Perfect Match Read online

  "We don't care if he goes to jail at this point, Your Honor," I interrupt. "We just want him to give up custody and visitation."

  "My client is Rachel's biological father. He understands that the child may have been poisoned against him, but he isn't willing to give up his parental rights to a daughter he loves and cherishes."

  Yadda yadda yadda. I'm not even listening. I don't have to; Fisher grandstanded to me on the phone when he called to reject my last plea bargain. "All right," Judge McAvoy sighs. "Let's get her up there."

  The court is empty, except for me, Rachel, her grandmother, the judge, Fisher, and the defendant. Rachel sits by her grandmother, twirling her stuffed hippopotamus's tail. I lead her to the witness box, but when she sits down, she cannot see over the railing.

  Judge McAvoy turns to his clerk. "Roger, why don't you run into my chambers and see if there's a stool for Miss Rachel."

  It takes a few more minutes of adjustments. "Hi, Rachel. How are you?" I begin.

  "I'm okay," she says, in the smallest voice.

  "May I approach the witness, Your Honor?" Closer up, I won't be as intimidating. I keep smiling so hard my jaw begins to hurt. "Can you tell me your whole name, Rachel?"

  "Rachel Elizabeth Marx."

  "How old are you?"

  "Five." She holds up the fingers to show me proof.

  "Did you have a party on your birthday?"

  "Yes." Rachel hesitates, then adds, "A princess one."

  "I bet it was fun. Did you get any presents?"

  "Uh-huh. I got the Swimming Barbie. She does the backstroke."

  "Who do you live with, Rachel?"

  "My mommy," she says, but her eyes slide toward the defense table.

  "Does anybody else live with you?"

  "Not anymore." A whisper.

  "Did you used to live with someone else?"

  "Yes," Rachel nods. "My daddy."

  "Do you go to school, Rachel?"

  "I'm in Mrs. Montgomery's class."

  "Do you have rules there?"

  "Yes. Don't hit and raise your hand to talk and don't climb up the slide."

  "What happens if you don't follow the rules in school?"

  "My teacher gets mad."

  "Do you understand the difference between telling the truth and telling a lie?"

  "The truth is when you tell what happened, and a lie is when you make something up."

  "That's right. And the rule in court, where we are right now, is that you have to tell the truth when we ask you questions. You can't make anything up. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "If you lie to your mom, what happens?"

  "She gets mad at me."

  "Can you promise that everything you say today is going to be the truth?"

  "Uh-huh."

  I breathe deeply. First hurdle, cleared. "Rachel, the man over there with the silver hair, his name is Mr. Carrington. He's got some questions for you too. Do you think you can talk to him?"

  "Okay," Rachel says, but she's getting nervous now. This was the part I couldn't tell her about; the part where I didn't have all the answers.

  Fisher stands up, oozing security. "Hi there, Rachel."

  She narrows her eyes. I love this kid. "Hi."

  "What's your bear's name?"

  "She's a hippo." Rachel says this with the disdain that only a child can pull off, when an adult stares right at the bucket on her head and cannot see that it is a space helmet.

  "Do you know who's sitting with me at that table over there?"

  "My daddy."

  "Have you seen your daddy lately?"

  "No."

  "But you remember when you and your daddy and your mommy all lived together in the same house?" Fisher's hands are in his pockets. His voice is as soft as flannel.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Did your mommy and daddy fight a lot in the brown house?"

  "Yes."

  "And after that, your daddy moved out?"

  Rachel nods, then remembers what I've told her about having to say your answer out loud. "Yes," she murmurs.

  "After your daddy moved out, then you told somebody that something happened to you ... something about your daddy, right?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "You told somebody that Daddy touched your pee-pee?"

  "Yes."

  "Who did you tell?"

  "Mommy."

  "What did Mommy do when you told her?"

  "She cried."

  "Do you remember how old you were when Daddy touched your pee-pee?"

  Rachel chews on her lip. "It was back when I was a baby."

  "Were you going to school, then?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you remember if it was hot or cold outside?"

  "I, um, I don't know."

  "Do you remember whether it was dark outside, or light?"

  Rachel starts rocking on the stool, shaking her head.

  "Was Mommy home?"

  "I don't know," she whispers, and my heart plummets. This is the point where we will lose her.

  "You said you were watching Franklin. Was that on TV, or was it a video?"

  By now, Rachel isn't even making eye contact with Fisher, or with any of us. "I don't know."

  "That's all right, Rachel," Fisher says calmly. "It's hard to remember, sometimes."

  At the prosecutor's table, I roll my eyes.

  "Rachel, did you talk to your mommy before you came to court this morning?"

  At last: Something she knows. Rachel lifts her head and smiles, proud. "Yes!"

  "Is this morning the first time you talked to Mommy about coming to court?"

  "Nope."

  "Have you met Nina before today?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Fisher smiles. "How many times have you talked to her?"

  "A whole bunch."

  "A bunch. Did she tell you what to say when you got up into this little box?"

  "Yes."

  "And did she tell you that you needed to say that Daddy touched you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did Mommy tell you that you needed to say that Daddy touched you?"

  Rachel nods, the tips of her braids dancing. "Uh-huh."

  I begin to close my file on this case; I already know where Fisher's going; what he has done. "Rachel," he says, "did your mommy tell you what would happen today if you came in here and said that Daddy touched your pee-pee?"

  "Yes. She said she would be proud of me, for being such a good girl."

  "Thank you, Rachel," Fisher says, and sits down.

  Ten minutes later, Fisher and I stand in front of the judge in chambers. "I'm not suggesting, Ms. Frost, that you put words in that child's head," the judge says. "I am suggesting, however, that she believes she is doing what you and her mother want her to do."

  "Your Honor," I begin.

  "Ms. Frost, the child's loyalties to her mother are much stronger than her loyalty to a witness oath. Under those circumstances, any conviction the state might secure could be overturned anyway." He looks at me, not without sympathy. "Maybe six months from now, things will be different, Nina." The judge clears his throat. "I'm finding the witness not competent to stand trial. Does the state have another motion in regard to this case?"

  I can feel Fisher's eyes on me, sympathetic instead of victorious, and this makes me fume. "I need to talk to the mother and child, but I believe the state will be filing a motion to dismiss without prejudice." It means that as Rachel grows older, we can recall the charge and try again. Of course, Rachel might not be brave enough for that. Or her mother might just want her to get on with life, instead of reliving the past. The judge knows this, and I know this, and there is nothing either of us can do about it. It's simply the way the system works.

  Fisher Carrington and I walk out of chambers. "Thank you, counselor," he says, and I don't answer. We veer off in different directions, magnets repelled.

  This is why I'm angry: 1) I lost. 2) I was supposed to be on Rachel's side, but I turned out to be