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A slight jerk of a shoulder was the only reaction he got, but it was all Kirk needed. He’d scored. The win was within his grasp.
But the real winner, ultimately, would be Abraham Billings.
“CHANDLER.” At home that evening, Kirk answered his phone on the first ring.
He’d stopped avoiding calls.
“The statute protects them,” his lawyer’s voice said. “Nothing’s going to happen unless we can show that the father named on that birth certificate is not the child’s biological father.”
Troy Winston wasted no words, as usual.
“So do it.”
“It’ll mean publicizing the reason you were at the cemetery that day, including details of your emotional state. As well as reports on Susan’s.”
“That boy is mine. Do it.”
“This isn’t business, Kirk. We’re talking about personal lives here.”
“Yes, mine. And my son’s.”
“No judge will want to touch this. Chances are it’ll get thrown out.”
Gazing out the rounded wall of windows circling the atrium in the middle of his home, watching the shadows reflected by the lights and plants over the pool, Kirk detached himself from the situation and welcomed the numbed relief.
“You get the depositions, file whatever you have to file. I’ll work on the judge end.”
“You have connections.”
“Maybe.”
Troy chuckled. “Only you, man.”
“What?” In the old days, Kirk would be grinning. Now he just frowned out into the night.
“Only Kirk Chandler could find connections in high places while he’s working as a crossing guard.”
Kirk didn’t know about that.
“This is probably going to take some time….”
The warning, Troy’s version of goodbye, was the most upsetting part of the conversation as far as Kirk was concerned.
TUESDAY WAS THE DAY she heard delinquency cases, and this particular Tuesday was busier than usual, since everyone wanted to push as much business through before the holiday as possible. She’d spent the morning on a molestation case—a fourteen-year-old boy with his eight-year-old brother—and had heard testimony that was buffeting everything sensitive inside her.
With the lights out in her office, Valerie lay back in her chair, taking a couple of minutes to herself before going to pick up the boys. They’d had a game that afternoon—an away game—and wouldn’t be back at the school until almost six.
“Excuse me, Judge Simms?” Leah knocked at the door.
“Come in.” Sitting up, Valerie switched on her desk lamp—and only then realized that she was still wearing her robe. Slipping it off, she hung it in the closet behind her desk as her assistant approached with a couple of folders.
In just her slacks and matching tunic, she felt lighter.
“I have a request for immediate action here,” Leah said. “April Bradley’s P.O. wants you to issue a bench warrant.”
Listening as Leah outlined the sixteen-year-old’s probation violations, Valerie looked over the papers, signed and initialed them, and handed them back.
She reduced probation on another one of her kids from intensive to standard just in time for the holidays. The things that made her job worthwhile.
