Hear No Evil

“We consider profound to be in excess of ninety-one db, which means that he might not even be able to hear loud sounds without amplification.”

“That’s his situation.”

“Is it congenital or acquired?”

“He was born that way.”

The woman on the line hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure?”

“Well, yes. Like I said, it’s sensorineural hearing loss.”

“I don’t mean to condescend, but it’s called sensorineural hearing loss to distinguish it from conductive hearing loss. It simply means that the nerves are damaged, which is permanent and generally irreversible. But sensorineural has both congenital and acquired causes.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s congenital.”

“The reason I ask is this. If it is congenital, this camp would not be the right place for your friend’s child.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not staffed for prelingual deaf children. Any child who comes here developed some language skills before suffering an acquired hearing loss.”

Jack gripped the phone more tightly. “Are you saying that you don’t have any children at your camp who have congenital hearing loss?”

“Not in the profoundly deaf category. Like I said, we’re not staffed for that type of impairment. This wouldn’t be the appropriate place for such a child.”

“I see,” said Jack.

“If you check our website, there are links to some excellent alternatives.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you very much.”

Jack hung up the phone. The camp director couldn’t have been more specific. Lindsey had been equally clear in her assertion that Brian was congenitally deaf. Yet the Pintados had made arrangements to send their grandson to a camp that was not appropriate for a child like Brian. That left only two possibilities. The Pintados were sending Brian to the wrong camp, which didn’t seem very likely. Or…

Jack turned toward the window, staring out at the street traffic five stories below. The prosecutor’s cross-examination was suddenly replaying in his mind.

Lies, lies, all lies.

Jack tucked his cell phone into his pocket and headed to another conference room near the courtroom, where Sofia and Lindsey were having lunch. Since Lindsey was in custody, a guard was posted outside the door. He allowed Jack to enter.

Jack looked at Lindsey, eyes glowing. “How did Brian lose his hearing?”

She was about to answer, then stopped, seeming to have read the expression on Jack’s face. “Who wants to know?”

“Is that the way you handle everything? Your answer depends on who wants to know?”

Sofia said, “Jack, what’s wrong?”

Jack stepped farther into the room, but he did not sit down. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m tired of being lied to by my own client.”

“I told the truth today,” said Lindsey.

“Did you?” said Jack. “Or do you live in a world where the forecast is always the same: mostly cloudy, continued showers of bullshit.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Lindsey. “I admit, I may have misled you in the past, but that’s only because the truth is so painful. Do you think it’s easy to walk into a courtroom full of people and tell them you had sex with a sailor while your husband took photographs? Can you blame me for not ru

“Don’t change the subject, Lindsey. I’m talking about what you said to me under the cloak of the attorney-client privilege.”

“So am I. It just took me a while to get comfortable with the idea of having to say these things not just to you but to the whole world. But I did it. I was honest with you, and I did not perjure myself. Everything I said on the witness stand was true.”

“Why did you lie to me about the cause of Brian’s hearing loss?”

“What?”

“You told me he was born deaf. He wasn’t, was he?”

“What difference does it make? He’s deaf.”

“I don’t understand why you would lie about something like that.”

“It’s…it’s not important.”

“Every untruth is important. Why would you lie about this?”

“I have my reasons, okay?”

“What the hell are they?”

“Because…” Her lips pursed, as if she were about to explode. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a bad mother, all right? But now you know. Brian has acquired deafness. You want to blame me? Great. Go right ahead and do it. Be just like Oscar, just like Oscar’s parents, just like Oscar’s friends. Blame Lindsey. Everybody has to blame Lindsey. Well, it wasn’t my fucking fault, damnit!”

Her voice nearly shook the room. Jack was stu

“I wasn’t blaming you for anything,” said Jack. “I just want to know the truth.”

Lindsey dabbed her eyes with a tissue, pulled herself together. “No, you want so much more than that. You want to know everything there is to know about me and Brian. You don’t have that right. Taking this case didn’t make you Brian’s father.”

Jack could have argued genetics, but he knew what she meant. “No one said I wanted to be part of your family, Lindsey.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for everything you’ve done.”

There was a knock at the door. Jack opened it, and the guard said, “Trial reconvenes in two minutes.” Jack thanked him, then turned back to his client.

Sofia said, “I guess we should get back.”

Lindsey and Sofia rose, but Jack didn’t move. Lindsey looked at him and said, “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

Jack still didn’t move.

Sofia said, “I can take it from here, Jack. If that’s what you want.”

“No!” said Lindsey, her voice racing. “You can’t quit. You promised to stay in this case as long as you believed I was i

“It’s deeper than that,” said Jack.

She grasped his arm and said, “Don’t do this to me. That’s not what I-that’s not what Brian deserves.”

Jack stared at her coolly, trying to take the emotion out of his decision. Finally he said, “That’s the last time I’m going to let you play the Brian card. You understand me?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, releasing him.

Jack opened the door and led the way back to the courtroom, putting a good ten feet of airspace between himself and his client.

46

At seven o’clock that night, Jack drove to Alice Wainwright Park just south of downtown Miami. Leaving the car, he followed the exercise trail toward the rock-lined edge of Biscayne Bay and took a seat on the wooden bench near a kiosk that faced the mangroves. He knew he was in the right place because he was seventy-five paces east of the graffiti-covered wall that proclaimed, MADONNA, YOUR GUARD IS AN ASSHOLE, a leftover complaint from years earlier when the singer lived in one of the exclusive waterfront mansions in the neighborhood.

And then he waited, exactly as he’d been instructed.

Trial had adjourned for the day at five P.M. The afternoon session was devoted to forensic experts whom Jack had hired to neutralize the testimony of the medical examiner, particularly with respect to Captain Pintado’s time of death. All had gone well enough, but Jack had much higher expectations for what the evening might bring.

His cell phone rang, and he answered quickly. It was Sofia.

“Don’t we have a meeting?” She was referring to their standard date for evening debriefings after each trial day.