Aggravated Circumstances

Chapter 1

New Hampshire

2013

I hear the sound of a baby crying, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Is it close? Far? I open my eyes and glance around the room. Everything is hazy, out of focus. That’s the thing about the rush. It’s never long enough, and once it fades, you just feel… well, you’re just sort of there.

It starts with the nausea. That only lasts a few seconds. Any longer, and the allure wouldn’t be as great, but the rush is so powerful that five seconds of nausea is a small price to pay to get there.

Someone once described the rush as feeling like a thousand orgasms. I didn’t believe them until I tried it myself. Then I thought they understated it.

It’s not long enough, though. Ten, twenty minutes at most, followed by jelly.

That’s where I am now. My arms feel like jelly. My legs are heavy, like they’re attached to cement blocks.

I hear another cry and I try to get up, but the cement wins. I slump back against the couch.

I don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before the pounding penetrates my haze. As it gets louder, I realize it’s knocking. I try again to pull myself up, and this time my legs aren’t so leaden. I drag myself to the door and pull it open.

Devin Lenox?

At the sound of my name, I nod, but my neck feels heavy, too.

Officer Hunter, Concord PD. He flashes a badge and thrusts a piece of paper at me. I have a search warrant.

***

Taylor Ross stood in her underwear, fresh from the shower, trying to decide between the blue dress or the red. Neither appealed to her. Blue seemed boring, red clichéd. Black, maybe? No. Black said funeral, and this was no funeral. This was Colin Radcliffe.

Red, Taylor declared, and pulled the dress off the hanger. She’d just stepped into it and was fighting the zipper when her phone rang. Expecting it be Colin, she lunged at the phone sitting on her dresser and glanced at the display.

Shit. Not Colin, and not good. Taylor tapped her finger on the screen to answer and held it to her ear. Please tell me this is a cruel joke.

No joke, her supervisor said before rattling off an address.

I have a date tonight, Margo, Taylor protested.

Not anymore you don’t. Margo laughed mirthlessly. You shouldn’t make dates for nights you’re on call. You know that, Taylor. Get there ASAP.

The other end of the phone went silent. Shit. Taylor kicked off the red dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She threw on jeans and a hoodie and ran a comb through her still damp light brown hair. No sense in dressing up for this. She grabbed her car keys from the hook by the door and texted Colin as she walked to her car.

Sorry. Crisis time. Call u later.

Seventeen minutes later, Taylor pulled to a stop in front of a familiar address. As she got out of the car, a uniformed police officer came down the front steps of the mobile home.

Taylor held out her state ID card, which hung around her neck on a lanyard. Taylor Ross, Division for Children, Youth and Families.

He nodded. Alex Hunter. Thanks for coming.

Not much choice. Taylor walked with him toward the mobile home. What’s the scoop?

Unsolicited, credible report of drug use. Concerns about a child in the home, Hunter explained. Got a warrant and here we are. Mom’s higher than a kite. Kid’s crying in the corner in soiled clothes. Syringes everywhere. He shook his head as he held the front door open for her. I hate this part of my job.

Yeah. Preaching to the choir. Taylor sucked in a breath before walking into the house. This never got any easier.

She scanned the room, noting the worn furniture. She glanced at the coffee table, finding it littered with drug paraphernalia. The officer hadn’t exaggerated. In the corner by the kitchen, a toddler was being comforted by a female police offer. Taylor started in that direction.

No! You’re not going near my kid! The woman jumped up from the couch. She grabbed for Taylor’s arm, missed and stumbled back.

I’d settle down if I were you, Hunter warned. Unless you want to add assaulting a state employee to your list of charges.

She’s a fucking baby-stealing bitch!

Yeah. Devin remembered her. Taylor assessed the tracks on Devin’s arms and her pin-sized pupils, seeing all she needed to. She walked to the officer holding the child. What’s your name? she asked, crouching to the floor at the little girl’s level, even though she figured the child was too young to answer. Brown eyes. Reddish-brown hair. Tears running down her face. Probably scared to death.

Her name’s Hannah, the police officer answered. We’ve confirmed that much. Age twenty-two months. We talked to the neighbor. There’s no other family. As far as she knows, the father’s in prison.

Peachy, Taylor muttered, but she wasn’t surprised.

We’re taking mom into custody.

