Saving Meghan(100)

Attorney Leers stood beside Becky as she faced the judge, and even helped her raise the microphone up to her level. Carl was one of the few people watching the proceedings. They had exchanged glances, but no words. A prim court clerk, seated at a desk below the judge’s bench, read the charges aloud: parental kidnapping, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy.

“How do you plead?” the clerk asked Becky.

“Not guilty,” Becky said after a whispered conference with Ms. Leers. That’s all there was to it.

“Is there a question of bail?” the judge asked.

“There is, Your Honor.”

Andrea Leers had warned Becky that the assistant district attorney would be tough on her.

“Proceed,” the judge said.

“Your Honor, these are very serious charges against Mrs. Gerard. In addition to the kidnapping and obstruction charges, Mrs. Gerard has lost custody of her daughter, Meghan Gerard, to DCF for reasons of medical child abuse.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Leers said into the microphone. “That case is under investigation and there’s been no formal ruling, so the conduct the ADA is referring to is alleged only.”

“Counselor, I’m listening to everything, and I’m going to make my evaluation based on the entirety of the matter.”

The ADA continued her argument. “Thank you, Your Honor. In addition to the DCF investigation, Becky Gerard is a person of interest in the death inquiry of Dr. Peter Levine, who was Meghan Gerard’s staff psychiatrist at White Memorial Hospital. Detectives Richard Spence and Howard Capshaw of the Boston Police Bureau of Investigative Services Homicide Unit, who were both instrumental in apprehending Mrs. Gerard, are heading up that investigation. For these reasons, the state is recommending that bail be set at two hundred thousand dollars.”

Becky had to stifle a gasp. Where was she going to get that kind of money?

Ms. Leers quickly countered. “Your Honor, my client has no criminal record and, as I’ve said, there’s been no court verdict in regards to the accusations of medical child abuse or any death investigation. Becky Gerard is an upstanding citizen who until recently has had no troubles with the law. And, if anything, she’s shown a very strong desire to be close to her daughter, which makes her not at risk for flight. Bail should be set solely on flight risk, risk of committing other offenses, or interfering with a witness—none of which apply to my client.”

“Bail will be set at fifty thousand dollars,” the judge said. “With the conditions that Mrs. Gerard not set foot inside White Memorial or have any contact with her daughter.”

Becky’s heart sank at the thought. The judge set the trial date for January—after the custody hearing, which Becky suspected she was now destined to lose because of the charges against her. All Becky wanted was to see Meghan, but first she had to figure out how to make bail. At least that worry proved short-lived: Carl paid the full amount.

When Carl and Becky emerged from the courthouse together, there was a crush of reporters waiting to pounce. Carl was acting as her protector again, reminding Becky of that day at White when they’d first learned Meghan had been taken into DCF custody.

He shielded her from the onslaught of news people, microphones, and cameras, which were snapping so many pictures, it sounded like cicadas in mating season. Carl held the car door open, and Becky slid by her husband to climb into the passenger seat of his Mercedes parked curbside. He went around the front of the vehicle to get into the driver’s seat, pushed a button to start the engine, checked the rearview mirror, and pulled away with a squeal of tires while Becky stared numbly out the window. As they sped away, Carl put on his sunglasses to battle the midday glare. News vans tried to follow them, but Carl was an aggressive driver when pushed, and easily put distance between them and the reporters hunting for a scoop.

“Thanks again for bailing me out,” Becky said as Carl maneuvered his way through the heavy stop-and-go traffic.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said. “Where am I taking you?”

“Let’s try the Copley Plaza Hotel.”

“You know, at five hundred dollars a day, that’s not a long-term solution,” Carl said.

“I understand that, but I needed—I need—the space. Just take me there, will you?”

“As you wish,” Carl said.

“How’s Meghan?” Becky asked.

“She’s … she’s struggling.”

“Where is Meghan?” she asked.

“Becky, let’s not—”

“Where is she, Carl?”

“She back in the Behavioral Health Unit at White,” he said.

“Fuck!” Becky screamed, smacking her hand on the car dashboard with a thunderous pop. “Fuck! Fuck him! He promised! He promised!”

“It wasn’t Zach’s fault,” Carl said.

“The hell it wasn’t.” Becky’s eyes were ablaze.

“He tried to help … well, help you, anyway,” Carl said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Zach resigned from White.”

“He did what?”

“You heard me. Zach quit. Yesterday, in fact.”

“How do you know?”

“Amanda … Dr. Nash told me.”