Saving Sophie: A Novel (12 page)

“On the other hand, the Petitioners, Arif and Lubannah al-Zahani, are kind and loving grandparents who are capable of nourishing and providing for the care of the child. They have a warm and comfortable home. The best interests of the child would be served by granting guardianship to the al-Zahanis.”

At the inception of the case, the al-Zahanis filed an emergency motion for an immediate change of custody. It was supported by the affidavits of two private investigators with a picture of Sommers sitting on his front porch, a beer bottle by his side, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. The motion accused Sommers of “diving into alcohol and drugs.” It was obvious the petitioners were pulling out all the stops.

The affidavits stated that women were coming and going into the home at all hours of the day and night. Grainy pictures were attached showing women entering the front door, time-stamped 1:00
A.M.
and 2:30
A.M
. The motion continued, “On one occasion, when staying in rustic, temporary quarters because his electricity was shut off, Sommers left the child all alone in the middle of the night without any adult supervision.”

Judge Karr set the emergency motion for an immediate hearing, acknowledging “serious allegations.” Sommers’s attorney, Harold Fine, asked the court for a short continuance to take discovery and investigate the charges, but the request was denied and a hearing was set for the very next day. A transcript of the hearing was in the file.

Though it was not a lengthy hearing, to Catherine it clearly indicated how much dirt the al-Zahanis were willing to throw and how far they were willing to bend the truth to win their case. The first witness was the private investigator who had followed Jack surreptitiously for several weeks. He attested to the photographs and his statement that the child had been left alone at some rustic, wooden dwelling. He also testified that Sophie was at home when the “various female subjects were coming and going into the home at all hours of the night.”

The direct testimony was damaging, and Jack’s attorney needed a strong cross-examination to rebut the inferences of neglect. He began his cross by asking the investigator exactly when he was hired by the al-Zahanis.

“Nine weeks ago,” he answered.

“And all during that time,” Fine said, “as you were hired to do, would you take careful note of any activities you thought might be important to your clients in their custody case?”

“Basically.”

“If you saw something you thought was not in the best interest of the child, you would write it down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Or take a picture?”

“Yes.”

“Like the pictures you attached to your affidavits?”

“That’s right.”

“Anything you thought was wrong.”

“Correct.”

“And you took this picture because you thought it was wrong to be drinking a beer on the porch?”

“I thought it was wrong for the man to be drunk when his child was at home.”

“Did you talk to Mr. Sommers?”

“Of course not. We were doing covert surveillance.”

“So you didn’t know if he was slurring his speech or not?”

“I couldn’t hear him, counsel.”

“Did you take any pictures of him falling down?”

“I’m not sure. Not that I recall at this time.”

“Not that you recall? Hmmm. You mean you might have taken a picture of him falling-down drunk, a picture that would be very important to your clients in this case, but it might have slipped your mind? Maybe you forgot to bring it with you today?”

“No. I don’t think I saw him fall down.”

“How far away were you when you took this picture?”

“We were on the next block. We have a high-powered telephoto lens.”

“How many pictures did you take of Mr. Sommers and a beer bottle?”

“Not certain. But I sure took that one.”

“In nine weeks?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, I thought you told me you were going to take pictures every time you saw him do something wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“And that’s the only one with alcohol?”

“That’s the only one I brought to court.”

“Are there others?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember.”

Fine grabbed a court-stamped document. “I’m going to show you a document entitled ‘Petitioners’s Response to Request for Production of Documents.’ I direct your attention to page two, in paragraph five. There is a list of all the pictures that the al-Zahanis or their attorneys have. Would you take a look at it?”

The investigator looked at the paper, shrugged, and laid it down. “Okay. So I guess there are no other pictures of him holding alcohol.”

“Let’s talk about the various female subjects. How many pictures of women coming and going from Mr. Sommers’s home did you produce out of your nine weeks of covert surveillance?”

“Six.”

“Who were the women?”

“How would I know? Why don’t you ask your client?”

