
If he makes any further contact, I want his written statement that he understands Baxter is not his child.
It may be useful."
"Useful how?"
"If he ever resurfaces.
People in his situation sometimes cycle.
The letter is evidence of a lucid moment.
It can be used to establish a baseline." She looked at me steadily.
"I want you protected.
All the way around."
After Patricia left, the house was very quiet.
Hester gathered her things without being asked.
At the front door she stopped and turned.
"I know you're angry with me," she said.
"Yes."
"I know you have every right to be."
"Yes."
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not tonight," I said.
"Maybe not for a while.
I'll let you know."
She nodded once, and left.
Calhoun was still at the kitchen table when I came back.
"I don't know how to fix this," he said.
"I know you don't." I sat down across from him.
"That's actually the most honest thing you've said all day."
He looked up.
"I'm not leaving tonight," I said.
"Baxter is asleep upstairs and I'm not disrupting his night any further.
But I need you to understand something." I held his gaze.
"The next decision about our son — any decision — you come to me first.
Before your mother.
Before Marcus Dell.
Before anyone.
Me."
"Yes."
"If that's not something you can do, then we have a much larger problem than Daniel Fosse."
He was quiet for a long time.
"I can do that," he said finally.
"I need more than your word on it."
"I know." He looked at his hands.
"Tell me what you need."
"I need you in a counselor's office by the end of next week.
Alone first.
Then us together." I stood up.
"And I need you to call Marcus Dell in the morning and instruct him to send me — not you, me — every report, every photograph, every record from the last eighteen months.
All of it."
"Okay."
"And Calhoun." I stopped at the doorway.
"The next time you find something in my coat pocket that worries you — you talk to me.
Not your mother.
Not a private investigator.
Me."
He nodded.
May you like
His eyes were wet.
I went upstairs.