Taylor pulled herself to her feet. And that’s why you called me. She retrieved her cell phone from the front pocket of her sweatshirt and walked to the door. I’ll be right back.

You’re not taking my kid! Devin yelled.

That’s not up to me, Devin. Taylor went outside and scrolled through her phone directory and tapped the number she wanted. She sat down on the front step as it dialed through.

The judge answered on the second ring. Sarah Howton-Canfield.

Taylor glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. Colin Radcliffe had probably long since given up on her. The judge was probably in the middle of a family dinner. Just one of those nights. Hello, Your Honor. It’s Taylor Ross from DCYF. I’m sorry to bother you after hours.

It’s part of the job, the judge said. Hi, Taylor. What have you got?

Twenty-two-month-old child. Mom high on drugs. Police raided the house, and she’s being taken into custody on charges.

Are there any relatives available who can care for the child? the judge asked.

None that we’re aware of.

Over the phone line, Taylor heard an audible sigh. She knew the juvenile court judge hated this part of the job as much as Taylor did.

I’ll verbally authorize the removal. Be at my chambers first thing tomorrow with the completed paperwork, and we’ll have a protective custody hearing.

Yes, Judge. She’d get to work on that paperwork right after she found a placement for the child. In other words, it would be a really long night.

Is there anything else?

Taylor hesitated. It might not be important, but maybe you should know… the child’s mother is Devin Lenox.

Silence followed on the other end of the line.

Judge? Did you hear me?

I heard. I don’t see how that changes anything about the facts of the case. Her tone was clipped.

It doesn’t, no.

Then it’s not important.

"Yes, Your Honor." I just thought you’d want to know. Apparently not. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Taylor stood up from her perch on the step, shoved her phone back in her pocket and opened the door.

She nodded at the police officer holding Hannah and went to her, trying to avoid eye contact with Devin.

No! You’re not taking my fucking kid!

Taylor turned around, Hannah perched against her hip. I’m sorry. I have to. Judge’s orders.

Ms. Lenox, you can come with me, Officer Hunter said. We’re going to get you a nice, cozy cell downtown.

Taylor tried to block out Devin’s screams as she carried Hannah to the car and strapped her into the car seat in the back. No, I don’t have kids myself. I just always have a car seat handy in case I’m court-ordered to take someone else’s away. She rolled her eyes. Was it any wonder her social life sucked?

She settled into the driver’s seat and pulled out her phone again, sending a quick text to her back-up worker to meet her at the office to start searching for foster homes. With that out of the way, she scrolled through her other messages.

Four from Colin, but he’d have to wait. Taylor tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. As she turned the key in the ignition, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at Hannah’s frightened, tear-stained face.

It’s okay, Taylor said. We’ll find you a safe home.

***

I wake up shivering, but drenched in sweat. I scratch at my arm, sure that something is crawling on me. All I see are needle marks. My leg spasms and I kick at the bed.

Bed? Wait a minute. Where the hell am I?

I glance around, disoriented, and notice the bars. That’s when I realize where I am and what it means. No! The scream shakes me.

A uniformed guard appears on the other side and holds a plastic cup through the bars. In case you’re thirsty, she says.

I get up from the bed and grab the cup from her, gulping the water down. Thanks. Extreme thirst is one of the worst parts of coming down. I pass the cup back through the bars.

Don’t mention it.

Where’s my daughter? I ask. Do you know? Fear grips me. I don’t want to hear the answer.

No clue. She gives a shrug and glances at the clock behind her. You have a court hearing in about five hours. I’m sure you’ll find out then. Might as well try to sleep in the meantime.

Sleep. I’m supposed to sleep? I stumble back to the bed, but sleep isn’t an option.

I bury my face in my hands and let the tears come. I’m so sorry, baby.

Chapter 2

Elisa Cahill relished early mornings at her office, before the phone lines started ringing and people wandered in off the street unannounced, as if a law firm were a twenty-four hour convenience store where they could get legal advice without an appointment, and filing for divorce was as easy as picking up a gallon of milk.

The quiet time allowed Elisa to browse the morning paper and mentally prepare herself for the day over a cup of coffee. She took a sip from her mug and studied the crossword puzzle. An eight letter word for ‘enter illegally.’ Are they serious? She penciled in ‘trespass.’ One of these days maybe the paper would actually print a challenging puzzle. She looked at the next clue. Yoko____. Three letters. Elisa shook her head. So much for challenging.

