It was the stuff of nightmares, starting with the slow walk down the courtroom aisle: as if his stall tactics had the power to stop the inevitable. Seven hours of testimony, but it wasnât the length of time that was horrific. When practicing the piano, Gabe had done marathon sessions twice as long as that. But he had always used his music to zone out, and that was impossible to do when being grilled on the witness stand. It had required concentrating on things he was trying so hard to forget: how that day had started out so normal and within minutes had turned into something almost deadly.
By four in the afternoon, the trial had finally recessed and the prosecution was essentially done, although Gabe knew the lawyers would have more questions on redirect. He walked out of the courtroom with his foster mother, Rina Decker, on one side and his foster dad, the lieutenant, on the other. They guided him into a waiting car. Sergeant Marge Dunn was behind the wheel.
She maneuvered the silent group through the streets of the San Fernando Valleyâa suburb of L.A.âuntil they reached the driveway of the Decker house. Once inside, Gabe collapsed on the living room couch, took off his glasses, and closed his eyes.
Rina took off her tam, liberating a sheet of black, shoulder-length hair, and regarded the boy. He was nearly baldâcourtesy of an indie film he had starred inâand his complexion was pale and pasty. Little red bumps covered his forehead.
She said, âIâm going to change and get dinner ready.â At the sound of her voice, Gabe opened his eyes. âYou must be starving.â
âActually I feel queasy.â He rubbed his green orbs and put his specs back on. âOnce I start eating, Iâm sure Iâll be okay.â
Decker and Marge came in a moment later, chatting about business. The lieutenant loosened his tie, and then took a seat next to the boy. The poor kid was constantly jockeying back and forth between the teen and adult worlds. For the last year, his foster son had been at Juilliard, finishing almost two years in one. Decker threw his arm around the kidâs shoulder and kissed the top of his peach fuzz head. Gabe wasnât totally bald, but what was growing in was blondish.
Gabe asked, âHowâd I do?â
âPhenomenal,â Decker said. âI wish every witness I had was half as good as you.â
Marge sat opposite the boys. âYou were a dream for the prosecution: completely credible, plainspoken, and damn cute.â When Gabe smiled, she said, âPlus being a movie star doesnât hurt.â
âOh jeez. It was barely above a student film on a shoestring budget. Itâll never go anywhere.â
Decker smiled. âYou never know.â
âBelieve me, I know. Did I ever tell you about my breakdown scene? Iâm running down this long hallway of the sanitarium buck naked with my hair flying in back as attendants in white coats try to catch me. When they catch me, they start to shave my head and Iâm screaming, âNot my hair, not my hair.â I havenât seen the movie, so Iâll have to take the directorâs word that it was a great scene.â
âYou havenât watched your own movie?â Marge asked.
âNo. Too embarrassed. Not at me being naked, but Iâm pretty sure Iâm a dreadful actor.â
Marge smiled, stood up, and picked a piece of pilled wool off of her beige sweater. âWell, gentlemen, Iâve got to go back to the station house. I left a pile of paperwork on my desk.â
âNot to mention everything that I dropped in your lap,â Decker said. âThanks for picking up the slack.â
Rina walked in. She had donned a long-sleeved black T-shirt, a jean skirt, and slippers. âYouâre not staying for dinner, Marge?â
âCanât. Too much work to do.â
Decker looked at his watch. âIâll come join you in about an hour if youâre still around. Iâll bring you a care package from tonightâs dinner.â
âIn that case, Iâll make sure Iâm around.â Marge waved and left.
Decker said to his wife, âYou need any help?â
âIâm fine. Itâs been a long day and a little quiet is okay with me.â She disappeared into the kitchen.