“Thank you. That’s an excellent idea, and I will do that just as soon as we’re finished. But getting back to my question, when you signed your affidavit, did you have any idea who any of these women were?”

“At two or three in the morning? What’s the difference? Are you going to tell me that’s a babysitter?”

“No, I’m going to tell you that’s his sister.”

“There are different female subjects, counselor.”

“How many different women, sir? Take a look at your pictures.”

“It appears that there are at least two.”

“At least?”

“There are two.”

“So, in your nine weeks of
covert surveillance,
you took six pictures of two different women going into Mr. Sommers’s home.”

“In the middle of the night.”

“On how many different nights?”

“Two.”

“And in nine weeks of
covert surveillance,
that’s all you’ve got, right? Six pictures taken on two nights.”

“And the beer bottle, counsel.”

Fine held up a pointed figure and smiled. “And the beer bottle, thank you for reminding me. So that’s all that Dr. al-Zahani got out of the nine weeks of covert surveillance?”

“No, counsel. When the subject’s electricity was shut off, he went to a one-room dwelling and left his daughter alone at eleven at night.”

“You’re absolutely right. I forgot about the
dwelling
. The electricity was turned off, you say? Did he forget to pay his bill?”

“No idea, counsel.”

“Had there been a storm?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was the electricity out in the neighborhood that night?”

“I don’t work for the electric company.” The investigator must have chuckled at his smart remark, Catherine thought, because Judge Karr interjected, “The court will admonish the witness. There is no cause for levity here.”

“This one-room dwelling that Mr. Sommers and his daughter went to, was it a cabin up in the Wisconsin Dells?”

“Yep.”

“Is that a water-park vacation area about four hours away?”

“Correct.”

“And you went all the way up there to take pictures?”

“That was my assignment.”

“Twenty-four hours a day?”

“Practically. Me or Frankie.”

“When he left Sophie alone in the cabin, where did he go?”

“How should I know?”

“You mean you didn’t follow him?”

“No.”

“You noted the time he left; did you note the time he returned?”

“No.”

“How long was he gone?”

“Not exactly sure.”

“You didn’t see him return, did you?”

“No,”

“Did you fall asleep?”

“It’s possible. I can’t recall.”

“Was Dr. al-Zahani paying you by the hour?”

“Yeah.”

“In nine weeks of work, how many hours did you log?”

“Four hundred eighty-three.”

“How much were you paid per hour?”

“Hundred and a quarter.”

Fine jotted down a couple of figures. “So, for his 60,375 dollars, Dr. al-Zahani got these seven pictures?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Nothing further.”

Catherine smiled. Fine’s cross was thorough and precise. He had not only damaged the investigator’s credibility, but he had deftly created a platform for Sommers to explain the accusations. Sommers then testified that one of the women was indeed his sister, and the other was his wife’s best friend, Sharon, who had been over for dinner, left her purse, and had come back to retrieve it at twelve forty-five. Sophie and Jack had gone to the Wisconsin Dells when a storm had knocked out the neighborhood’s electricity. Sommers’s momentary absence was due to a noisy toilet in the cabin. He thought he would wake Sophie, so he stepped outside behind the cabin to relieve himself. He was gone for less than five minutes. As to the remaining picture, Sommers admitted to sitting on his front porch having a beer. Sophie was at a friend’s.

At the conclusion of the testimony, the judge denied the al-Zahanis’s emergency motion, but expressed his concern for the welfare of the child. He appointed an attorney to represent Sophie. He also appointed a social service agency to do a home study, and he scheduled the case for trial.

After many other pretrial hearings, interrogatories, and depositions, ultimately at trial both sides offered testimony from psychiatrists and child-care experts. Home visits had been made, including a report from a social agency in Hebron. Catherine estimated Sommers’s fees probably ran upward of $200,000. The transcripts of the trial were lengthy, and she copied them and headed for home.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

A
L-ZAHANI KNOCKED SOFTLY ON
Sophie’s bedroom door and opened it without waiting for a response. Sophie was at her desk; a schoolbook was open and she was practicing her writing.