The phone extension on her desk rang and she reached for it. Cahill Law office.

Collect call from Merrimack County House of Corrections, the automated voice intoned. Press one to accept the charges. If you wish to decline the charges, press two to disconnect the call.

Elisa paused, finger poised over the number two. Did she really want to deal with inmates protesting their innocence? Chances were they couldn’t pay her, anyway. If she was going to rebuild her law practice, she needed to focus on paying clients and stop giving her time away. At least that’s what Sean kept saying.

What if somebody really needed help, though? Maybe they even had money stashed away somewhere. Yeah, and maybe cows will fly by the office window. No harm in taking the call. Elisa pressed the one button. Hello?

I need a lawyer.

Yeah, that’s usually why people in jail call law firms. This is Elisa Cahill. How can I help you?

Thank you so much for taking my call. I’ve heard you’re the best, the woman said.

More likely she was flipping through the phone book and got to the C’s before someone answered, but Elisa could appreciate flattery and politeness. I try. She reached for a pen from the holder on her desk. What’s your name? What are you being charged with?

Devin Lenox. I got a possession charge, and endangerment, I think. They took my kid last night. That’s why I’m calling you. They took my kid and no one will tell me where she is. I have court today and when I asked for a lawyer, they wouldn’t give me one. Last time they gave me a lawyer, but now they say I need to find my own and---

Okay, please slow down. Elisa tried taking notes, but the woman talked too fast. She figured she got the gist of it, though. Drugged-out mom might lose her child, and the state wouldn’t appoint counsel because apparently the budget was more important these days than someone’s constitutional rights. What time is the hearing?

Nine.

Less than an hour. Elisa glanced at the jeans she’d worn in anticipation of an office day spent writing a brief. If she went home to change, she’d never have time to meet with her client before the hearing. The hell with it. She wasn’t one to abuse a personal friendship with the judge, but gambled she wouldn’t be held in contempt for a dress-code violation. You said your child was removed from your home. Do you remember the name of the social worker?

Self-righteous bitch who’s never been a mom, but thinks she can tell everyone else how to raise their kids, Devin said. Taylor something. I don’t know her last name.

Elisa stifled a chuckle. Social workers didn’t tend to win a lot of friends. Taylor Ross?

That sounds right.

Wonderful. Because working with her is always such a joy. Not.

Please say you’ll help me, Devin continued. I can’t go through this again.

I’ll help you. Try to relax. I’ll be there soon. As she disconnected the call, Elisa realized she didn’t even ask how—or more appropriately if—she would be paid for her services. Yeah. Sean would love that.

She located the number in her Rolodex and dialed.

This is Taylor.

Morning, Taylor. It’s attorney Elisa Cahill.

Well, well. I heard you were back in the game. I guess it must be true.

Elisa didn’t like to think of herself as ever being out of the game. More like just taking a little break from it. It’s true. I’m calling about Devin Lenox. She says you removed her child last night. Can you fill me in?

Are you representing her?

Was she? She’d pretty much already told Devin she would. I guess I’m in, now. Yes.

Lucky you. And maybe lucky me, too?

Elisa ignored Taylor’s sarcasm. What’s the scoop? I know she has some criminal charges. I’m about to go meet with her.

She jotted notes on her legal pad as the social worker gave her a quick run-down of what happened the night before. Long-time drug history, police raid, child too young to self-protect. The usual stuff, then. Elisa shook her head at her own cynicism.

Pretty much. Except for one thing.

What’s that?

Devin has a history with us, including a prior termination.

That explained Devin’s comment about going through it again. Come on, Taylor. We haven’t even started yet. Elisa felt herself grow agitated. Whenever a social worker mentioned a previous termination of parental rights before the first court hearing, it was never a good sign. Don’t tell me you’re already thinking about aggravated circumstances without giving her a chance.

Whoah! I didn’t say anything about aggravated circumstances. Don’t put words in my mouth. Taylor’s tone matched her own in agitation. This isn’t our first rodeo together. You know that’s not my style.

Do I? Elisa bit back the sarcastic remark. If they were going to work together again, they’d have to try to keep things civil. You’re the one who brought up the prior TPR two minutes into the conversation.

Because there’s something you might want to know before you jump head-first into this case. Taylor paused. Your client’s parental rights to her first child were terminated five years ago and the child was adopted.

