Just look. Just look at what you've given me.
Twenty
Visitation, Part Three
When she pulled into the driveway after school with Robert the Lincoln was parked outside.
"Go on into the house," she said to him.
He didn't hesitate.
She walked over to the car. Arthur was slumped low in the seat. If he was trying to look inconspicuous sitting there it wasn't working. Not in the big black Lincoln.
He rolled down the window.
"Arthur, what are you doing here?"
"Nothing. Waiting."
"You know you're violating a court order being here."
"I wanted to see him."
"Why? You saw him the other day."
"That was nonsense."
It was a cold, gray damp afternoon. She could feel the heat wafting out of the Lincoln. She wasn't about to stand here talking to him.
"Well, you saw him," she said. "Good-bye. You can leave now."
"Lydia?"
"What."
"When did you get to be such a bitch?"
He was smiling. She didn't think it was funny.
"When I found out who you really were, Arthur." She turned to go.
"Lydia?"
"What?"
The smile was still there. In his hand, poking out of the window and held so low that only she could see it, was the magnum.
"Bang," he said.
"You go to hell, Arthur."
"Bang," he said.
"You go play your damn games somewhere else."
She hoped she didn't look or sound as scared as she felt. Who knew what he would do? After what he'd already done? He was crazy enough, anyway, so that she'd bet the gun was loaded.
She turned and walked quickly toward the door.
She was shaking.
"Bang, bang," she heard behind her.
It was only when she was in the house, peering out through the window to see that the Lincoln was gone, that she realized there was a week's worth of groceries in the trunk. She walked out to get them like a soldier looking for sniper fire and wondered if things would ever be anything like normal again.
Twenty-one
The Hearing: First Day
The room was old and dark as the day was dark outside beyond the three long tiers of windows—and empty but for the lawyers, judge, bailiff, stenographer and Lydia and Arthur. Child welfare cases were closed to the public and press, and she was glad of it. More and more so as the day progressed.
It started badly. After brief opening statements from the attorneys, Judge Burke ruled on a motion by Edward Wood to disallow testimony and evidence regarding Arthur having beat her in November, finding it irrelevant to the matter at hand despite Owen's argument that it went to show potential for violence. So they couldn't use Ralph Duggan or the officer who'd examined her. Or the photos or hospital records.
For their side it was a major disappointment. Wasn't violence an issue here?
Apparently Burke thought it wasn't.
Things got better with Andrea Stone.
Stone's role here was unusual. She was both attorney representing Robert's interests in the case and available for questioning, as investigator of the case, from either party.
She told Owen Sansom how she'd spoken with Lydia Danse at length, with Hessler and Bromberg, and visited Robert alone at home on three occasions. That she found him seemingly quite content there, and hesitant but open to speaking to her in what she called guarded terms about what had happened. Until she asked him who'd done it.
He still wouldn't talk about that. Or about his father.
"Which leads you to conclude what, Miss Stone?" asked Sansom.
"Objection."
"Miss Stone is in the business of conclusions, Your Honor. Mr. Wood's aware of that."
"Overruled. The witness may answer."
"Which leads me to believe that his abuser and his father are one and the same."
"Is he willing to talk about any other man? His grandfather, for instance? Or me?"
"Yes."
"It's just his father he doesn't want to speak of."
"Yes."
Over Wood's repeated objections Sansom led her through the incident at the office.
"And do you remember his exact words when he lost his temper?"
"He asked if he could see Robert alone and I said no, that he was legally barred from doing that. Then he said, shouted really, `Not for five fucking minutes?'"
"In front of Robert?"
''Yes.''
"And did you see a reaction to that from Robert?"
"He flinched."
"Flinched?"
"Actually moved. As though somebody were about to strike him."
"And what did you make of that?"
"That the word upset him. The word 'fuck.'"
"And did Mr. Danse use that word in your presence again that day?"
"Objection. Irrelevant."
"I'll allow it."
"Yes. Outside my office. He called me a 'fucking tightassed bitch.'"
"His exact words?"
"Yes."
Sansom paused, went back to their table, and sorted through some papers. He found the ones he wanted and walked back to Andrea Stone and handed them to her.
"Miss Stone, is this your report, your recommendation to this court? Is this your signature?"
"Yes."
"Could you give us the gist of it?"
"I'm recommending that exclusive custody be given to the mother, Lydia Danse. And I'm recommending termination of all visitation rights for Arthur Danse, the father."
"On what basis?"
"I believe Arthur Danse sexually molested his son. I believe he's been doing so for quite some time now."
"Thank you, Miss Stone. Exhibit A for us, Your Honor. And no further questions for this witness."
"Mr. Wood?"
Wood got up slowly and approached her. He was smiling as though they were old close friends and for a moment Lydia could actually believe they were—even though she knew better. He was that good. He consulted his notes.
"Miss Stone, your testimony is that you asked Robert if there was someone doing things to him that he didn't want done, and he said, 'Maybe.' Is that right?"
