Crazy Dames
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Possibly even proof of her revengeful motivation for convincing Chloe that her dad abused her.
With each deposition, Bea learned more: Rachel Gidseg’s, Heather Bruce’s, and Day Two of Leavitt’s were in the works, but Leavitt and Aguilar were resisting.
Late in the day, Bea received a phone call from Hilda Crowley from Victims of Sexual Addiction, the group where children shared their stories of sexual abuse. Crowley threatened to bury both Bill and Denise if she were called to testify.
Speaking to Crowley reminded Bea of a friend’s raving about “crazy dames,” which, in turn, reminded her she’d heard that amendments to the law on privileged communications between patient and psychologist were in the pipeline. If true, she wanted to know how far down the pipeline. Maybe she could get Stanton’s casefile more easily if she waited awhile, though she thought that might be wishful thinking. She phoned Mel Kanter to do a little snooping. As counsel to the state board of psychologists, Mel had helped write that law.
“You know, Mel, our friend Red might, unfortunately, be right when he raves about the ‘crazy dames.’”
“Don’t complain. We’re making money,” Mel said. His attitude warned her to expect little help from him: he did not give a damn for other lawyers since his bread was buttered by the therapists.
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, Mel. Their license doesn’t guarantee competence so it shouldn’t protect them from their own negligence. It’s really a disgrace, Mel. They should be accountable. They shouldn’t be immune from suit.”
Damn, he really couldn’t care less. As long as he’s making money, he’s happy. All she learned was that nothing would happen in time for Bill Abernathy. She’d be facing an uphill battle. Alone.
“Gee, Mel, my other line. Gotta jump.”
She left a few instructions for Terry, a great secretary. In her head, she was swearing again, a sure sign that she was horny. Would I be notified if Hugh were to drown? “And be sure to put all that good stuff about it being more important to Chloe’s welfare to disclose what’s in Stanton’s records than to protect the relationship between Denise and Stanton. Attached is the statute providing an exception in child custody cases.” Alone. But for Terry, I’m fighting alone.
Leslie Meets the Pitbull
In another of Bea’s cases, Leslie Calhoun had just lived through almost three full days of a contentious deposition by the counsel for the defense in her case. Aside from the sneering, the table-slamming, and one quick round-trip to and from court to protect Leslie from a line of intrusive questioning by counsel, Leslie had to and did courageously withstand Pitbull’s attack.
It could not have been easy. He leered at her menacingly through slitted eyelids, held most frequently at one-eighth mast. Coupled with lips either down-turned in a grimace or curled upward at the corners, the eyes defined the sinister nature of the deposition and cast a pall over it.
Bea’s patience wore thin with the nasty and rambunctious Pitbull, so she asked to be excused. She went to the receptionist’s desk, picked up the house phone, and asked to be connected to the Managing Director of the firm.
She then went back to wait at the conference table. Within a few minutes, a staffer came and asked Pitbull to step outside.
Upon his return, and not yet back on the record, he was furious that Bea had sought out the Managing Director.
From that point onward, there were no more interruptions by the tamed Pitbull. The deposition was over when Bea said, “That’s it.”
“Let the record reflect it is 5:25 and that counsel have agreed to convene briefly without the witness and the court reporter, so if you will excuse us.”
He’d actually had the nerve to say that he and Bea were alike, and asked her to join him for dinner one evening.
What was in his reprehensible mind, Bea didn’t want to contemplate. She wasn’t snide or humorous.
Her retort was succinct. “I think not. Thank you.”
Shortly thereafter, Bea received the anticipated motion for summary judgment. Pitbull lost his motion, but—despite Bea having motions pending before the Superior Court—Leslie’s case was remanded to Concord District Court, where no jury would be available for trial.
Fauna and Fawning
While motoring along in her dark cucumber green ‘53 MG with the top down, Bea thought about the 45-day assessment MSPCC was supposed to do in order to determine whether Chloe was in need of the society’s services. The need for the 45 days is bogus! Once MSPCC got the case, it rubber-stamped the finding of abuse that came from the DSS. To do otherwise would be to turn away customers. Each allegation of sex abuse was a cash cow for these nonprofits.