That’s the typical outcome. Elisa couldn’t see how the social worker found this significant.

Yeah. But it’s not so typical that the child was adopted by the woman who’s now our presiding juvenile court judge.

***

My new lawyer stares at me from across a sheet of Plexiglas, probably wondering what she’s getting herself into.

I know I must look pretty scary. I’ve been crying most of the night, my nose is running, and I’m drenched in sweat even though my body feels chilled.

She’s not really what I expected. She’s wearing jeans and a teal green shirt with some sort of embroidery on it, layered over a tank top. She has a headband in her frizzy brown hair and big gold hoops in her ears. This is how lawyers dress for court these days?

Still, I’m not in a position to be choosy. At least she answered the phone.

She wipes the phone handset in the little visitation room with a tissue before picking it up. Devin? I’m Elisa Cahill.

I nod. I’m not sure what to say and there’s only one thing on my mind. How’s my daughter? Where is she?

I talked to Taylor Ross, and she said Hannah’s fine. They found a foster care placement for her, and---

She should be with me.

And that’s what we all want to see happen.

Does she expect me to believe that? The state took my daughter away and now I have a lawyer saying the state wants me to get her back. Which is it? They need to make up their minds. Better yet, they should just get the hell out of my life. I need to see her.

You can’t see her in here.

Then hurry up and get me out. My leg kicks the table, causing it to shake even on the other side of the glass, and she pushes her chair back. For a second, I’m afraid she’s going to leave, walk away from me, like everyone else in my life. Don’t go, please!

For the first time, she smiles. I’m not going anywhere. It takes a lot more than that to get rid of me.

I’m sorry. I didn’t kick the table on purpose. My leg… I reach down to rub it. It gets jumpy sometimes.

She nods. Pretty common symptom of the withdrawal, she says, like she knows what she’s talking about.

You ever tried smack before?

She’s quick to shake her head, those big, gold hoops flopping around. Can’t say that I have, no.

Don’t, I tell her. It’s the worst thing I ever did.

I expect her to ask me why I keep doing it, then, like it’s so easy to stop. I hate when people do that, try to pass judgment, when they’ve never been on this side. Oh, just stop, then, like it’s not some vicious beast with a thousand arms wrapped around you, squeezing harder, that you can’t seem to escape from, no matter how hard you try.

I tried, but it got me again.

I’m going to file a motion requesting a substance abuse assessment, try to get you out on pre-trial services and start treatment…

I don’t even let her finish before I shake my head. Here we go again.

You’re saying you won’t go into treatment? Devin, I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.

You think I don’t want to? I practically scream. I lower my voice before the guards come in to see what the fuss is about. I’ve done this before. I went through treatment, tried to get my life back together. I did good for a while, too, had a job and everything.

So what happened? she asks. Do you want to talk about it?

Do I want to talk about it? Yeah, sure, like she really gives a shit about my fucked-up life, and like it’s so easy to talk about with a total stranger. For a hotshot lawyer, she’s not very smart. No. I want you to do your job and get me my kid back.

Fine. I suggest you listen to me, then, and follow my advice. Her tone has changed. She’s all business now, and I know I offended her. I have that effect on people. I can’t help it sometimes.

I’m aware you have a previous termination of parental rights, she continues. I’m not sure you’re aware of what that means, though, so I’ll spell it out. It means you need to stop whining, stop blaming, and start getting your shit together, because if you don’t, the state can ask the court for a finding of aggravated circumstances and proceed to terminate your parental rights without making reasonable efforts to reunify your child with you. Do you understand what that means?

I know what it means, all right. When I close my eyes, I still see her. Not Hannah, but my other little girl, with her red hair and her innocent hazel eyes. She was only seven months old when I said good-bye, so that’s how I always picture here, even though she’s five now.

Wherever she is.

Devin, are you listening to me?

My eyes snap open. I’m listening. I understand. I’ll do whatever I have to. Please, just don’t let me go through that again.

Chapter 3

All rise!

The directive from the bailiff jolted Taylor from her thoughts, and she stood as Judge Sarah Howton-Canfield entered the courtroom.

Taylor searched her face for any sign that this case might, indeed, be awkward for her to hear, but the judge remained impassive. That made one of them. Taylor chose to blame the less than three hours of sleep she got rather than any residual personal feelings about removing another of Devin Lenox’s children.

