"No."
"Were you aware that in denying him visitation you might be breaking a law?"
"Excuse me?"
"Were you aware that by denying your husband the right to see his son without a hearing on the matter or at the very least, a report to the DCYS, that you were breaking the law?"
"I did report it. The following day."
"But not at that time. Not at the time you told him he was never going to see his son alone again if you could help it. Am I correct?"
"Yes, but ..."
"Are you willing to comply with the decision of this court, Mrs. Danse?"
"Of course I am."
"Even if the court's decision is to allow my client to see his son exactly as he had been, alone, unsupervised?"
"That's not possible."
"Certainly it is, Mrs. Danse. This hearing isn't concluded yet. Anything's possible."
"How could you ... how could anyone allow that when a man molests his child?"
"Again, that's not been proven. My question to you is, simply, could you comply with the decision of this court if that decision was to allow visitation to continue according to the previous terms of your divorce? Please, just say yes or no."
She felt trapped, spinning dizzy and out of control with fear and anger. She knew what the bastard was trying to do to her yet she felt powerless to stop it. Where was Sansom?
Where was anybody?
"Shall I repeat the question for you, Mrs. Danse?"
"That man will not hurt my son again, Mr. Wood!"
It was the first she'd looked directly into Arthur's eyes since he'd pointed a gun at her from inside his car. This was not the same man. The man she saw now was bland, quiet, at rest. Incomprehensible.
"Meaning that you would not comply?"
"How can you even ask me that? Do you have any children of your own? What kind of man are you?"
"Mrs. Danse," said Burke, "I'm instructing you to answer Mr. Wood's question. Answer it with a simple yes or no. Could you comply with any order handed down by the court, however disagreeable to you personally, or could you not?"
She saw a way. Maybe. A possibility.
The thinnest of thin ice.
"I don't know," she said.
"You don't know?" said Burke.
"Asked and answered, Your Honor," said Andrea Stone. Burke ignored her.
"You realize, Mrs. Danse, that your answer runs perilously close to being in contempt of court."
"I'm sorry, Your Honor," she said. "I have nothing but respect for this court and I don't mean it to be. I only hope that you'll find ... that everyone will do the right thing here. I hope to god that I'll never have to make that decision. Ever."
The judge studied her. Don't back off, she thought. And don't exactly fight him either. Meet his eyes. Be careful.
Burke sighed. "All right, Mrs. Danse. We won't press this any further at this time. Mr. Wood, please continue."
Wood seemed to feel he'd won his point. She wasn't sure. Burke was hard to read.
"This position you've made so much about. Did your husband ever force this position on you, Mrs. Danse?"
"Physically, you mean?"
"Yes."
"No. Not physically."
"He never raped you then, did he?"
"No."
"But you think he raped your son. Forcing him to use the same position."
"Yes. I do."
"Because your son would assume that position or a similar position."
"Yes."
"How do you know he wasn't just copying what he saw?"
"Excuse me?"
"How do you know your son wasn't just copying a position he'd seen you and Mr. Danse use while the two of you were making love together?"
"Robert never saw us have sex together."
"Never? Surely you mean not to your knowledge."
"I mean never."
"How could you possibly know?"
"I'd know."
"You consider yourself a good mother, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," she said.
"You're considerate of Robert's feelings, aren't you?"
"I think so. Yes."
"What about Robert's feelings the day following this ... incident you speak of?"
"What do you mean?"
Suddenly Wood went all theatrical, heaving a sigh and pacing the floor with the appearance of a man who had finally grown impatient with some recalcitrant naughty child.
"Come on, Mrs. Danse. You pull him out of his house in the middle of the night, you leave him somewhere while you go out and have a public row with your husband, then in the morning you pile him into a car for a round of visits to doctors' offices, a proctologist he's never met before, an unscheduled visit to his psychotherapist, all of them asking questions, prodding him for information—about his relations with his father—then that night there's Ms. Stone here asking him some more questions. It goes on all day long! Is putting him through all that what you'd call being considerate of his feelings? Wouldn't you say that this particular day was a little upsetting to him?"
"Of course it was. But it couldn't be helped. How else was I supposed to ...?"
"It couldn't be helped? You couldn't have waited one day or two days after this alleged incident for things to return to normal for the boy? You had to put him through this instantly?"
"That was my attorney's advice. To get this done right away."
"But you wanted to get it done right away, didn't you? Personally you wanted to."
"I thought it best."
"So the answer is yes?"
"I personally thought it best to get it done right away." Wood sighed again and shook his head.
"Was Robert crying when he left Dr. Hessler's office?"
"A little. It didn't last. A few moments."
"And when he left Dr. Bromberg's office?"
"No."
"And that night? After the interview with Ms. Stone?" She looked at Andrea Stone. She couldn't lie. Not with her sitting there.
"He may have been crying during the interview, I don't know. I thought he might have. But not afterwards. Not when I put him to bed."
"So this was a long day of interview after interview, basically a wonderful, happy trail of tears for Robert, wasn't it?"