Still a few weeks before the Fall leaves hit their peak, the chrysanthemums were in full splendor and the burning bushes were busy turning from green to reds as Bea meandered north on the back roads to Salem Woods District Court. Some dogwoods’ red berries were out. And the euonymus was, of course, ever gay.
By the time she arrived in court, Attorney McFadden had signed a handwritten stipulation that MSPCC would produce the documents. Bea attempted to disguise her disgust that Bill had incurred the expense of her going to court just to learn what garbage MSPCC had produced for others to use against him. None of this should have been necessary.
First, MSPCC didn’t need court protection.
Second, having signed authorizations for the social workers to share information freely, Denise had already sowed the information in the files of workers at DSS, MSPCC, the Center, and the DA’s office.
Third, Denise had enlarged upon her stories with her friends at the AA and sexual abuse group meetings.
Fourth, Bill was entitled to the information.
Fifth, assuming McFadden was correct about MSPCC needing a judge’s signature to release the documents, why did he make all those empty promises to Bea and not just say it from the outset?
His recalcitrance was just another way of ensuring himself and other bureaucrats their jobs.
Such a damn shame to make Bill’s defense, which had only just begun, needlessly expensive. He had to come up with money to meet not only his legal fees but also expert fees and other expenses.
Otherwise, he’d soon be in jail.
Each to His Own
Ensconced in the tug’s salon, Bill Abernathy was reading all the social workers’ reports and process notes, and Heather Bruce’s, which Bea had just received from McFadden.
Taking her copies, Bea went out to the deck, opened wide the sliders, and checked to make sure there was coffee in her mug. She needed the caffeine and, of course, her cigarettes. She removed the pack and lighter from their nesting place betwixt bosom and bra, put them to rest on a table beside the chair and looked around at the huge pots holding plump but stiff Autumn Joy sedum with florals of deepening rose. Soon they’d turn bronze. Perovskia atriplicofolia—Russian Sage—provided a backdrop of contrasting texture, masses of feathery, seemingly silver shoots with gentilles lavender tops.
Pleased, Bea plopped into her thickly cushioned chair and covered her lap with one of the many afghans some maiden aunts had crocheted for other members of her family. After all the recipients died, Bea ended up with about a half-dozen of the tootsie warmers. She was thankful for having them, but never got to say Thanks because no one had ever given one to her. They were merely belongings that had been left behind. Leftover love.
But Bea didn’t dwell on that. Today, she wanted to read the long-awaited materials. Eventually, Bill joined Bea out on the deck and handed her his notes. “This is it.”
So much for a typical monosyllabic man. Bea skimmed his notes. Other than terrible handwriting, there were only a few phrases that were copies of phrases in the notes. There was absolutely nothing of use to her.
“What now?” he asked when she looked up.
“How about a miracle?” She laughed nervously and fondled her cup for comfort.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Bill shook his head.
“Okay, then let’s get down to business.”
She sighed. “Remember the baseball-bat story? No injury, it never happened.”
There must have been an edge to Bea’s voice, because Bill piped up.
“We never even had a bat.”
“Will Denise admit that?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
“Okay,” she said as smoke came out of her mouth at the same time.
“The story about you hitting Chloe with a bat in the head when she was still in a crib is so bizarre, we’ll be able to use it to show Gidseg’s incompetence. It certainly makes everything else she claims suspect.”
Bill smiled.
Bea was glad to see that he seemed reassured so quickly, but she would have earned every penny of her fee if she won Bill’s case.
“The bat story is infectious. Clearly the child is inventing, to give them anything she thought they might want to hear.”
Bill continued smiling.
“And the only way Chloe would have had a sense of what they wanted to hear is if she had been prepped by Denise earlier on. That’s my theory, and it’s the only one that’ll help you.”
