Chapter 1.2
The judge nodded thoughtfully at the “death sentence” comment, and Thomas grimaced. It was a good argument, one he expected Wyndam-Smyth to bring out, but he could punch a sizeable hole in it.
“Your Honor.” Thomas kept his composure, though he gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “We disagree with that point.”
Evelyn put down her pen and reached into Thomas’s briefcase, bringing out a sheet of paper printed with times and dates. She slid it in front of him.
“Ms. Wyndam-Smyth is not well-versed in the nature of ghouls. If I may?”
The judge looked at his watch and gestured for Thomas to continue.
“Zombies fancy live flesh, fresh kills. Ghouls eat dead flesh, preferring that which has already decayed. And the longer dead, the better. Ghouls buy corpses to eat from supply houses. Much like we’d visit the butcher counter at the market.” Thomas knew, however, that not all ghouls used those “civilized” channels for their “groceries.” “Mr. Holder is clearly a ghoul, contracting the fever that led to his condition while vacationing with his then-wife Marilee in the United Arab Emirates early last spring. As the children are very much alive, they are in no danger of being eaten by their father.”
“Fine. We concede that ghouls eat dead flesh,” Wyndam-Smyth said. “But eating dead flesh is also an abhorrent practice the children should not be exposed to.”
“Really?” Score again. Thomas referred to the sheet of paper. “On May twelfth at five p.m. and May fourteenth at six p.m. Marilee Cobb took her children to McDonald’s for cheeseburger Happy Meals. On May fifteenth, they ventured to Arby’s for roast beef, the sixteenth to Burger King for Whopper Juniors, the seventeenth for pork tenderloins at Culver’s, the eighteenth back to McDonalds, the nineteenth for chicken tenders at the Colonel’s, and on May twenty-second, after apparently eating dinner at home for two days, she broke with the nutritionally-questionable fast food routine and took them—much to their dismay, my private investigator points out—to Warakubune Sushi on Church Street.”
“Your Honor!” Wyndam-Smyth crossed her arms. “This has nothing to do with—”
“Dead flesh, Your Honor. McDonald’s, Arby’s, Burger King, Culver’s, the Colonel’s, even Warakubune … though that wasn’t cooked. Dead flesh, all of it. Marilee Cobb fed her children a variety of dead flesh. You can’t object to my client’s dietary preference when—”
“Seriously?” Wyndam-Smyth had lost her professional cool. “There is no comparison. You’re mincing words, Mr. Brock, arguing semantics. Above all, the children are better off with their mother. Children need their mother.”
Holder’s upper lip curled menacingly for the briefest of moments.
The judge rested his jowls in his hands.
Wyndam-Smyth bent to whisper something in her client’s ear, and Thomas took advantage of the lull.
“Your Honor, I’d like to quote from California family law, if I may.”
“Please do,” the judge said drolly. “I always enjoy refresher courses.”
“California courts do not base right to custody on whether the parents were married, whether one or the other has a physical disability, different lifestyle, religious belief, or sexual orientation.” Thomas paused. “Mr. Holder fits into the different lifestyle category, perhaps, because he does not require oxygen or sleep. California Family Code Section 3040 states that ‘Custody should be granted in the following order of preference according to the best interest of the child as provided in Sections 3011 and 3020: to both parents jointly pursuant to Chapter Four—’”
Evelyn nudged him with her foot, shutting him up.
Thomas glanced at the judge, who seemed irritated at the legal lesson. “In any event, Your Honor, we recognize that the court considers, among other factors, which parent is more likely to allow the child frequent and continuing contact with the other parent. That is consistent with Sections 3011 and 3020. Marilee Cobb has been preventing the children from seeing their father … despite his repeated and polite attempts.”
“For obvious reasons,” Wyndam-Smith muttered. “Their father is dead.”
“Further, Your Honor, the court in July approved Marilee Cobb’s request for child support, and assessed my client a monthly payment schedule of eighty-two thousand dollars, which she and her attorney argued for. California law specifically links custody and child support. The amount of time a parent spends with the children can be contingent upon the amount of child support paid. My client is paying child support, has not objected to the substantial amount the court decided upon, but—since his death eight months ago—has not seen the children.”
The judge glanced at Wyndam-Smyth and shuffled some papers on his desk as though he was searching for something. “Ms. Cobb, you were granted child support?”
“Of course I was granted child support.” Thomas thought his client’s widow had an annoying high-pitched voice. “Why shouldn’t I get child support? I deserve—my children—deserve child support. The son of a bitch makes more dead than when he was alive, and that son of a bitch—”
“That’s enough,” Vaughan growled. “Just answer the question.”
“I really loved her,” Holder croaked so soft only Thomas could hear. There was real pain in the ghoul’s voice. “I loved her, and she calls me an S.O.B.”
Marilee Cobb put on a self-righteous expression. “Yes, I get child support, judge. That son—”
Wyndam-Smyth put a hand on her client’s shoulder. “Your Honor, my client does not hold a job. She is a stay-at-home mother, devoting her full time to the raising of Gabrielle and Caleb. Child support allows Marilee to enroll the children in costly extracurricular activities such as gymnastics, orchestra, karate, pay for their continued upkeep, and—”
“Not part of the custody paperwork, Your Honor, is the legal will of Mr. Holder. The eight-point-four million dollar home in which Marilee Cobb and the children live in the gated community—”
“—has nothing to do with the matter at hand,” Wyndam-Smyth said.
