He hung up, feeling grateful that they had found her. He thought again about the people who never saw their children again, fathers and mothers who spent a lifetime wondering if their children were alive, and cherishing photographs of five-year-olds who by then were in their twenties or thirties, and maybe didn't even know their parents were alive, after the lies the kidnappers had told them. To Bernie, child stealing seemed almost as awful as murder.

The phone rang that night while they were having dinner. Nanny had made steak and asparagus hollandaise, because it was Jane's favorite. And she had made a huge chocolate cake for dessert, which Alexander was eyeing with lust, as Bernie stood up and went to answer the phone. The phone had rung all afternoon and all evening with calls from well-wishers, thrilled and relieved that their horror was over. Tracy had even called from Philadelphia. She had called earlier. Nanny had told her what had happened.

“Hello?” Bernie was smiling at Jane. They hadn't taken their eyes off each other all day, and she had fallen asleep on his lap for a while just before dinner.

There was static on the line, and a familiar voice. Bernie couldn't believe it. But he switched on the recording device Grossman had given him the day before. He had also recorded the request for the million dollars in ransom. “Got your baby back, eh?” Scott did not sound pleased, as Bernie listened, and watched the machine record him. “I gather the cops helped you grab her.” The girl had told Scott just what she was supposed to and Bernie was pleased.

“I don't have much to say to you.”

“I'm sure you'll find something to say in court.” It was a joke. He knew Scott wouldn't dare take him to court again.

“I'm not real worried about that, Scott, and if you ever lay a hand on her again, I'll have you arrested. In fact, I might have you arrested anyway.”

“On what grounds? Child stealing is a misdemeanor anyway. They'd put me in jail overnight, if they did that much.”

“I'm not so sure kidnap for ransom is so popular with the local courts.”

“Try to prove it, buddy. You never got anything in writing from me, and if you were dumb enough to tape our conversations, it won't do you any good anyway. Recordings are inadmissible in court.” The guy certainly knew what he was doing. “You haven't seen the last of me yet, Fine. There are more ways to skin a cat than one.” But with that, Bernie hung up on him and stopped the recording device. He called Grossman after dinner, and Bill confirmed to him what Chandler Scott had said. Recordings were inadmissible.

“Then why the hell did you have me bother to do that?” The law was definitely not on his side in this instance, and they had done nothing to help since the beginning.

“Because even if it can't be used as evidence, the people at Family Court can still listen to it, and hear what you were up against.” But when Bill gave them the recordings they were less than sympathetic, and declared that Scott had probably been joking, or perhaps under some terrible strain after not seeing his daughter for so long, and hearing that his ex-wife had died of cancer.

“Are they crazy, or are they just kidding?” Bernie had stared at him. “The guy is a criminal and he kidnapped her for a million dollars ransom, and he held her hostage in Mexico for sixteen days and they think he was 'joking'?” Bernie couldn't believe it. First the police didn't give a damn when Scott took her, and now the court didn't give a damn about the request for ransom.

But the worst news came the following week when they received a notification from the court that Scott wanted a custody hearing.

“A custody hearing?” Bernie almost ripped the phone out of the wall when Bill told him. “Custody of what?”

“His daughter. He is claiming to the court that the only reason he took her is that he loves her so desperately, and he wants her with him, where she belongs.”

“Where? In jail? Do they take kids in San Quentin? That's where the sonofabitch belongs.” Bernie was hysterical in his office, and at that very moment Jane was at the park with Nanny Pippin and the baby and a black bodyguard who had played tackle for the Redskins ten years before and was six feet five inches tall and weighed two hundred and ninety pounds. Bernie was praying that Scott would annoy him.

“Calm down. He doesn't have custody yet. He's just asking.”

“Why? Why is he doing this to me?”

“You want to know why?” It was the worst case Grossman had ever had, and he was beginning to hate Scott as much as Bernie did, but that wouldn't get them anywhere. They had to be rational about it. “He's doing this because if he gets custody, God forbid, or even visitation, he's going to sell her back to you. If he can't do it by kidnapping her, he'll do it legally. Because the rights are his, he's her natural father, but you have the money, and that's what he wants.”

“So let's give it to him. Why fool around going through the courts and playing games? He wants money, let's offer it to him now.” It seemed very simple to Bernie. Scott didn't have to torture him to get what he wanted.

“It's not as simple as that. It's against the law for you to offer him any money.”

“Oh. I see,” Bernie said angrily. “But it's okay for him to kidnap the kid and ask for a million dollars ransom, that's okay, but my trying to buy the sonofabitch off isn't. Jesus Christ”—he slammed a hand on his desk and knocked the phone to the floor, still holding onto the receiver as the rest dangled crazily—“what's wrong with this country??!”

“Take it easy, Bernie!” Grossman tried to soothe him but it was useless.

“Don't tell me to take it easy. He wants custody of my kid and now you want me to take it easy? Three weeks ago he kidnapped her and I jackassed all around Mexico thinking she was dead, and I should take it easy?! Are you goddamn crazy too?” He was standing on his feet and yelling at the top of his lungs in his office, and then he slammed down the phone and sat down at his desk and cried. It was all her goddamn fault anyway. If she hadn't died, none of it would have happened. But the thought of that only made him cry harder. He was so lonely for Liz, that every breath he took was painful, and even being with the children made it harder. Nothing was the way it had been before …nothing …not the house …not the kids …not the food they ate …or the way their laundry was folded…. Nothing was familiar anymore, and nothing was ever going to be the same again. He had never felt so bereft in his life, and he sat at his desk and cried. And for the first time, he realized that Liz was never coming back again. Never.