Bill continued to listen.
“You realize, of course, that’s why Rachel Gidseg has been avoiding deposition all summer? She probably re-read her report when she got the subpoena. Or someone else did and told her how crazy it was.”
Bea paused long enough for another sip. “Next. You know, I never asked why you took Chloe to the karate classes. There’s nothing like teaching self-defense early.”
Bill laughed. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It teaches concentration and self-control, not violence. It teaches you to focus. That’s one of the reasons I brought her.” He had her with him every week for two years at his karate sessions.
“Did Denise ever go to the karate class with you and Chloe?”
“Oh, no. She was sleeping it off.”
Then, surprising Bea, he continued talking. “No, I was worried that Chloe wasn’t getting any socialization. Denise never took her out. This was a great chance for her to be with other kids. She loved it. She made friends.” He paused and then added, “Her closest friend was Denzil’s son.”
“Who’s Denzil?”
“Denzil Fillmore, Jr. The instructor. He brought his son to the classes too,” Bill said with a happy energy. “We actually spent lots of time at the Y. She learned to swim there too,” he said, beaming.
He’s proud of the child. Would a child molester be proud? Would he do something to tear down her self-esteem, if he’s trying to build it up? Bea wished she knew the answers. She’d heard somewhere that some child molestors build up their prey, even have them do these types of things to help themselves feel normal. She didn’t share her curiosity with Bill just in case he wasn’t one of them.
“Did Denise ever go to the swimming class?”
“I think she did once... when there was some exhibition... you know, like races by the kids.”
Bea sipped at the nipple of her Dunkin’ Donuts traveling cup, one with a lid that closed. It was empty. One more question and then she’d fill it. “What about the word ‘privates’?”
A serious look once again came over his face. “Privates... I don’t remember that being Chloe’s word.
We taught her the real names for body parts.”
“Why was that?”
He looked at her. “Why not?”
“I Was Scared at First”
Bill helped Chloe into her bathing suit. He couldn’t go into the girls’ room, so he changed her in the little boys’ room. He’d placed himself between her and the boys—trying to block her view—but he could see her peeking around him. He laughed at his recollection.
He’d managed to get back on time from his short workout at the gym to see the tail end of her class.
“Chloe, your back stroke is excellent! You look like you were really enjoying yourself!”
She had run to him, panting the way kids do when they’re excited. “Daddy! Daddy, did you see me under the canoe?”
“Yeah, I did, Chloe.”
“Daddy, I was scared at first.”
“Well, they were trying to teach you how to get out from under a canoe in case a canoe ever tips over on you.”
“That’s what the counselor said, Daddy.”
He’d laughed, leaned over, kissed her and said, “I’m proud of you for being so brave.” He hoped he was building her confidence.
They went home for lunch.
That particular afternoon, he and Chloe went kite-flying. His father used to take him and his brother and sister kite-flying too. When they got home, Denise was still reading. He made dinner. That was his job. Denise went to bed and he bathed Chloe. She got into her jammies herself and jumped into her bed. He read her a few bedtime stories, tucked her in tight, kissed her goodnight, made sure the nightlight was on, and said, “Sweet dreams.”
In One Ear and Out the Other
Bill seemed startled as Bea walked back onto the deck after refilling her coffee cup.
“Let’s see... Kristin Uhler,” Bea said. “She was on the case a few days, just long enough to hear that after Denise learned of the chlamydia test, she said you were a ‘very good, affectionate father’ but that you were a ‘demon at night.’”
“Yeah, I saw that too. That was weird. What can I say?”
Bea didn’t answer; he was right. She skimmed through a few pages of Heather’s notes and then looked up.
“Did Heather believe Denise? Particularly when she was supposedly ‘reporting’ what Chloe said.
That’s what I’m curious about. It’s unclear. Sometimes Heather seemed to take what Denise said as gospel.”
Bea jiggled the cubes in her glass of iced coffee and took a sip. “Let me think a minute.”