Please be seated, the judge said as she took her place at the bench and opened the case file. "This case is captioned In the Interest of Hannah Lenox. The matter comes before the court for twenty-four hour protective custody hearing following the ex parte removal ordered by the court last night. She looked around the courtroom. Taylor Ross is present from the Division for Children, Youth and Families. The child’s mother, Devin Lenox, appears personally and with counsel, Elisa Cahill, who apparently thinks it’s casual Wednesday at the courthouse."

As the judge raised an eyebrow at Elisa’s attire, Taylor stifled a smirk. She didn’t dislike Elisa personally, at least on most days, but she also didn’t mind seeing her take a little ribbing from the judge.

The court has been provided with a sworn affidavit confirming the necessary facts which led to the removal, the judge continued. Ms. Ross, in addition to the facts set out in your affidavit, would you like to be heard on the issue of protective custody?

Yes, Your Honor. Taylor took a breath and studied her notes. She hated protective custody hearings because she always felt as if she were on trial: the evil, baby-stealing bitch who has to defend her actions. We’re requesting protective custody. As you can see, Ms. Lenox is incarcerated at this time on pending criminal charges. We’ve been unable to identify any other relatives who can serve as placement options. The child’s father is believed to be an individual named Luke Simmons, who is currently a guest of the New Hampshire State Prison for Men.

Because he’s a fucking rapist! Devin shouted.

The judge banged her gavel with such force that people jumped. Ms. Lenox, please watch your language in my courtroom, she warned. Ms. Cahill, try to control your client. She nodded in Taylor’s direction. Ms. Ross, you may continue.

Taylor glanced at the information she’d received a few hours before about Hannah’s putative father. Mr. Simmons is serving a seven-year sentence for felonious sexual assault, for which Ms. Lenox was the victim. Taylor looked in Devin’s direction, half expecting another outburst, but she remained quiet, staring at her shackled hands and picking at a hangnail.

Taylor knew Devin had a rough life, but that didn’t excuse turning to drugs as a way to cope. Plenty of people endured lousy childhoods and became productive members of society. Taylor didn’t have a lot of sympathy for the ones that didn’t, especially if they were neglecting their kids. If that way of thinking made her an insensitive bitch, so be it. She’d been called worse. After ruling out any possible relative options, my back-up worker and myself searched for foster homes. We were able to locate a home within the county and Hannah was placed there last night. I talked with the foster family this morning and they reported that things are going well and Hannah is fine. I plan to stop by there after court to check on things.

Thank you. The judge nodded and turned to Elisa. Ms. Cahill, what is your client’s position on the request for protective custody?

Your Honor, obviously Ms. Lenox wants Hannah returned to her care as soon as possible. However, as she is incarcerated at this time, we’re not objecting to temporary protective custody with DCYF for foster care placement. My client does expect to be released fairly soon, so we request a preliminary hearing be set.

A preliminary hearing. And the request was made with a straight face. Are you serious? Taylor asked Elisa. The jail thing isn’t the only problem. There’s also chronic substance abuse. Do you actually expect that can be fixed in seven to ten days?

From the other end of the table, Elisa sent her an icy glare. I’m sorry my client isn’t more accommodating to your wishes, but she’s not giving up her right to a hearing simply because it’s more convenient for you if she does.

Ms. Ross, Ms. Cahill, the judge admonished them from the bench. Address me, not each other.

Elisa nodded. We’d like a preliminary hearing, Your Honor.

"Yeah, I got that. Since I like to follow the Constitution, I’ll schedule the matter for preliminary hearing on the abuse and neglect allegations. The court-appointed special advocate will be assigned as guardian ad litem for the child. Anything further, counsel?"

No, Your Honor.

Ms. Ross?

No, thank you.

Good. We’re adjourned. The judge banged the gavel again. Deputy, you may return Ms. Lenox to the jail. Ms. Ross, Ms. Cahill, I’d like to see you both in chambers, please.

***

Sarah unzipped her robe and hung it on the hook in her chambers before sinking into her chair. Right away, as they often did after a difficult hearing, her eyes gravitated to the family photos that sat on the credenza behind her desk.

Today, one photo in particular stood out; one that was taken in the same courtroom she’d just left, in front of the same bench where she now presided over hearings. She and Kelsey