Chapter 32

The new hearing was set for December twenty-first, and it was given priority because it was a custody hearing. Apparently the matter of the stolen car had been dropped. And as a result, there could be no parole violation. The owners of the car didn't want to press charges because, according to Winters, they were dealing drugs, and Chandler Scott came back into the country without a problem.

He looked respectable and subdued as he walked into the courtroom with his attorney. And Bernie walked into the court in a dark blue suit and a white shirt, with Bill Grossman. The black bodyguard was at home with Nanny Pippin and the children. Bernie had chuckled to himself only that morning at the portrait they presented, she so tiny and white and British with her flashing blue eyes and sensible shoes, he so enormous and black and ominous-looking until he smiled his startling ivory smile and tossed Alexander into the air, or played jumprope with Jane. And once he even tossed Nanny into the air as she and the children laughed. The reasons for needing him were unfortunate, but his presence was a real blessing. His name was Robert Blake, and Bernie was grateful to have him.

But as he walked into the courtroom, Bernie was thinking only of Chandler Scott and how much he hated him. They had the same judge they had had before, the only one available to them, the domestic relations judge, as he was called. He was a sleepy-looking man with white hair and a friendly smile, and he seemed to think that everyone loved everyone, or could be taught to, with a little effort.

He chided Scott for being “overenthusiastic about being alone with his daughter prematurely,” and Grossman had to grip Bernie's arm to keep him in his chair. And then he turned to Bernie and urged him to understand how strong a natural father's impulses were to be with his only child. And that time Bill was unable to restrain him.

“His natural impulses have not manifested themselves for nine years, Your Honor. And his strongest natural impulse was to try to extort a million dollars out of me for the safe return of my daughter when he …”

The judge smiled at Bernie benevolently. “I'm sure he was only joking, Mr. Fine. Please be seated.” Bernie wanted to cry as he listened to the proceedings. He had called his mother the night before, to bring them up to date, and she was convinced that they were persecuting him because he was Jewish. He knew that wasn't the case. But they were persecuting him because he wasn't Jane's natural father, as though that made a difference. Chandler Scott's only claim to fame was to have slept with Jane's mother and have gotten her pregnant. That had been his only contribution to Jane's life and well-being, whereas for half of her life, Bernie had been everything to her. And Grossman did everything he could to get the point across.

“My client feels very strongly that Mr. Scott is not emotionally or financially prepared to take on the responsibility of a child at this time. Perhaps at some later date, Your Honor …” Bernie lurched forward again, and Bill stared him into silence. “Mr. Scott has had several encounters with the law, and has not had regular employment for several years, from what we've been able to determine. And at the moment he is living in a transient hotel in East Oakland.” Scott squirmed in his seat but only slightly.

“Is that true, Mr. Scott?” The judge smiled at him, anxious for a truth that would make Scott a good father in his eyes, and Scott was anxious to help him.

“Not exactly, Your Honor. I've been living on a trust my family left me a while ago.” The aura of the country club again, but Grossman was quick to challenge it.

“Can you prove that, Mr. Scott?” he interjected.

“Of course …that money is gone now, I'm afraid. But I'm going to start work with the Atlas Bank this week.”

“With his record?” Bernie whispered to Grossman.

“Never mind. We'll force him to prove it.”

“And I rented an apartment in the city yesterday.” He looked triumphantly at Grossman and Bernie, and the judge nodded. “Of course, I don't have as much money as Mr. Fine, but I hope Jane won't mind that very much.”

The judge nodded again, anxious to please Chandler. “Material goods are not what's important here, and of course I'm sure you'll be happy to agree to a visitation schedule for Mr. Fine to see Jane.”

Bernie suddenly looked at Grossman in terror, and leaned over to speak to him in a whisper. “What's he talking about? What does he mean a 'visitation schedule' for me? Is he crazy?”

Grossman waited a moment and then questioned the judge as to his intention, and he asked Bill to wait a moment, but then explained it to all parties concerned. “There is no question here but that Mr. Fine loves his stepdaughter, and that is not the issue here, but the fact remains that a natural father belongs with his child, in the absence of the natural mother. With the unfortunate death of Mrs. Fine, Jane must revert to living with her father. The court fully understands how painful this is for Mr. Fine, and we will remain open to discussion as we see how the new arrangement works out.” He smiled benignly at Scott, as Bernie sat shaking in his seat. He had failed her. He had failed Liz completely. And now he was going to lose Jane. It was like hearing that they were going to tear off his arm. And actually he would have preferred it. Given the choice, he would gladly have given up any limb and kept the child, but they didn't offer him that option. The judge looked at both men, their attorneys, and finished his pronouncement. “Custody is hereby being given to Chandler Scott, with a satisfactory visiting schedule to be given to Bernard Fine, perhaps a biweekly visit,” he suggested as Bernie gaped from his seat. “The child is to be turned over to Mr. Scott in forty-eight hours, at her domicile, at twelve noon on December twenty-third. I feel that the unfortunate little mishap in Mexico is only an indication of how anxious Mr. Scott is to begin a normal life with his daughter, and the court would like to see him do that as quickly as possible.” For the first time in his adult life, Bernie thought he was going to faint as the judge rapped the gavel. He was as white as a sheet and he was staring down at the table when Bill Grossman looked at him. The room was spinning in front of his eyes, and he felt as though Liz had just died again. He could almost hear her voice in his ears …swear to me, Bernie …swear to me you'll never let him near her….