"Yes."
"And you asked if someone was touching his private parts and he said 'Maybe' again. True?"
"Yes."
"But he didn't say yes or no exactly to either question, did he?"
"I felt he was avoiding a direct answer, that he was in effect trying to tell me without telling me."
"How do you know he wasn't just playing with the notion of telling you?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's been known to happen that a child, angry with one parent or another, or for that matter, angry with any adult, will use an accusation of this kind—often a thoroughly false accusation—against them. How do you know Robert wasn't just experimenting with the possibility of doing that? And then decided not to?"
"I've been at this profession quite a while, Mr. Wood. I knew. He was saying that someone had molested him."
"You say you spoke to Lydia Danse at length and she told you all about the night she made her ... observations regarding Robert. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"And did you also speak with Arthur Danse?"
"Only that one time at my office."
"Why only then?"
"He declined to see me. On your advice, I gather."
"So you never did hear his side of this. Meaning you'll be hearing it here for the first time, am I right?"
"I suppose that's true. Yes."
"Yet you've already made your recommendation to the court. Interesting—let me ask you something. You say that Robert was willing to answer your questions about other men, but not about his father, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And you asked him specifically about other men?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want
ed to exclude the possibility that he didn't want to talk about men, period. About men in general. In an abuse case, when the abuser is of one sex or the other, that's always a possibility."
"Which men did you ask him about, specifically?"
"His grandfather, Harry Danse. Ed, Cindy Fortunato's ex-husband. Dr. Bromberg. Owen Sansom."
"Did you ask about their next-door neighbor? I believe the name is Collins?"
"I may have. I don't really remember. I asked Mrs. Danse to suggest a few men he'd be likely to know. I don't recall all of them."
"You asked Mrs. Danse to suggest them?"
"Yes."
"So she orchestrated this, ah, list of suspects?"
"Objection!"
"Mr. Wood, please rephrase your question."
"There were a lot of men you didn't ask Robert about, weren't there? Men who weren't on this list that Mrs. Danse gave you? A lot of men in the neighborhood perhaps? Male teachers at school? Isn't that true?"
"I suppose so."
"So how do you know he wouldn't have wanted to talk about one of those men, either? How do you know it's just his father he doesn't want to talk about?"
"I wasn't going after his abuser here, Mr. Wood, if that's what you mean. I wasn't looking for suspects. I was only eliminating a possibility. I thought it was a fair sampling."
"You weren't going after his abuser, as you say, because you were already convinced that his abuser was Arthur Danse, am I correct?"
"Basically, yes. From the evidence it seemed quite clear to me."
"This is an investigation?"
"Objection."
"Sustained. Move on, Mr. Wood."
Wood consulted his notes again.
He walked back to their table and stood directly behind Arthur Danse.
"My client called you ... what was it? A tight-assed …?"
"Fucking tight-assed bitch, Mr. Wood."
Her voice had gone hard now.
He smiled. "Didn't endear him to you very much, did it?"
"No. It didn't."
"In fact you don't like my client, do you, Miss Stone?"
"My likes or dislikes have no relevance here whatsoever, Mr. Wood. As you know very well."
"No more questions, Your Honor."
She thought that Cindy did wonderfully. Wood wasn't able to shake her for a moment and hardly even tried. She was there for the most part as a character witness—as was Olive Youngjohn, Robert's teacher—but also to establish Lydia's conduct the night of the incident. Dressed in a tailored blue suit, her long blond hair pulled back in a tight knot, carefully and sparingly made up, she radiated calm and respectability. It was as though she did this every day. Lydia was proud of her.
"Mrs. Danse was obviously angry when she came to the house that night, wasn't she, Mrs. Fortunato?" Wood asked her.
"She was angry, yes, and I'd say she was deeply shaken."
"Would you say that her anger was under control?"
"Objection. Calls for an opinion," said Sansom.
"I'll allow it."
"Yes. Under the circumstances."
"But you weren't aware of the circumstances at that time, were you?"
"No, I wasn't."
"Were you aware where she was going when she left your house that night?"
"She said she had to talk to Arthur, right away."
"But she didn't tell you why."
"I didn't ask."
"You're best friends and you didn't ask?" He looked incredulous.
Cindy smiled. "Best friends know when not to ask, Mr. Wood—that's why they stay that way. But you already know that, I'm sure."
Mrs. Youngjohn was a little rockier. She looked the part perfectly—middle-aged, somewhat plump, glasses, sensible cotton print dress belted at the waist—and spoke with assurance and determination as she told them about Lydia's habit of keeping in very close touch with her and Robert's other teachers about his problems. It was those problems, however, that Wood finally managed to use against her.
"You say he stutters?"
"Yes. Has trouble getting the words out."
"And he's receiving therapy for this?"
"Yes. We have a speech therapist working with him right at school."
"And you're aware that he's seeing Dr. Bromberg, a psychotherapist."