"Objection."
Finally Owen Sansom was actually doing something. But this was a question she wanted to answer. Because how could you compare that day to the previous one with his father? How could you compare what she'd put him through to what Arthur had been doing to him that day and all along before that? You couldn't and it wasn't fair.
"Sustained," the judge said.
"Isn't it true that this is personal with you, Mrs. Danse? That you'd have done pretty much the same without the advice of counsel?"
"I don't know what you mean by personal. But I'd probably have proceeded along the same lines on my own."
"Even down to the proctologist?"
"I'm a nurse, Mr. Wood. I'd probably have thought of that, yes."
"A proctologist. Whose examination caused your son to come out of his office crying."
"Yes, Mr. Wood. Dr. Hessler was very good with Robert. Very kind. But as I said, it couldn't be helped under the circumstances. None of this was comfortable."
"What if I said it could have been helped, Mrs. Danse, that the actions we're describing here are the actions of an angry, vengeful, probably hysterical woman who did not take the time or bother for one instant to consider her son's feelings in the matter, who did not ..."
"Objection!" said Andrea Stone. A pencil clattered to her desk.
"Objection," said Sansom.
She thought, better late than never.
Burke sustained it.
"No further questions for this witness at this time," Wood said.
"We rest," said Sansom.
They adjourned for lunch and Lydia and Sansom walked two blocks down to a small family-run greasy spoon across the street from the courthouse. It was a
beautiful New Hampshire day, one where you could feel spring not far away. The air felt cool and crisp to the lungs but the sun was so warm and bright that she took off her coat and folded it over her arm as they walked. It felt wonderful after the stale cloying heat of the courthouse.
They ordered eggs and coffee.
"What's going on?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"With you. What the hell's happening, Owen?"
His smile looked pained. He let his spoon drift slowly through his coffee. "I guess I wasn't exactly one hundred percent in there sometimes, was I?" he said.
"One hundred percent?"
"I don't think he hurt you at all, though."
"It didn't feel that way where I was sitting, Owen. I felt pretty damn pushed around up there. Jesus! He came that close to getting me to admit I wouldn't let Arthur see Robert, even if it meant going to jail over it, for God's sakes!"
"There was nothing I could do with that. Honestly. They were all perfectly admissible questions."
He seemed to slump forward as though finally admitting something to himself he'd have preferred not to.
"Look," he said. "I'm sorry. Really. I am."
She believed him. For what it was worth. He stared down at his coffee.
"You know nothing about me," he said. "And usually that's the way it's supposed to be."
She waited for him to go on.
"A week and a half ago my wife went into County General. She had some intestinal blockage, that's all. We thought that basically it was going to be a whole lot of nothing. Then she developed fluid ... in the lungs ..."
"God. She went wet on you."
"Right. Wet. That's the word the nurses used. Somebody screwed up. For three minutes she was off relief systems and that's how long it took for her to go into a coma. It lasted nearly all last week. Fever of a hundred and two through the whole goddamn thing. When she finally came out of it Saturday the fever had ... her mind was ..." He shook his head. "Shit. I've been going over there every night. I sit there and I talk to her, trying to get her to remember the smallest things. How to use a knife and fork. How to shuffle a deck of cards. I don't even think she knows who's sitting there. I show her pictures of her mother and father, her brothers and her sister. I don't think she knows them either."
He pushed the coffee away from him across the table and looked at her.
"It's no excuse. I know that. I'm really sorry. I've got to do better by you and Robert in there and I will do better. It's just hard to put it away, you know? To find a place to put it all."
"I know."
On impulse she covered his hand with her own and left it there a moment aware of the heat of the palm of her hand against the cool of the back of his and then she removed it. Their food arrived.
There was no replacing him now. There wasn't time. They both knew that. She'd have to trust that he could do what he said he could do. Put his personal life aside and fight for her. It wasn't fair but they were committed.
They ate in silence.
Jake Whalen, Arthur's barman, was his opening witness.
He'd got himself a haircut that in her opinion was actually too short to look particularly good on him and a brand-new suit. Probably Arthur had picked the suit out. Jake was a good-looking guy and popular with the women but he was never much of a dresser.
He didn't look at all happy to be there.
She'd always got along well with Jake and thought him a pretty decent sort, despite the occasional inappropriate sidelong glances, so probably that was why. He was here because Arthur wanted him here, but he didn't have to love it.
Wood got his name, address, and occupation out of the way and then went right to the night she'd stormed into the bar.
"Did she talk to you?"
"No."
"To anyone else?"
"No. Just to Mr. Danse."
"And she was speaking loudly? Loudly enough so that you could hear?"
"I heard some of it, yes."
"What exactly did you hear her say?"
"I heard her accuse him of doing something to her son, to Robert."
"Doing what?"
Jake looked very uncomfortable. She almost felt sorry for him.
"Do you remember the exact words she used, Jake?"
"She said he was butt-fucking him."
"Butt-fucking? And she said this loudly?"
