Stranglehold (17 page)

He got up and started pacing back and forth behind the desk. Tapping his chin with his fingertips. It was his professorial mode. He was going to make a speech now. She'd seen it before and it annoyed her.

"It does fit together, though," he said, "doesn't it. Certainly the nightmares, his generally nervous disposition, the clumsiness, the shyness. It would definitely account for the soiled bed and the position he takes when you try to diaper him. I haven't heard of child molestation leading directly to stuttering before but I suppose that kind of trauma could be a strong causal factor. I'm particularly interested in the clumsiness in light of this. It would be a form of punishment."

He turned to face her.

"To tell you the truth, I'd almost expected as much."

"What?"

"Well, it didn't strike me as whatsoever impossible."

"That Robert was being molested didn't strike you as impossible?"

"I'm afraid I thought it somewhat likely."

"And you didn't
say
something? You kept this ... this
likelihood
to yourself?"

She could easily strangle the man. Easily.

He sighed again. He seemed impatient with her.

"Mrs.
Danse
, child abuse is not the kind of thing one discusses lightly. Particularly not—and I must say this to you—with one of the child's potential abusers."

"Wait a minute," she said. "Let me get this right. I bring my son in to see you, with all these questions about his behavior, and you think that
I
might be responsible for abusing him?"

He shrugged. "It's been known to happen. The parent knows the child won't tell, threatens him perhaps. Then, in case it should somehow come to light, brings him to a therapist as a smoke screen. Using exactly the same argument you're using now.
Why would I do this if I were the guilty party?
Or perhaps there is an unconscious wish for the child to reveal the truth, a need to be punished that the parent feels, but he or she is unable to confess directly and hopes the child will do it for him or her. You must admit, Mrs.
Danse
, that even now, I only have your version of events. For all I know, you may
still
be the abuser. Though obviously I find that highly unlikely. But the key, of course, is Robert. It has always been Robert. Only the child himself can tell me with any degree of reliability."

The man was amazing. The supercilious little shit. It was clear he'd enjoyed his little speech. She wanted very much to walk out of the room and never have to lay eyes on him again.

But she needed him.

Much as she'd like to, there wasn't any point in alienating the man.

That could wait until later.

"When can you see him?"

He made a point of checking his calendar book, peering through the bottoms of his bifocals.

"I can see him at three-thirty tomorrow."

"It has to be today. It can't wait. My lawyer says today." He looked a bit annoyed with her.
Good
, she thought. Be annoyed. Just do it.

"I can slip him in at four-thirty," he said. Then he shook his head and sighed again. "I really wouldn't expect too much, though, if I were you."

"I won't," she said without irony.

For a while after seeing the proctologist they drove in silence, she not knowing what to say, Robert seeming lost in thought.

Dr.
Hessler
appeared to be a kind man and certainly he was good with Robert, reassuring him right off the bat that nothing he was going to do would hurt him, then changing the subject immediately to whether or not they'd seen
Jungle Book II
yet of all things.

They hadn't seen it. As a matter of fact they'd tried twice already but had been turned away at packed houses. But the doctor had chosen wisely. Since the movie opened it was all the kids talked about. Robert listened, rapt, as the doctor described several scenes in detail—with surprisingly boyish enthusiasm for a man who had to be in his sixties—ushering him into his examining room and closing the door behind them.

Hessler's
report was as expected.

But still it hurt her to hear it.

A dilated sphincter and soreness and irritation of the surrounding rectal tissue.

Consistent with anal penetration
.

Anal penetration. At age eight. God.

And yes, he'd go to court and swear to it.

They needed to know that. Owen
Sansom
had outlined the court process to her earlier in his office.

"I've already filed a complaint with the Superior Court to seek termination of all visitation rights which were granted by the divorce, on the basis of child abuse," he said. "You'll be seeing someone out at the house tonight who'll investigate. So you'd better prepare Robert for still more questions. How's he holding up?"

"He cried a little when I told him all we had to do today. I certainly can't blame him for not looking forward to it. He's doing all right I guess, under the circumstances."

Sansom
looked somewhat disheveled. Like he'd been running his hands through his thinning hair all morning. There were spots on his glasses. The lapels of his jacket turned inward slightly as though he'd hung it on a chair the night before instead of in a closet.

She wondered what his personal life was like.

The wedding ring was her only clue.

And it wasn't any of her business.

"Based on their investigation the court will issue a summons for Arthur, you and Robert to appear at a preliminary hearing to establish probable cause. If they find probable cause ..."