“Okay.”
Suddenly she said, “You know, very early on, Heather appeared to have wondered about Denise’s mental health when Denise said she was very unhappy with Hilda Crowley’s Victims of Sexual Addiction group.” She grinned. “Do we dare send a plant in?”
Bill had worked in the psychiatric ward for years. “I’ll ask around first.”
“Wonderful. Let me know as soon as you learn something. Denise also scored high on an avoidance scale of a psychological profile done at Crowley’s. I don’t suppose you know which one test tests for avoidance?”
“Too many to tell without more.”
“If you get a chance, call the Board to find out whether Crowley’s registered. She’s got to be more than just a social worker to do testing.”
“Will do.”
“‘Mother reports that Hilda is confrontational and doesn’t allow questions.’ Damn. It’s the word ‘reports.’ The connotation is that something true is being reported, in contrast to “says,” which doesn’t necessarily lend any credence to what’s being said.”
Bill laughed.
“Okay, I’m being too picky.”
She continued reading. “‘Mother felt humiliated. She felt confidentiality was not kept. Mother wants to file a complaint so other women will not be referred there.’”
Bill laughed nervously. “It’s her new M.O.”
“Well, after her fiasco at Crowley’s, she had a hard time finding a group to go to. Heather must’ve recommended a good half-dozen other groups to her, and Denise wanted to report some of them too.”
Bill inhaled and uttered in a discomforted tone, “If they didn’t accept her version of the facts, she’d leave.”
Bea glanced at the yellow Post-Its peeking out at the side of her block of paper.
“And Heather wrote down each time Denise complained about something.”
She turned to the first tab.
“But Heather never seemed to see a pattern to the complaints. I made a list of them. Here.
One, Denise complained when she couldn’t find a parking place at the welfare department. ‘She left feeling very frustrated,’ Heather wrote. What amazes me is that MSPCC actually made arrangements so that she didn’t have to go down there and look for a parking space again.
Then two—Denise complained about another welfare worker who failed to tell her sooner that she needed an updated bank statement.
Three, Denise was upset with Heather for asking her to clarify her reluctance to go back into court to change the supervised home visits. Then she was ‘angry and frustrated with Heather’ for not doing anything to keep you from visiting at home on Saturdays.
That’s four. She was having difficulty coping with those visits. Heather actually wrote, ‘Denise put her head on the table for several minutes.’ A controlled little temper tantrum, perhaps?
And five, when Heather said she’d ask you to sign the service plan, Denise became very defensive and—”
Bill snorted. “The service plan—that didn’t set out any treatment plan for the next period. It wanted me practically to admit I abused Chloe and to promise I wouldn’t touch her during the visits.”
“Later, Bill. I feel we’re really close to being on to something now.
Six, Denise thought Heather wasn’t concerned with protecting Chloe. Now up to that point, Heather never connected the dots. Leavitt did, though. When Denise told Leavitt behind Heather’s back that Heather wasn’t concerned with protecting Chloe, Leavitt squealed.”
Bea took another sip and a puff.
“Leavitt squealed on Denise to Heather and then told Heather she’d speak to Denise’s therapist.” She let out the smoke.
“I’m going to assume the therapist is Ruth Stanton. Then Leavitt promised to let Heather know what Stanton said. At that point, Leavitt and Heather were saying, ‘Will the real Denise please stand up?’”
Bill again inhaled and swallowed. “I never could predict what would bother her.”
He snickered nervously. “I only knew that when she became upset or angry because something didn’t go exactly as she wanted, she wouldn’t let go of it. She’d yell and yell and yell.”
“What did you do?”
He shrugged. “I’d let it go in one ear and out the other.” He was thinking, so he slowed down, like the quiet before a storm. Then the steady emotional downpour finally began. “There was nothing else I could do. I didn’t want to make it worse, whatever it was that was bothering her. So I’d say anything just to stop the yelling. I didn’t bother arguing with her. Arguing never made a difference. Once she got something in her mind, you couldn’t change it. Arguing was a waste of time, so I’d tune out and go about my business.”