Jake nodded. "Yeah. Pretty loud."
"And what did he say?"
"He said she was crazy. He said he'd never laid a hand on Robert."
"And did she act crazy, Mr. Whalen?"
"Objection," said Sansom. "The witness is not a psychoanalyst."
"I'll rephrase it, Your Honor," Wood said. "How would you characterize her attitude toward him at the time?"
"She was mad. Real mad at him."
"Violent, would you say?"
"She didn't hit him or anything if that's what you mean but I guess it looked like maybe she wanted to."
"Where were they standing? Were they standing close together?"
"They were about three or four feet to one side of me over across the bar. Yeah, they were close together. I mean, she was sort of right in his face."
"Shouting. Swearing at him."
"Yes."
"What else did she say, Jake?"
"I remember her saying she was never letting him see Robert by himself again. That she'd have to be there if he did. Mr. Danse said she couldn't do that. She said something like you just go ahead and watch me. Then he asked if Robert had actually said anything about Mr. Danse doing something bad to him."
"And what was her response?"
"She said he didn't have to say something. Like she just knew."
"So she didn't actually say that Robert had told her anything."
"Not that I heard."
"Jake, do you like Lydia Danse?"
"Sure."
"So you're not here to do her any personal harm, are you? I mean, you have no problems of your own with her do you? No grudges? No mistreatment?"
"No. I always thought Mrs. Danse was a pretty nice person."
"Thank you, Mr. Whalen."
Sansom stood and approached him.
"Mr. Whalen, you've said that Mrs. Danse was very angry. Was Mr. Danse angry too?"
"Not at first. He got real angry though."
"Did you hear him say, 'I'll see you in court, you bitch'? Or words to that effect?"
"Something like that, yes."
"And when he said that, was he in her face, as you put it?"
Jake smiled. "I guess he was, yeah."
"So what you were listening to was two people shouting, swearing, am I right? Not just one."
"Right, yes."
Wood followed Jake Whalen with someone Lydia knew only slightly—Harold Milford—a short stocky man she'd seen sometimes at the bar. Milford owned a siding business in town. As it happened he'd been sitting next to them that night. Wood took him through pretty much the same paces he'd taken Whalen. In the beginning, anyhow.
"She was acting hysterical," Milford said.
Sansom objected. The man was not a doctor. Burke sustained him.
"Did you hear Mr. Danse respond to all these accusations?"
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"He said this was all just something she'd come up with because she was angry about the terms of their divorce. That if she'd wanted more money she should have just said so and he'd have given it to her."
"And did she deny that money was her motive?"
"No."
"And then did she at any time threaten Mr. Danse?"
"Yes, she did. I heard her say that if he ever came near Robert again she'd fucking kill him. Those were her words. That he was a sick man and if he ever came near Robert she'd fucking kill him." He turned to the judge's bench. "Sorry, Your Honor," he said.
"That's all right, Mr. Milford."
Owen Sansom looked at her.
"He's lying," she
whispered. "Jesus, Owen, I never ...!"
"It's okay," he said.
"Your witness."
Sansom got up slowly and walked over to Milford and then stood there a moment gazing at him. The impression was of someone who was contemplating a tree and wondering if it was worth bothering to climb it. Lydia felt frozen to her seat. How damaging was this lie and could he shake it? She thought back to their conversation over lunch. He'd come back well since then. But she knew that Sansom was hurting.
"Mr. Milford, you said that Mrs. Danse didn't deny that money was a factor in this, correct?"
"Yes."
"Did she affirm it?"
"She just ignored the money comment, am I right?"
"Pretty much, yes."
"And you say she threatened to kill Mr. Danse."
"Yes."
"And you were sitting at the far end of the bar close to them and you could hear them."
"Yes."
"They were yelling at one another at this point, true? So that it was pretty easy for you to hear them?"
"It was very easy. Sure."
"So presumably others heard her threaten Mr. Danse as well. Wouldn't that be reasonable to assume?"
"I ... well, sure. I guess so."
Milford seemed to feel he was on ground that was not quite so firm anymore. He was right.
"You're an old friend of Arthur Danse's, aren't you?"
"Sure. I've known Arthur a long time."
"Are you good enough friends to lie for him?"
"Am I ... hell no, I don't lie for anybody!"
Milford puffed up, full of indignation. Sansom only nodded.
"That's good, Mr. Milford. Because a lie in court can result in perjury charges—as I'm sure you're aware. And I'm sure you're aware that I can call in others who were at the bar that night and ask them what they heard. So I want to be absolutely sure of one thing here. I want to be absolutely certain that you heard Mrs. Danse use the word 'kill.' Before I ask anybody else about it. That it wasn't some other word. So, was that the word she used? 'Kill'?"
His bluff was working. The little man looked worried.
"I heard ..." he said. "I'm pretty sure I heard her say that, yeah."
He was trying to have it both ways. Sansom wasn't letting him.
"Pretty sure?"
"Yes."
"But not completely sure?"
"Listen, they said a lot of things."