Piercing the Darkness (45 page)

“Belligerent. You’ve used that word twice. Now, is that your word or Amber’s?”

Jefferson spoke up. “What kind of a question is that?”

Corrigan didn’t have to tell him, but he did. “I’m trying to figure out what Amber Brandon said and get around any embellishments from Miss Bledsoe.” He went to the next question. “So what about Amber’s testimony to you? What specifically did she say Mr. Harris did?”

Bledsoe leaned forward just a little, but kept her spine straight. “Amber told me that Mr. Harris and the other children made fun of her, harassed her, and tried to impose their religious views on her.”

“Could you be more specific? How did they make fun of her?”

Bledsoe hesitated. “Well, they . . .”

“Did they call her names?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, did they or didn’t they?”

“Amber wouldn’t cite any specific names, but I’m sure if we asked her, she could tell us exactly.”

“All right, we’ll do that.” Corrigan moved on. “Now what about harassment? How did Mr. Harris harass Amber?”

Bledsoe laughed at that question. “Oh, how indeed! I suppose you consider it normal to be branded as demon-possessed, to be forbidden to play with the other children . . .”

“Mr. Harris forbade Amber to play with the other children?”

“Oh yes. She was forced to stay inside at recess and write a page from the Bible.”

Corrigan made a note of it. “And did Amber say just what the reason was for that?”

Bledsoe shrugged just a little. “Oh, apparently Mr. Harris wasn’t happy with her views in a particular matter, and so he decided she needed some more intense indoctrination.”

“Are those the words Amber used?”

“No . . .”

“That’s just your interpretation?”

“Well, yes.”

“What exactly did Amber say?”

“She said that Mr. Harris wouldn’t let her go out for recess, but made her stay inside and copy from the Bible.”

“Did she suggest that she was being punished for an infraction of the school rules?”

“I didn’t gather that from what she said.”

“Did it happen once, for one recess, or was it a constant, daily practice?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And again, you were not a direct witness to any of this?”

“No, of course not.”

“Was anyone?”

“Well, Mr. Harris, but . . .”

“Mm-hm.” Corrigan flipped to another page of notes. “Let’s talk about Amethyst the pony. Is that the correct name of this . . . uh . . . alter ego?”

“I don’t know. She does identify herself as Amethyst, and I understand she is a pony, a mythical character.”

“So you’ve met Amethyst yourself?”

Ames jumped in on that one. “Excuse me, Mr. Corrigan—I don’t think that question is very clear.”

Corrigan asked Bledsoe, “Is the question clear to you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever dealt with Amber when she was acting like Amethyst?”

She shrugged, unruffled. “Of course.”

“And nothing about it seemed strange to you?”

“No, of course not. Children have been known to dissociate into alternate personalities, or make up imaginary friends in dealing with severe trauma. It’s very common.”

“And what severe trauma are we talking about?”

Miss Bledsoe tried to compose a clear answer. “There was severe trauma all through Amber’s experience at the Christian school: harassment, discrimination, stress, imposing of Christian dogma . . . It all led to Amber resorting to a false personality to cope with it. Mr. Harris could have responded properly and dealt with the real source of Amber’s trouble, but instead he compounded the trauma by branding Amber as demon-possessed, which I think is just horrendous.”

“But you were not a direct witness to any of this?”

“No.”

“This is all according to what you learned from Amber?”

“Yes.”

Corrigan jotted some notes and went to a fresh page. “Let’s talk
about the Harris kids. What first brought the situation in the Harris home to your attention?”

She hesitated. “I believe . . . we received a complaint.”

“You mean a hotline complaint?”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t know from whom?”

“No.”

“It was not from the attorneys for Mrs. Brandon?”

Jefferson was right on top of that. “Objection!”

Corrigan pointed his finger at Jefferson. “This isn’t a courtroom, and you aren’t the judge, Mr. Jefferson!”

“I resent the question!”

“Do
you
want to answer it?”

“Don’t be impertinent!”

Corrigan turned back to Miss Bledsoe. “Miss Bledsoe, to the best of your knowledge, did you receive the complaint from anyone connected with this lawsuit?”

“Absolutely not!” she said with great indignity.

“Not from any of the attorneys for Mrs. Brandon?”

“No!”

“How about Mrs. Brandon herself?”

“No!”

“All right. Now, I’m sure you’ve had abundant opportunity to talk to Ruth and Josiah?”

“Oh yes.”

“Have they reported any abuse of any kind from their father?”

“Yes, they have.”

Tom looked up at that remark.

Corrigan pressed it. “Okay. What abuse?”

“Frequent spankings with a wooden spoon.”

“I take it you had reason to believe that these spankings were not administered in a loving and controlled manner?”

“They were administered, Mr. Corrigan, and that to me is abuse.”

“All right. Any other abuse toward the children?”

“He doesn’t let them watch television.”

Corrigan remained deadpan, and scribbled that down. “Were you aware that Mr. Harris doesn’t even own a television set?”

“Yes. His children told me.”

“Were they complaining about it?”

“I think they were. I took it that way. They’re captivated by the simplest programs as if they’ve never seen anything like it before. They know so little about what’s going on in our culture. Their lives are far too sheltered for their proper social development.”

“And that is your professional opinion?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what about direct evidence of any physical abuse? Did anyone see any bruises on the children, any signs that something was amiss?”

“Well, of course! Ruth had a large bump on her head!”

It was all Tom could do to remain quiet.

Corrigan asked, “I take it the anonymous hotline caller reported that bump?”

“Of course.”

“Did Ruth ever say where she got that bump?”