Bea had waited a long time for that show of emotion. But before his outburst, she was more interested in what Leavitt had learned from Ruth Stanton. Only another cigarette would give her sufficient time to switch gears and absorb what he’d said and give him time to allow the emotion to subside. At least he isn’t so silent after all.
Good Night, My Angel
When Bea went for more coffee, Bill kicked himself for never watching Chloe’s reaction to Denise’s ragging him. But never mind what I did. What did Chloe do?
He recalled hearing in the middle of the night, “Daddy, Daddy, there’s a monster in my closet,” and there Chloe would be, running into his bedroom. She would jump right up onto his bed.
He’d give her a hug and say, “Let’s go see.” He’d pick her up, carry her back to her room, and still holding her, sit down in the rocking chair.
Sometimes he’d tell her stories so she wouldn’t be scared of the monsters in the closet or outside the window. He’d check in the closet to assure her there were no monsters there, and rock her for awhile.
Occasionally, when he was too tired to read stories, he’d just sing to her. One of his favorite lullabies was a Billy Joel song: Good Night, My Angel.
Guilt by Dominoes
“How much of what Chloe says nowadays did she pick up from the other kids at the victims’ groups?” Bea asked.
“First, have we agreed there were three children’s groups?”
“Yes, we have. Denise brought Chloe to them in September, October or November, and January. And according to Leavitt, Chloe ‘first disclosed’ the sexual abuse in January.”
“That would’ve been right after she went to the last group,” Bill said.
“True enough.”
“Only one problem—”
“What’s that?”
“Leavitt had already written that Chloe disclosed in October when she first played with the anatomical dolls,” he said.
“I’ll bet Leavitt is distinguishing between Chloe having the dolls play sex abuse and Chloe actually saying ‘My daddy did this or that.’ Betcha that’s it. The DA doesn’t want to have to deal with the dolls. The DA wants her to be able to say ‘Daddy did it.’”
“Yeah,” he said. “Leavitt probably told the DA in October that Chloe had disclosed, but when Leavitt told the DA how, the DA said, ‘Not good enough.’”
“That’s got to be it. In January, after the last group, Chloe met the DA’s specs. So Leavitt identified that disclosure as being the first.” She paused. “If we only knew what stories Chloe brought home from the group.”
“Or what Chloe hears from Denise,” Bill added.
“Or what Chloe overhears Denise telling others.” Then, suddenly, she shifted gears ever so slightly.
“By the way, Bill, I didn’t find a court order for you to pay the Center for therapy by Roberta Leavitt.”
“That’s because there is no court order.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Denise asked me to.”
“But you’re paying for the DA to train the child to testify against you. Do you really want to do that?”
“Let me think about that.”
“Okay.” She, too, would think more about it.
“New subject,” Bea said. “Apparently Heather saved Chloe’s drawings, as did Leavitt.”
“For evidence later?” Bill asked.
“Probably. I’m sure Heather doesn’t know either, she’s saving them just in case. We can assume she’ll pass the file along to the DA’s office—if she hasn’t already done so—and maybe even to Joe Aguilar.”
Seeing the puzzled look on Bill’s face, Bea said, “Let me digress, Bill.”
His look turned into a wide grin and they both laughed. “I know my digressions are never short. You poor thing... you’re too polite to tell me. Okay, I want to explain the process to you, so you’re not surprised by anything that happens. Just bear with me.”
“I will Bea, I will.”
“Thanks. Okay, the Commonwealth often uses an expert on the sexual abuse of children. For the expert to testify, he or she has to either interview the child—which they don’t want to do again in this case—or review all the records in the case. Therefore, long before this case even began, Heather and Leavitt and any other caseworkers were probably instructed to put everything they observe—the good, the bad, and the ugly—into the record of each case. That way, the Commonwealth’s expert will be able to find whatever facts he or she needs later to form a factual basis for his or her opinion.