"
If?
"

He smiled. "Sorry.
Legalspeak
. They will, don't worry. That's what the psychologist and proctologist are all about. I think we've got that part well covered. Anyhow, the statute says that the preliminary hearing has to be held within seven days of the summons. So this will all be happening pretty fast."

"And what about visitation rights? I mean in the meantime. My understanding is that I'm in violation of the terms of the divorce if I don't let Arthur see him at least one more time this week. My God. Is that true? Can he really expect that?"

"He can demand to see Robert, sure, if he wants to. But our complaint will limit visitation until the case is adjudicated. He'll only be able to see him under supervision."

"I don't want him to see him at all for god sakes!"

"Sorry. No can do."

"Why not?"

"Lydia, until we prove the case against him he retains his parental rights."

"Jesus.
Shit!
"

"I know exactly what you mean."

The man looked haggard. He hadn't slept much last night, she was sure of that. She wondered why. Something was bothering him. And she doubted that his losing sleep had much to do with her situation—he was a lawyer after all. No, this was something else. Had to be. Something personal.

And again—none of her business.

"Okay. Go on."

"All right. Within thirty days of the preliminary we go to an adjudicatory hearing before a judge in Superior Court. Unfortunately, it won't be Clarke, the judge who granted your divorce—she's out indefinitely with some kind of heart situation. In any case, we'll be looking for exclusive custody. At the adjudicatory we can present our evidence and call our witnesses. The doctors, you, Ralph Duggan on the beating, your friend Cindy I think, maybe his teacher—and hopefully by then, Robert himself. I've petitioned the court clerk to appoint a guardian ad
litem
for Robert—an attorney—for purposes of the litigation and to assess his situation and advocate his best interests as he or she sees them. That's who you'll be seeing tonight."

"
Robert
has an attorney?"

"Yes. Hopefully somebody we can work with, someone who'll be squarely on our side."

"And if not?"

"If Robert won't talk then our case is circumstantial. But it's still pretty compelling. You could argue that he could have done this to himself somehow—used some object or something. But it clearly isn't likely. You could argue that someone other than Arthur did it without Arthur's knowledge. In that case they'd have to come up with a likely suspect. Someone with opportunity."

"Like me."

"You?" He laughed.

"Bromberg told me he'd considered it."

Sansom
thought about that a moment, drumming his desk with a pencil.

"Maybe that'll change once he sees Robert. If not, I guess we're going to have to have a talk with him. Assess his level of cooperation. Possibly get another opinion. But our best bet is to get your boy to say what happened, hard as it may be for him. You have to really work on that."

She would, but not now. Robert still had Bromberg to see. And then, tonight, the attorney.

What a day for him, she thought.

What a bitch of a day it must be.

She glanced at Robert now, gazing out the frost-melted window beside her, strapped tightly into his seat, hurtling powerless through the wintry streets.

He turned to her, his face unexpectedly alight.

"Mom? Do you think tomorrow night we could maybe just go to a movie?"

She smiled. "Sure."

"Yeah!"

"You got it," she said and reached over and patted his hand.

"And we'll leave real early so we'll be the first ones there so we'll definitely get seats this time, okay?"

"Okay."

"
Great. Neat
," he said and turned to the window again.

She thought that either he was blocking all this out very successfully or her son had a kind of courage. The former was troubling. The latter, she thought, might be necessary through all the days ahead of them.

She could have her hopes.

He sat on the floor with his back to the television set his mother had turned off before she left the room and listened to Miss Stone. Miss Stone was probably younger than his mother and she was pretty, he thought. Though he thought his mother was prettier. Miss Stone had nice, soft-looking, shiny blonde hair, though, just like Chrissy at school. Her hair was long and straight and that was like Chrissy too.

Chrissy was nice but the one he really liked was Laura.

He found it hard to concentrate on what Miss Stone was saying. More questions. All day long everybody kept asking him stuff. He kept wishing it was bedtime.

And
that
was pretty weird right there.

Then she started on the really bad questions.

"Is there somebody who does things to you, Robert? Who touches you where you don't want to be touched?"

He couldn't help it. He started squirming on the rug. Like the question hit a Nintendo button and from there it was automatic.

How much could he tell her?

He knew he had to say something, that he had to help them somehow. He knew they were doing this just for him, to get his dad to make it stop. He wanted his dad to stop more than he wanted practically anything—but he didn't want his dad to hurt his mom and he would. He knew his dad better than anybody did. He'd hurt her bad.