He was the kind of attorney people describe as dry because they confuse “not theatrical” with “boring.” I liked him instantly the first time we met because he never once used a comforting lie where a hard truth would do better.
When I called his office, his secretary said he could see me the next morning at nine.
I was there at eight-forty.
His office smelled like paper, old wood, and lemon polish. He listened without interrupting while I laid the clinic folder on his desk and told him exactly what Ruby had said, exactly how she had looked, exactly what the doctor found.
When I finished, he put on his reading glasses, studied the tox screen, and exhaled through his nose.
“That,” he said, “is extraordinarily bad.”
“I’m aware.”
“Who else knows?”
“Doctor. Me. Nobody else.”
He tapped the papers into alignment, thinking.
“You were right not to call your son first.”
“I haven’t been sure whether that makes me smart or cruel.”
“Smart,” he said. “Cruel would be leaving the child there.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.
“The problem,” he said, “is that fathers in Daniel’s position often need a sequence they can survive. If you tell him his wife is drugging his daughter and sleeping with someone else, and you have only half the evidence for either, his mind will attack the uncertainty because uncertainty hurts less than certainty.”
I stared at him.
“I didn’t mention an affair.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “People don’t usually sedate healthy children for no reason.”
I felt something in my jaw jump.
He nodded toward the folder. “Medication records, doctor testimony, timeline, custody planning. And if there is another man, we prove that too. Quietly.”
From a drawer, he took out a business card and slid it across the desk.
Ray Dobbins Investigations.
“He’s discreet,” James said. “And unlike most private investigators, he knows when to stop talking.”
“Good.”
“One more thing,” James added. “Get Ruby out of that house as soon as possible. Not next week. Not after a family discussion. Today if you can.”
By eleven-thirty, I got my chance.
Daniel called while I was sitting at my kitchen table pretending I had the appetite for a ham sandwich.
“Hey, Dad,” he said. “Vanessa says Ruby can stay with you a few days if you want. She thinks it’ll cheer you both up.”
Cheer us both up.
I gripped the phone hard enough my knuckles whitened.
“That would be great,” I said evenly.