“For instance, there’s a series of questions that must be asked of an expert. It’s a ritual. For a medical case it’d go something like this:
“Question: Were you able to form an opinion to a reasonable degree of medical certainty?
Answer: Yes.
Question: What is the basis of your opinion?
Answer: The basis is blah-blah-blah.
The expert would give all the necessary facts that were put into evidence at trial. That evidence would have been put in—before this point—either through testimony or through exhibits.”
“Exhibits? Documents, things like that?”
Bea nodded. “The next question: What is your opinion?
Answer: My opinion is that the operation was negligently performed. Now some judges won’t let the expert answer the ultimate question. Some will. Some let the Commonwealth’s expert answer as close to the ultimate question as possible. I’ve grossly oversimplified, but it’s good enough for now.”
“What’s an ultimate question?” Bill asked.
“Well, let’s take the charge of rape of child. The ultimate question the jurors must answer is whether you raped the child. Before they make that determination, though, they have to decide whether the child was raped.
“Since that question—whether there was a rape—is not the ultimate question, the expert will probably be allowed to express his or her opinion as to whether the child was raped. Once the jurors find that a crime was committed, they can then wrestle with whether you’re the one who did it. That’s the ultimate question to which the jury provides the ultimate answer.
“So the record is top heavy at the caseworker level in case it’ll be needed in court by an expert. But it’s something the social workers don’t know yet. The DA’ll clue them in if and when he chooses an expert.
“Problems are caused when social workers don’t understand the legal process. Most assume the facts demonstrate sexual abuse has occurred. But the facts by themselves don’t do that. Nightmares or stomach aches, for instance, can be caused by lots of different things, not necessarily by sexual abuse.
“The danger lies in how an expert—or someone who is qualified as an expert but who really isn’t one—uses these facts.
“For instance, do you remember when Heather told you to give Chloe the choice to kiss you on the cheek or not?”
“Yep.”
“Did you see where she wrote, ‘He said he understood that would be healthier for Chloe and would give her a choice of what to do’?”
Bill nodded.
“Well, a so-called expert could say, for example, ‘He didn’t given the child a choice as to what she wanted to do. He intimidated the child and ordered her to kiss him on his cheek.’ Then, with some bravado, the expert could add, ‘With my education and training and in my experience, it is my opinion that gesturing to the child in a manner ordering the child to kiss him on the cheek was not healthy for the child. And Mr. Abernathy even admitted he knew what he was doing was not healthy for the child and that he should give her a choice as to whether she wanted to kiss him or not. It is my opinion he intimidated her in order to get her to kiss him.’
“That is the transmogrification of a perfectly innocent, perfectly unoffensive behavior into one indicative of sexual abuse. So putting innocent behaviors into the file early on can have far-reaching effect—like a domino effect—at the time of trial.”
“Scary.”
“Damn right it’s scary. And they’ll do it every time. But what is even worse, more horrifying, is that judges know it and they still allow it. It’s sheer malice of the prosecution with complicity by the bench.”
Silence. Only the seagulls spoke.
Finally, Bea asked, “Are you ready for some more coffee?”
“No thanks. I’m still okay.”
“The rest of the entry is pretty much the same as the other stuff: good and bad colors, aggressive drawings, anger at a boy. Chloe’s picture of a butterfly, stars, and rainbows. Your picture of Chloe holding a kite and asking her if she remembered the day you flew kites together. Do you see anything there I’m missing?”
“I understand how they interpret the aggression as anger at being abused, how giving me the bad colors is ‘her acting out’ that I did something bad, which gives her the right to be aggressive and order me around, so she can regain control and power. That’s straightforward. But how would they use the butterfly, stars, and rainbows?”
“She wanted to fly, as a butterfly—as far away as possible, to the stars—from the place of abuse to a place of safety, the rainbow.”
Looking overwhelmed, Bill just shook his head. He had seen it coming.
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