Magic Hour

John started to stand up. Julia stopped him with a touch. No one could plead for Alice better than she could. She looked up at the judge, said, “In any other instance, Your Honor, I would have withdrawn if a family member had come forward. But I’ve read the records in this case and I’m deeply concerned for the child’s safety. The mother’s body has never been found and there’s no finding of not guilty on the record. Mr. Azelle claims to be innocent, but in my experience most guilty people do. I just want what’s best for this poor child who has already suffered so much. As you can see from

my report, she’s an extremely traumatized child. Until recently, she was completely mute. I’m making progress with her because she trusts me. To remove her from my care would cause her irreparable harm.”

“Come on, Your Honor,” Azelle’s attorney said. “She’s a psychiatrist. My client can afford to replace her. The truth is, my client has already suffered a tremendous loss of time with his daughter. Justice demands that he be given immediate custody.”

The judge put her glasses back on and looked at them all. “I’m going to take this under advisement. I’ll appoint a guardian ad litem to assess the child’s special needs and current condition and let you know when I’ve reached a decision. Until then, the child will remain with Dr. Cates. Mr. Azelle is to be granted supervised visitation.”

The attorney shot to his feet. “But, Your Honor—”

“That’s my ruling, counselor. We’re going to proceed with the utmost care here. This child has already suffered enough. And I’m sure your client only wants what’s best for his daughter.” She hit the bench with her gavel. “Next case.”

It took Julia a moment to process what had just happened. She still had custody of Alice—for now, at least.

She heard John talking to Ellie about the logistics of visitation.

Julia knew all that. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been appointed guardian ad litem to protect a child’s interests.

She eased away from the desk and started to leave the courtroom. In the back, by the doors, she saw Max waiting for her.

Then someone grabbed her arm. The grip was a little too tight.

George Azelle pulled her aside. His Hollywood smile was gone, watered down now by failure. In his eyes was a sadness she hadn’t expected. “I need to see her.”

She had no choice but to agree. “Tomorrow. But I won’t tell her who you are. She wouldn’t understand, anyway. We’re at 1617 River Road. Be there at one.” She pulled free of his arm and began to walk away.

He grabbed her again.

She looked down at his long, tanned fingers, wrapped possessively around her bicep. He was a man used to taking what he wanted; he didn’t care much about crossing personal space boundaries, either. “Release me, Mr. Azelle.”

He complied instantly.

She expected him to back away—cowards who were called out usually did, and men who beat their wives were always cowards and bullies—but he didn’t. He stood there, towering over her and yet cowed somehow, bent.

“How is she?” he asked finally.

She would have sworn there was a fissure in his voice, that the words hurt him to say. Murderers and sociopaths were often great actors, she reminded herself. “It’s about time you asked that.”

“You think you know me, Dr. Cates. The whole world does.” He backed away, sighing, shoving a hand through his hair and pulling his ponytail free. “Christ, I’m tired of fighting a war I can’t win. So just tell me: how’s my daughter? What the hell does developmentally delayed mean?”

“She’s been through hell, but she’s coming through. She’s a tough, loving little girl who needs a lot of therapy and stability.”

“And you think I’m unstable?”

“As you’ve pointed out, I don’t know you.” She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a stack of videocasette tapes, which she handed to him. “I made these for you. They’re tapes of our sessions. They will answer some of your questions.”

He took them cautiously, as if he were afraid the black plastic would burn him. “Where has she been?” he finally asked. This time his voice was velvety soft; she was reminded of his Louisiana roots. According to the trial transcripts, he’d been raised dirt poor in the bayou.

“We don’t know. Somewhere in the woods, we think.” Julia wouldn’t let herself be fooled by the concern in his voice. He was playing her; she was sure of it. He wanted her to think he was a victim in this, too. “But I suspect you know that.”

Ellie came up beside Julia, touched her arm. “Everything okay?”

“Mr. Azelle was finally asking about Alice.”

“Call me George. And her Brittany.”

Julia flinched at the reminder. “She’s been Alice to us for a long time.”

“About that . . .” He looked at both of them. “I want to thank you both for taking such good care of her. You literally saved her life.”