“Jaddi, I can’t learn Arabic. It’s too hard. The letters are too hard to make.”

“They were hard for me too, when I was your age. They are hard for everyone. But we all learn.”

“Jaddi, I don’t want to learn. I want to go home.”

“Jadda said you played at Jamila’s house today. Did you have fun?”

Sophie nodded. “She’s nice.”

“Her father is also a doctor and her older sister will be married later this year. Jadda says that you and Jamila can play here next week. Maybe you can play the piano for her.”

Sophie shook her head. “Jamila’s nice and her mother’s nice to me, but I miss my home in Chicago. I miss my daddy. Why can’t I go home?”

Al-Zahani sat on the bed and patted the quilt. “Come sit here, my precious, and I will tell you why.”

Sophie climbed up on her bed and crossed her legs.

“This will be hard for you to hear. I did not want to tell you. It might make you sad, but I will tell you because I think you should know. You cannot go home, little one, because there is no home for you in Chicago anymore. My people back in Chicago have told me that your daddy has gone. No one knows where he went.”

“No,” Sophie cried, “he would not leave without me. You’re lying. He would never leave me. I know where my home is. It’s at 3814 Logan Boulevard. There is a redbrick house there with a wooden chair on the front porch. It’s
my
home.”

“There is no one
in
the home. Your father has left you and everyone else, and no one knows where he is.”

“You’re lying,” she cried. She beat her fists upon his chest. “I want my daddy. I want to call him.”

Al-Zahani gently held her wrists. “Sophie, I would never lie to you. Your Jaddi would never lie to you. Come with me and I will prove it to you.”

He led her by the hand down the hall to a room he used as an office. He lifted her onto a desk chair and moved the telephone close to her. “Do you know your home phone number?”

Sophie nodded. Through her sniffles, she said, “It’s 1-312-555-3799.”

Al-Zahani pushed the speaker button and dialed the number. It rang and the recorded message said, “The number you have dialed has been disconnected. No further information is available.”

“I’m sorry,” al-Zahani said quietly.

Sophie hung her head and sobbed.

“You remember when we were all in court and you talked to the judge?”

Sophie nodded.

“Jadda and I told the judge we did not think your father would be able to take care of you. We wanted you to come here and live with us. And we were right. Your father did not take care of you. Now he has disappeared. He has no home. He has no phone. He’s run off and no one knows where he is. And, Sophie, he has never even called to ask about you. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not true.” She stuck out her chin. “He’s a famous lawyer. I could call him at his office.”

“Do you know the number, Sophie?”

“Yes, I do.”

Al-Zahani slid the phone over and dialed the country code. “Go ahead, Sophie. Call his office.”

“Jenkins and Fairchild,” said the receptionist.

“Can I talk to my dad?” Sophie said.

“Who’s your dad, sweetie?”

“John Sommers.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, he’s not here. He doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Where is he?” Sophie said through convulsive breaths.

“I don’t know, honey. He didn’t tell me.”

Sophie dropped the phone and ran out of the office to her bedroom. She slammed the door.

T
WENTY
-T
WO

S
OMMERS WENT ONLINE YET
again. He should have had a response to his last message by now. It was understood by all that the plan would take some time, but something should be happening by now. It shouldn’t be taking so damn long! Back in Chicago, he’d put everything he had on the table. All in for one last deal. Things should be moving forward. If he didn’t see something positive in the e-mail account soon, then he’d have no choice but to go back and confront them.

Back in his hotel room, he faced another lonely day. Just him and Glenlivet. He poured a drink and studied the amber liquid. Another day in oblivion. But first he decided to make a couple of calls to help out an old friend who deserved better than his rude behavior. He dialed Pacific Properties and asked for Mr. Nakamura.

“Hello,” said a tinny voice. “This is Nakamura.”