'Very well,' the Judge continued. 'The defendant will come before the court.'
Mason loved the courtroom. It was the grandest stage, hosting the greatest drama, a venue where life stood still, holding its breath, waiting for a judge or jury to raise their thumbs up or down. It was a vault, guarding justice, dispensing disappointment to losers and miracles to winners. At moments like this, the audience disappeared for Mason. The prosecutor, the bailiff, the court reporter all faded as he and his client stood before the court alone in the last silent instant before unthinkable fate became real.
'Miss Hackett,' Judge Tanner began. 'Do you understand the charges that have been brought against you?'
'Yes,' Jordan said, her eyes on the floor, her voice a subdued murmur.
'You understand that you have been charged with two counts of murder in the first degree and that, if convicted, you could be sentenced to life in prison or death by lethal injection?'
'Yes,' she answered, an involuntary tremor rippling through her.
'You understand that you have the right to a trial by a jury of your peers, that you have the right to confront and cross-examine the witnesses against you?'
'Yes.'
'You understand that the State has the burden to prove its case against you beyond a reasonable doubt?'
'I do.'
'You understand that by asking me to accept your plea of guilty to the lesser charge of second-degree murder, you give up all those rights and that you will serve fifteen years in the state penitentiary before you can be released?'
'Yes,' Jordan said, forcing her answer.
'Knowing all these rights, and knowing the evidence the State has against you and after conferring with your attorney, is it your desire that I accept your guilty plea?'
Jordan turned to Mason, eyes wet, mouth trembling. He nodded to her.
'Yes,' Jordan said. 'I do.'
'And is that because you are, in fact, guilty of these crimes?' Judge Tanner asked.
The judge's question hit Jordan like a slap, jerking her head up as she stiffened, her face red, stung by the demand for a confession.
'Miss Hackett, are you in fact guilty of these crimes?' Judge Tanner repeated.
Mason held his breath, choking on his doubts of Jordan, who squared her back and answered, her voice filling the corners of the courtroom, echoing the rage Mason thought had expired.
'No, Your Honor. I am not.'
Judge Tanner gaveled his courtroom into submission, stifling the outbursts caused by Jordan's departure from the script. Behind him, Mason heard Carol Hackett cry, 'My God,' Arthur shushing her, the judge exempting them from his demand for order. Jordan held steady, waiting for the judge's next question.
'Miss Hackett, perhaps you misunderstood my question,' Judge Hackett began.
'I understood it, Judge.'
'Miss Hackett, before coming into this courtroom today, you signed a plea agreement with the prosecutor, did you not?'
'Yes,' she said.
'I have a copy of that agreement before me, Miss Hackett. In it, you state your intention to plead guilty to these charges. I cannot accept this agreement unless you tell me that you are guilty. Do you understand that?'
'I do,' she said, tightening her grip on Mason's hand.
'I must warn you, Miss Hackett. If you return to this courtroom at a future date asking me to approve a plea bargain, it is unlikely that I will do so.'
Patrick Ortiz interrupted. 'Don't worry, Your Honor. There won't be another plea bargain in these cases. We're going to trial and we're asking for the death penalty.'
Judge Tanner stared down from the bench grim-faced. 'Mr. Mason, do you wish to confer with your client before this hearing is concluded?'
'No, sir. My client says she's innocent and that's good enough for me. We'll be ready for trial.'
Abby wormed her way through the crowd, reaching Mason and Jordan at the same moment as Arthur and Carol Hackett. The courtroom deputy kept others away, his hand on Jordan's shoulder, a firm reminder that she was still the property of the State. Carol held to the fringes, Arthur easing inside the deputy's grasp, wrapping his arms around his daughter, their heads bowed together.
Mason couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could feel it. Abby leaned into Mason, letting her tears seep into his sleeve, then pulling herself up, straightening her clothes and her face, leaving Mason in the courtroom with his client and her parents. When at last the deputy insisted, Jordan's hand slid down her father's arm, lingered at the wrist, brushed across his fingers, tracing the lifeline across his palm, their connection interrupted but not broken.
Arthur let go, following his wife to the hallway, stopping at the door, looking back at Mason, who watched from the center of the courtroom, the last to leave. 'Please, Mr. Mason,' he said. Mason nodded his promise in reply.
Chapter 33
'I feel so stupid,' Abby said to Mason. 'I've made a complete and utter fool of myself, thinking Jordan could be my daughter. Especially when I saw her with her parents in court this morning.'
Abby's PR firm, Fresh Air, was on the second floor of a building a block from her loft. Mason brought lunch from a deli at the corner of 21st and Baltimore, remnants of panini and Thai chicken salad littering a small round table in the corner of Abby's office, overlooking the street. Her staff busied themselves, shuttling in faxes she didn't read and phone messages she didn't return, pretending not to notice the tear-stained mascara streaks at the corners of Abby's eyes. The suite was decorated to soothe with creamy burnished wood, indirect light, and comforting music. The walls were hung with colorful photographs of people, places, and things in motion, sending the subliminal message that Abby and her people made things happen.
'Only because you look like Gene Simmons after a bad KISS concert,' Mason said.
'That good, huh?' Abby answered, scrubbing her face with another tissue. 'Even if Jordan is my daughter, I can't jump into the middle of her life now. The Hacketts are the only parents she's ever known. In spite of everything that's happened, Jordan wanted them to be in court this morning. That's her family. I should just butt out.'
'Jordan needs friends too,' Mason said. 'You've connected with her. Don't let go of that.'
'I know,' Abby said, 'but I need something else. I need to know what happened to my daughter, even if I can't be a part of her life. I need that closure.'
'Closure is overrated,' Mason said. 'You trade one pain for another. If you found her, you'd want to meet her, be with her, make up for all those years, and she might not be interested. If you couldn't find her, you'd have a wound that never healed.'
'I just want to know that she's all right, that she has a life,' Abby said, gazing at the street as if her daughter would step out a door or turn a corner and wave to her.
'What if she wasn't all right?' Mason asked too carefully for his question to be academic. 'What then?'
Abby looked at him, catching his meaning and her breath. 'Lou, if you know something, tell me.'
Mason pushed back from the table, not wanting to tell Abby what he suspected but didn't know for certain, unable to keep it from her any longer. 'After we got back from St. Louis, I reread Gina Davenport's autopsy report. She had a congenital abnormality that prevented her from ever getting pregnant.'
Abby wrinkled her brow. 'What's that go to do with me?' she asked, then gasped with understanding, racing to the conclusion. 'Emily! That's why Gina never signed the Baby Book at the hospital and why my medical records are missing. Is that what you're telling me? That Gina Davenport took my baby!'
Mason shoved bread crumbs into a mound, smashing them with his thumb. 'I don't know for certain. That's
