-Derek-
I can't believe I have to go to this judge and plead the case of why I don't have to pay child support to my ex-wife. I can't believe this, because I have my son right now, because she dropped him off and left him with a stranger. What am I paying for exactly?
"Your honor, this is absurd," my lawyer says to the judge, who's sitting at the desk, his head supported upright in his palm with his elbow on the desktop.
Caroline has been my lawyer since Grace and I got divorced. She's a good lawyer, but this judge is insane. We've petitioned five times to have a different judge appointed, but they keep getting denied because Grace keeps fighting the petition. No surprise, this is the same judge that ruled an unemployed former drug user with prior convictions a more fit parent than a decorated veteran who's a police officer.
I should have learned my lesson with her, but I didn't. We continued to hook up even while divorced, some bad habits dying slow. Jesse was born when we had already been divorced for three years. I'd question the paternity if he didn't look so much like me. Jesse is the only good thing we ever did, and she uses him like a pawn. The first time she used him as leverage, that was when I was completely finished with her.
Caroline is old enough to be my mother and has all of the indications she used to be one hell of a prosecutor. Her own son was divorce raped years ago, and that made her change her practice into strictly divorce law. Now she represents the man in the divorce, taking payment based on income and circumstance of the divorce.
"I need to consider the reasons she could have done so. Perhaps allowing her to accumulate a few payments will allow her to reestablish..."
"She's been unemployed for over a year," I say, the judge's eyes darting to me. "How exactly was she ever stable to begin with? Last year she took them on a trip to Disney world, then said she was out of money."
"I will not judge how she spends her money..."
"Are you serious?" Caroline chimes in. "You're a judge, judging is literally your job. And it isn't her money, it's his money given to her directly to support their son that she is not using for that purpose."
"Watch how you talk to me in my chambers," the judge shot back, anger on his face now.
"What is there to consider? Is child support for the other parent, or the child? Who has the child? Why is this even a discussion?" Caroline asks, and the judge sighs. She's backed him into a corner.
"Current alimony and child support stays..." he starts.
"Petition number six mother fucker, seeing now that she's gone, it'll work. We're done," Caroline says and storms out with me.
Caroline is digging into her pocket for her cigarettes before she even reaches the bottom of the stairs from the court house. Reaching the bottom stair, she found her reds and lit one up with a zippo she snapped back shut. It's silver with a Betty Boob decal on the side.
"I really hope he loses his fucking bench over this," Caroline says, taking in her first drag and exhaling it away from me into the air. "I've dealt with some pussy worshiping judges before, but I'm pretty sure this is fucking illegal. How the fuck is he making the decision you pay child support, when you have the kid."
"On paper she still has custody..."
"On paper my fucking cunt," Caroline says.
Damn, to see her in her prime. That mouth, smoking Marlboro Reds, that must have been mesmerizing. The kind of chick after you finished fucking her, she tells you to drink some Gatorade and come back in five minutes because she isn't done yet. Now she's just a sixty-year-old lawyer with a low voice who curses a lot.
"I'll file the petition. We might actually be able to blind side her with it this time. Get a more sympathetic judge. Bonus, if she doesn't show, you win by default. I'd say pursue child support but we both know she'll stiff you and not go to jail for it. She's a monumental piece of shit and still got custody. All because you shot a guy, on the job, who was pointing a gun at you."
"That guy was also the Alderman's nephew unfortunately," I say.
A few months back before I transferred precincts, I was working in the narcotics division. During a sting we catch a guy trying to sell undercover officers about fifty pounds of cocaine. When the sirens were approaching, he pulled a gun on me and I put a round into his shoulder. The drug trafficker was the nephew of a city Alderman named Douglas Hart.
Then my Captain, wanting to save my job and his own, transferred me into a precinct that would put me outside of the Alderman's reach. The only opening was in missing persons.
"You shot a drug dealer. How the fuck does that hurt your career and not the Alderman's?" Caroline asks and I shrug.
"Politics," Is all I can muster to say.
"Go to work, I'll let you know when I formally file it," Caroline says, pinching the cherry of her cigarette off and crushing it under her foot before flicking the butt to the curb.
"Let me know," I say, Caroline kissing my cheek before walking toward her parked car at the front of the building. With a final wave she merges into traffic, and I walk to my car.
-
I'm standing the doorway of a little girl's room with her window broke. Shards of glass are still on the sill, with a few sprinkles on the floor in the carpet. Other than the window smashed, it looks like any other room. Her bed is against the wall across from the entrance, unmade with pink sheets with a princess cover of a popular movie. The shelves of her room are filled with toys, as are the bins under them. There is a small plastic table surrounded by four chairs, one occupied by a brown stuffed bear in a top hat and monocle. A princess doll with a tiara is sitting in another. The table is set for three, the cups properly placed on top of small plates with a small fake tea pot in the center.
The mother is in the hall, crying while trying to give a statement to my partner. Another team is already setting up the kidnapper phone kit to trace a call. We're already treating this like a kidnapping.
I walk into the room and sit down for tea after the tech is finished with pictures and sample collection.
I close my eyes. Stop, look, listen, smell. One of the few skills I learned in the Army that I carried over to my detective work.
What do you see Derek?
I see this girl is spoiled. Her toy bins are overflowing, but her room is clean. The mother is either very attentive to the mess she could make, or the girl cleans up after herself. She may be spoiled, but she's probably not a brat.
The window is broken, but by the looks of it, from the inside. Too much glass is outside for the blow that broke it to have originated from the outside. This already puts into question the mother's statement.
What do you hear Derek?
The walls are thin, I can hear the mother from here. I close the door and I can still hear her. The walls in the house are very thin, putting into question the mother saying she didn't hear it happen.
Her initial statement was that she woke up to get a glass of water and checked on her daughter on her way back to bed. I doubt she is a heavy enough sleeper to not hear a window being smashed, her daughter struggling, maybe even shouting for help.
What do you smell Derek?
I smell laundry. It smells like lavender scented fabric softener. I open one of the girl's drawers, but it's not the source. It gets stronger as I approach the bed. The sheets are fresh. So fresh they're still warm when I place my palm on the pillow case and sheet.
Did the mother do laundry, after she was taken?