"Yes."
"And he's shy?"
"Yes."
"But his work is good."
"Yes."
"Do other kids like him, Mrs. Youngjohn?"
"Oh, Robert's a very nice boy."
"I'm sure he is—but that's not what I asked. As a teacher of what, twenty-two years is it? I'm sure you're aware how cruel kids can be. I mean, he stutters, he's shy, he goes to a therapist for one thing and a second therapist for another. He's different. He's an outsider. Isn't that the case here?"
"Robert has friends."
"But he does get teased, doesn't he?"
"Well, yes, he does get teased."
"And do they tease him about wearing a diaper too?" Sansom was on his feet. "Objection! Irrelevant. Council is going nowhere with this."
"If you'll give me a moment, Your Honor, I'll show where this is going."
"I'll allow it—for the moment. Witness may answer."
"I ... I honestly wasn't aware that he did wear a diaper, Mr. Wood."
"He wears one every night to bed, Mrs. Youngjohn. I'm surprised you didn't know. Since you and Mrs. Danse are working so closely together on all of Robert's problems."
"Objection. Now he's making a speech!"
"Sustained."
"Can you think of any reason Mrs. Danse wouldn't tell you about Robert wearing a diaper?"
"Not really, no. Unless she thought it would embarrass him somehow."
"And would you consider this important for you to know? Despite the potential for embarrassment? To understand his problems?"
"I ... maybe. I don't know."
Lydia saw a prissiness in the woman that she'd never seen before. On some level, she was offended that Lydia hadn't confided in her. His next question made it clear that Wood hadn't missed it either.
"So how do you feel about Mrs. Danse concealing it from you? Personally, I mean. Your feelings concerning Mrs. Danse's reliability, her cooperativeness. Does this change things in any way?"
Youngjohn saw where he was going on this and recovered, thank god. But Lydia was afraid the damage was done already. A character witness was supposed to come down firmly on the side of character.
"I have no feelings about it at all," she said. "I'd have to talk with Mrs. Danse. I'm just surprised to hear it, that's all."
"I'm sure. So to make a judgment on it, though, you'd have to talk with her further?"
"Yes."
"So it's an open question for you. How you feel personally about her concealing this from you, I mean."
"Yes."
Wood paused for a moment and walked back to his table.
"One final matter, Mrs. Youngjohn. Did Robert ever appear in school with cuts, bruises, scrapes? That kind of thing?"
"Occasionally."
"Would you say he's clumsy?"
She smiled. "I'm afraid he is ... a little."
"You know this firsthand?"
"I've seen him fall a few times, outside playing." She smiled. "I've seen him fall over his own two feet."
"A few times?"
"Yes."
"Would that account for all these cuts and bruises?"
"No, not really. Most of them I think happened playing outside of school."
"Did you and Mrs. Danse talk about his clumsiness?"
"Yes."
"Did she tell you how he got this or that bruise, this or that scrape?"
"Yes. Sometimes."
"But not always."
"No. Of course not. Not always."
"And you felt she was telling you the truth?"
"Yes."
"You didn't think she might be concealing anything on this subject either, did you?"
"Objection, Your Honor!"
"Overruled. Witness may answer the question."
"No. I didn't."
"Nothing further for this witness."
"Redirect, Your Honor," said Sansom. He walked over to her, looking like a man who wanted to get this over and done with in a hurry.
"Mrs. Youngjohn, do you have any reason to believe that Mrs. Danse ever lied to you about Robert?"
"No."
"Or about how he hurt himself on any given occasion?"
"No."
"And wouldn't you say that Robert's clumsiness at home or wherever was completely consistent with what you saw of Robert at school?"
"Absolutely."
She was firm on that much, anyway.
Hessler, the proctologist, came off like someone's kindly grandfather. For all she knew he was. Dressed in a neat gray suit and conservative blue tie, he spoke with quiet authority. Wood could do almost nothing with him on cross-examination.
"You say this is consistent with anal rape, Dr. Hessler," he said. "Yet you found no semen. So couldn't it have been something else then? Some other form of penetration? An object other than a penis? The boy's own finger, perhaps?"
"Very unlikely. I've indicated the degree of dilation. The boy couldn't do that with his own finger. I doubt that an adult's finger alone could do it—and even if it could, that's still abuse, isn't it? Or if it were done with any other object you care to mention."
"So you rule out self-infliction."
"Yes. Particularly since it was clear the muscle and the surrounding tissue had been damaged repeatedly, and over time. As I said, there was scarring. One could imagine the boy doing this to himself once for some reason, perhaps, with some foreign object. Unlikely but not impossible. Children, I suppose, will experiment sometimes in very odd ways. But not repeatedly and not over time. This caused pain, Mr. Wood. I would say a great deal of pain. So unless you conclude that the boy's a masochist ..."
"I see," said Wood. "No further questions."
Andrea Stone stood up, eager to eliminate even that possibility from the judge's thinking.