a poor country,” Doris said. “She’ll be aware the education system here is far superior, and she undoubtedly wants the best for her child.”
“I’ve thought about that, and I’ll certainly use it as an argument. Even if I convince her, though…maybe she’d agree to only a little time at first. But what if that turned out to just be the proverbial thin edge of the wedge? What if she pushed for more and more until I eventually lost him entirely?”
“It could happen,” Doris said gently. “The problem is, you haven’t really got a choice.
“She’s already warned you that if you don’t work something out with her, she’ll apply for interim custody. And if she was awarded it—”
“Wait!” he interrupted, feeling a sudden pounding in his chest.
When Natalie had raised that possibility, he’d assumed it was highly unlikely. But if Doris thought…
“Do you figure she would be?” he made himself ask.
“I doubt the odds are high, but she certainly might be. Regardless of that, though, consider the final result if you go to court.
“Instead of an agreement the two of you arrive at, a third party will impose the rules. And keep in mind that, under the circumstances, there’s absolutely no doubt a judge would grant her some amount of access to Robbie. The only question is how much.”
“How much would you guess?”
Doris shook her head. “Since there aren’t any real precedents, it would be pretty well up to the particular judge. Worst-case scenario, she’d be named the permanent primary guardian.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid I am. I don’t believe in deluding my clients, Hank. If this ends up in a courtroom, there’ll be the risk of your losing custody. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Until you have the results of the DNA testing…”
“They’re only going to confirm what I already know,” he said, the pounding in his chest even harder now. “I went through that report very carefully last night, and Rodger Spicer did a thorough job. I’d say the chance that Robbie isn’t Natalie’s son is about one in a million.”
“Then let’s consider how this might play out in a courtroom. Even assuming she is his mother, you have several things going for you. You’ve been the single constant in the boy’s life since he was six months old. And despite your divorce and shift work, you’ve managed to provide a stable home environment.
“Judges are reluctant to order custody changes when things are going smoothly. So, assuming your relationship with Robbie is as good as you claim—”
“It is,” he assured her. “And he adores Audrey Chevalier.”
“Then, if this was an ordinary instance of a birth mother trying to reclaim her child, Natalie Lawson wouldn’t have a prayer.”
“But it’s not ordinary at all.”
“Exactly. You only have him because those nuns made a mistake. And as soon as Natalie learned about it she hired a private detective to locate him. Plus she’s a professional woman who can support him and provide a loving home.”
“In a village in Guatemala,” Hank muttered.
Doris nodded again. “That’s something else you have on your side. If she was awarded custody, she’d take him to a foreign country. He’d be totally uprooted, living in Spanish-speaking surroundings, and you’d rarely be able to see him.
“Yet if she is his birth mother, and never even considered giving him up for adoption…Some judges would find that awfully hard to get past.”
Hank stared at the floor, thinking that if this ended up in court it sure wouldn’t be the sort of legal proceeding he was used to.
As a detective, he dealt with facts that added up to either guilty or innocent. But this case wasn’t merely a question of facts.
Considerable weight would be given to extenuating circumstances. And one particular judge’s mind-set would be critical.
The subjectiveness of that made him very, very anxious.
Focusing on Doris again, he said, “So what do I do?”
“Absolutely nothing until you get those lab results. But if they do prove she’s his mother, here’s what I’d suggest.”
IT WAS THE HEIGHT of the afternoon rush hour when Hank’s meeting with Doris Wagner ended, and heading through the parking garage, he decided there wasn’t much point in starting for New Jersey just yet. The commute to his place took a minimum of forty-five minutes when the traffic was light.
Besides, he could do with a little extra time to think—and someone to bounce things around with—before he got home and had to face Audrey’s questions. She was so worried about the possibility of losing Robbie that she’d have a million of them.
He reached his Blazer and climbed in, then took his phone from his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Travis Quinn’s cellular.
Travis and he were the best of buddies, as well as partners, and Travis had a knack for seeing situations clearly. Unless the situation involved Celeste, of course.
Last fall, Celeste had been the prime suspect in a homicide they’d investigated. Yet the moment Travis had laid eyes on her something had short-circuited in his brain, making him absolutely refuse to even consider the possibility she could be guilty.
Fortunately, it had turned out she wasn’t. Because they were getting married in June and the C.O. would have a heart attack if one of his detectives married a murderer.
“Quinn,” he answered on the fourth ring.
“It’s Hank. Where are you?”
“At Celeste’s. What’s up?”
“I’ve got a problem.”
“A serious one?”
“Yeah. And I’m only a few blocks away, so I thought if you weren’t in the middle of anything…”
“No, come on over.”
“Thanks, I’ll be there in five.”
The city was practically in gridlock, making his trip to the West 74th brownstone actually take a lot longer—but he finally got there.
Once he’d buzzed Celeste’s apartment and she released the lock, he headed up the stairs to the third floor. He’d barely started down the hall before Travis opened the door.
Celeste’s cat, Snoops, peered warily out from behind his ankles, making Hank think about how badly his son wanted a pet.
It was something he’d been holding off on until Robbie was older. But the way things stood now, he might be living in Guatemala before he was much older.
As Travis gestured him inside,