Miss Bledsoe assumed an even stiffer posture and answered, “We’re still investigating, and until that investigation is complete, the matter is strictly confidential.”

“I would think the bump is a matter of public record,” said Corrigan. “You realize, of course, that the children have told their father, in your presence, where that bump came from.”

“But remember, Mr. Corrigan, that it was their father they were talking to. Out of fear, a child can tell a tale to avoid further abuse.”

Corrigan indulged in a quick sigh of frustration. “Ms. Bledsoe, why do I get the impression that you don’t really have a concrete reason for holding the children in custody in a strange home and environment, away from their own home and father?”

Miss Bledsoe made a visible effort to keep her cool. “We have suspicions, Mr. Corrigan, and suspicions are enough reason. We are still working with the children. We have ways of drawing out the truth eventually. The children do want to tell us everything, but are often afraid.”

“So you do believe that Ruth and Josiah mean to be truthful?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you won’t accept Ruth and Josiah’s account of your near-collision
with a blue pickup truck, and their claim that it was in that near-mishap that Ruth sustained the bump on her head?”

She grimaced in disgust at the question. “That’s an entirely different matter! You can’t trust children to be reliable witnesses in such things.”

“So they are reliable witnesses only when their testimony confirms your prior suspicions?” Jefferson started getting ruffled. Corrigan spoke first. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Corrigan pulled out a photograph and placed it in front of her. “Have you ever seen this woman?”

Bledsoe looked at the picture of Sally Roe and did her best to draw a blank. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Any chance that she was the driver of that pickup?”

“Objection!” said Ames. “You haven’t established that there even was a pickup.”

“Miss Bledsoe, did you have a near-miss encounter with a blue pickup while driving the Harris children away from the Harris home?”

“No, I did not!”

“With any vehicle of any color?”

“No!”

Corrigan pointed at the picture of Sally Roe. “You said you’ve never seen this woman before. Have you ever seen this picture before?”

She hesitated. “I may have.”

“Where?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Do you recall tearing up some photographs that were in Josiah Harris’s possession during the children’s last visit with their father?”

She was clearly uncomfortable. “Oh . . . I tore something up, I’m not sure what it was.”

Corrigan took back the picture. “Let’s talk about your driving record. Any moving violations in the past three years?”

Now she hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Traffic tickets. Citations.”

“I believe so.”

“According to the Department of Motor Vehicles, you’ve had five speeding violations in the past three years. Is that true?”

“If that’s what they say.”

“You’ve also been cited twice for failing to stop at a stop sign, correct?”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything!”

Corrigan insisted, “Correct?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“You’ve had to change insurance companies three times?”

“I don’t know.”

Jefferson blurted, “I think you’re badgering the witness, Mr. Corrigan.”

“I am through with this witness, Mr. Jefferson.” Corrigan folded up his notes, relaxed, and smiled. “Thank you very much for coming, Miss Bledsoe. Thanks to all of you.”

Bledsoe and the two lawyers felt no need to hang around socially, and the court reporter had another appointment. In no time at all, Corrigan, Mark, and Tom were alone in the conference room.

“Well?” asked Tom.

Corrigan wanted to be sure Bledsoe and the others were gone. He leaned over to look out through the door. The coast was clear. He sat down and thought for a moment, looking through his notes.

“Well, she’s lying like a rug, and it shouldn’t be too hard to trap her on the witness stand.”

Mark asked, “What about Marshall’s theory? She’s connected to this whole thing, isn’t she? She’s working for them.”

Corrigan thought for just a moment, and then nodded. “The evidence is still circumstantial, but there’s a connection, all right, and she’s working hard to cover it up. That’s one reason she’s being so stiff-necked with your kids, Tom. They’re witnesses. If you want to hear my latest theory, I’d say she was brought in just to discredit you, but then crossed paths with Sally Roe with the children as witnesses, which complicated everything. Now she not only has to keep the kids quiet about seeing Sally Roe, she also has to keep them quiet about having that near-accident in the first place, and Ruth’s bump isn’t going to make that easy.”

“My children are like hostages!” said Tom angrily.

Mark was fuming as well. “She’s connected with Mulligan, then; she’s helping him protect that whole suicide story.”

Corrigan leafed through his notes. “The more we get into this, I
think the more we’re going to find that everybody’s connected with everybody else. And don’t forget Parnell, the coroner. In order to get the whole thing dismissed as a suicide, he’d have to be a part of this too.”

Mark looked at his watch. “We’d better pray for Marshall and Ben. They’re talking to him right now.”

JOEY PARNELL WAS
not happy at all when he opened his front door to find Marshall Hogan and the recently jobless Ben Cole standing there.

“Hi,” said Marshall. “Sorry to bother you at home. Apparently you forgot our appointment.”

He had trouble looking them in the eye. “I’m sorry. My secretary was supposed to call you. I’m sick today.”

“She did tell us that,” said Ben, “but only after we sat there and waited for half an hour.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Well, perhaps some other time . . .”

“You’d better have your secretary call the Westhaven Medical Association too,” said Marshall. “I saw the ad in the paper, and I just talked to them. They’re still expecting you to speak at their conference in an hour.”

“Is that why you’re wearing your dress shoes and slacks?” asked Ben. “Looks like you’re getting dressed to go somewhere.”

Parnell became angry. “What business do you have snooping into my daily affairs?”

Marshall reached into a manila envelope. “This might help to answer that.” He produced a photograph and showed it to Parnell. “Mr. Parnell, to the best of your knowledge and expertise, is this the woman who committed suicide at the Potter farm several weeks ago?”

He didn’t want to look at the picture. “Listen, guys, I do have some other things to do and I have to get ready. Now if you’ll excuse me—”