“I’ll decide that,” the judge said. “Let’s be civil about this, shall we? One at a time, and when I direct you. No more interrupting. Mr. Brock, about this will—”
Thomas handed a copy of the will to the bailiff, who handed it to the judge. “The home in the Presidio Terrace was purchased when Mr. Holder played quarterback for the San Francisco Forty Niners.” He’d intended to fit the professional football stint in there somewhere because of the judge’s background. “That home, as well as the cars and all of the couple’s investments, residual income from endorsements, went to Marilee Cobb and the children at the time of Mr. Holder’s death. She received half of the estate, the other half divided equally between Gabrielle and Caleb in trusts. Mr. Holder’s death legally dissolved the marriage … ’til death do us part … and therefore there was no divorce. I can assure you there is plenty of money in the estate to cover the expenses Ms. Cobb sought child support for.”
The judge pored over the papers with increasing interest.
Thomas waited until he had the judge’s attention again, then dramatically hefted a file folder Evelyn handed him. “I have copies of the financials if you want to peruse them. And I note again that Mr. Holder is not challenging his widow on the claim for child support. In fact, since he is gainfully employed—on Dead and Loving It, one of the top-rated reality shows currently in syndication—he is therefore able to assist with the child rearing costs.”
Thomas had wanted to mention Dead and Loving It. The show followed three undead—Mr. Holder, a vampire, and a revenant, each trying to find love and acceptance in society after their existence had so dramatically changed. He had learned the judge was a fan of reality TV, and so figured Vaughan at the very least had heard of the program.
The bailiff accepted the new file and passed it over to the judge.
“Mr. Holder has made every scheduled child support payment. He is merely challenging her on the custody matter. Since a California court has deemed that he must pay child support, this court must recognize his legal right to seek joint custody.”
There, that was the crux of Thomas’s case. He could have brought it up right away, the very first argument out of his mouth, but he’d known Wyndam-Smyth would point out just how dead his client was, and the eating flesh issue.
The judge looked from Thomas to Wyndam-Smyth, narrowing his gaze when each started to speak again, the glare silencing them.
Holder belched, a visible cloud of dust issuing from his mouth.
Thomas winced and felt his eyes watering from the added stench.
“I want to look over these papers again, Ms. Wyndam-Smyth, Mr. Brock, and consider what you have presented today,” Vaughan said. “And I want to set up an appointment to talk to the children … without either parent in the room. Counsels can be in attendance.”
“I have more material to present, Your Honor.” Thomas had observations from his private investigator about Marilee Cobb’s inappropriate party lifestyle, the men she’d been running with, a misdemeanor drug charge that had conveniently been left out of the newspapers, and conversely, documents showing his own client’s economic stability and mental health.
“It is late in the afternoon, so we will call this done for the day.” Vaughan peered over his desk. “I strongly suggest counsels meet again tomorrow or over the weekend and try to come up with a settlement.”
“Settlement?” Marilee Cobb shook her head. “Not happening. That walking corpse ain’t seeing the kids. It ain’t about money, like that op-ed piece in the Times said. I ain’t no fucking gold digger, like those undead rights activists claim. That ain’t true. I ain’t taking advantage of my ex-husband’s transformation into an undead thing to take the whole estate. It’s about what’s right and proper. And it ain’t right and it ain’t proper to be hanging around with dead people.”
Thomas was inwardly pleased at her defiance and her overt show of prejudice. This case was a real chance for him to set some sort of precedence, to establish legal rights for undead such as Holder. At the same time, it was an opportunity to draw publicity to his tiny practice, and to attract more business. It was all win-win for him. On top of all of that, he was confident the child support issue was that proverbial slam-dunk that would lead to the joint-custody his client so desperately wanted. But he felt bad for Holder, to watch his ex-wife vent hatred and prejudice. Holder hadn’t asked to become a ghoul, or to lose his children.
Marilee Cobb brushed off Wyndam-Smyth’s hand. “That thing ain’t getting close to them, I tell you.”
“Very well, we’ll keep this going for another session,” Vaughan pronounced. His dismal tone belayed his words. “I eagerly look forward to hearing more evidence. You both make compelling cases; and the fact that Ms. Cobb was granted child support adds a definite wrinkle in Mr. Holder’s favor.”
Slam-dunk indeed, Thomas thought. He doubted Wyndam-Smyth had known about the child support payments. Too, Wyndam-Smyth clearly hadn’t done her research. A primed attorney wouldn’t have left herself open for the eating dead flesh issue, which let him show the poor fast food nutritional choices of Marilee Cobb. Thomas knew he would have prepared better had he been in her shoes. And he well knew it could have been him sitting on that side of the courtroom … if he’d joined his father’s firm out of college and not struck out on his own. That notion of being in the stable of Brock, Davis & Davis left a worse taste in his mouth than his client’s rotting odor.
The judge consulted the calendar on his desk. “Ms. Wyndam-Smyth, Mr. Brock, determining the fate of children is serious business, and custody involves careful thought and consideration of the law. I would like to continue this tomorrow while everything is fresh, but there are some matters I cannot reschedule. So next week, then. Monday morning looks moveable. We can resume this at ten a.m. Monday.” Vaughan cast the briefest of glances Holder’s way.
“All rise,” the bailiff said.
The judge stood. He had no gavel on his desk to signal an end.
Thomas gathered his papers and handed them to Evelyn to put in order and return to his briefcase. He held his breath as Holder burped another noxious cloud of corpse-gas and watched Evelyn turn white from the stink, her dusting of freckles standing out like pinpricks on her pale face.
The ghoul extended his hand and Thomas carefully shook it, half-afraid he might break one of Holder’s finger bones. The dead man’s flesh was dry and felt like leather, the grip surprisingly firm.
“Monday,” Thomas told Holder. “We’ll finish this up, win it Monday. You’ll get to see the kids.”
The ghoul grinned, revealing well cared for teeth that gleamed iridescent white against his gray features. “Monday,” Holder croaked. “Thank you, Thomas. Thank you ever-so-much.”