Danielle Steel - Fine things

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.