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Goldblatt responded, “If she’s on call, then there is no—”
“However, we’re vehemently opposed to her testifying,” Aguilar said. He explained how Bill’s motion to depose Stanton and get her records was denied because of the social worker/patient privilege. Aguilar added, “There was an in camera inspection held, and the decision denying is in the court file.”
“Your Honor,” Bea said, “Judge Kelly did, indeed, deny access to her and her records, but there is an exception when there is a child-custody case because such a case assumes the fitness of the parents is an issue—”
“Hold on a minute,” Goldblatt said.
“That was for the deposition, not the trial, Your Honor,” Bea pointed out. “That’s a little different. This is a subpoena to trial.” Bea handed him a copy of it and the sheriff’s return of service and the bill. “There is one other point I want to raise.”
“Hold on.” Goldblatt said again. He was reading the papers. A minute later, his head rose and he looked at Bea. “I’m going to deny this motion for the subpoena.” In a nutshell, he was not going to overrule Judge Kelly. “Let’s call your first witness.”
“Note my objection. Your Honor, one other thing, though I wish I’d had a chance to mention it before you said you’re going to deny the motion. It’s about the issue of waiver: Mrs. Abernathy gave executed releases to Ruth Stanton, so that Ruth Stanton was able to speak to Roberta Leavitt, DSS, and also, I believe, Carol Tracy. I don’t think Denise Abernathy has the right—”
“I’m going to deny this motion for the subpoena. Your rights are all reserved and they’ll come up on appeal.”
“Can I ask the basis?”
“I’m denying the subpoena, period.”
To Bea, the denial, like the earlier one, was inexplicable. It was like an Act of God. Judge Kelly, who had been on this case only that particular day, knew nothing about the case. He’d denied Bill’s motion for access to Stanton because there’d been no medical diagnosis of Denise, a fact having nothing to do with an exception to the social worker/patient privilege. It was the inexplicable act of a judge who was fearful of women’s rights activists.
Now Goldblatt refused to overrule him, one judge blindly respecting the decision of another.
Tragically, had access to Stanton and Tracy been allowed, the entire process could have been shortened. Perhaps the rape charges against Bill would have been dismissed or, maybe, never have been brought.
Came-o
“You’re early,” Bea told Hugh. “Coming to tell me not to cook because you’ve made reservations for a cozy dinner for two at Lala Rookh, that divine little Azerbajiani restaurant on the Hill.”
He ignored her syrupy sarcasm and said, “They had to empty out the building again.”
“The old courthouse should have been imploded years ago.” She grinned. “Think, if fumes killed you all in one fell swoop, maybe discussion would begin about electing judges so the bench wouldn’t be stacked by all the same governor’s men.”
“We’re in a snit today, my dear, aren’t we?” He curled himself to fit Bea’s backside—as he always did in times like this, when she was angry or distressed—and cupped her breasts, knowing she would soften to his touch. “What happened? Tell your Man of La Mancha.”
She hated him, sometimes, for making her laugh when she didn’t want to. “Goldblatt wouldn’t enforce my trial subpoena on wifey’s therapist.”
“Why not?”
“Privilege, even though there’s an exception for custody cases,” she replied. “He was just rubber-stamping Kelly’s earlier decision.”
“You didn’t expect Goldblatt to overrule Kelly, did you?”
“It wouldn’t have been overruling exactly. Aguilar had told Goldblatt a few weeks ago he might call Stanton as a rebuttal witness, and today he said Stanton was willing, she was on call, but they opposed it now.”
“It’s Denise who holds the privilege.”
“I know it’s up to her, but one, not in a custody case, and two, not when she’s already passed around releases on an hors d’oeuvres platter.”
“But you have no evidence that puts doubt on her ability as a caretaker.”
“Because they won’t let me near the evidence. I’m sure Stanton has some... and Tracy.”
“Who’s Tracy?”
“The rape counselor.”
“Then Tracy’s covered by another statute.”
“I know,” she moaned. “Every group has their damn code of silence. Some are by statute and some, like the cops’ and yours, are by agreement to cover up the stench of sin.”
“Dear, let’s bring this drama to the bed.”
He remembered his father saying, “Hugh, Hugh, we cannot have you running away like this.” Hugh’s family house had been by the sea and as a lad he’d find himself looking out beyond the horizon after his mother died. One day he left, but he didn’t get very far.
“I’m going to enroll you in school.” Hugh could do nothing about it. His memory of that time was vivid, and it turned into a dream....
He was in an English public school. A young lad was bending over a stool and being whipped with a riding crop on his balls by a schoolmaster. Hugh, still a youth, was sitting on the floor watching, fascinated because the lad looked so much like himself. The extended penis of the child was evident, as was the open crotch of the schoolmaster’s pants, revealing a magnificently formed full organ. How Hugh wished his was that grand. The schoolmaster’s shirt, askew and rumpled, was wet with perspiration and his brow, dripping.
“My little crumpets, you’re as red as sweet juicy strawberries from the bush,” the man said. “They’re so beautiful.” And Hugh was so proud. No one had admired him before. The invisible pain made him forget he felt the unwanted runt of the family, and a stream of semen fell from the lad’s organ and formed a puddle on the floor not far from where the schoolmaster’s was falling. The master screamed with delight.
Startled by the scream, Hugh woke, sweating, and remembered he still spun down to see the headmaster each summer. Bea was the only one he’d ever told. Once. He’d denied telling her ever since, but she’d never forgotten the tale.
A Very Tall Short Man
Having returned to court, First Justice Frederick Fessenden took back his lobby. So the fifth day of the Abernathy divorce trial proceeded in the small conference room. This day, through a few witnesses, Bea would show Goldblatt that Bill was who he made himself out to be to Alan DeSegonzac: he wasn’t a loner, he had friends and could form good relationships. In sum, he didn’t fit the profile of a sex offender or a pedophile.
“I call Dr. Sandeep Gandhibir.” The doctor walked over to the one empty seat. Bea took him through the litany of questions a lawyer must ask before evidence of a person’s reputation in business is admitted in court. He said he knew Bill, he was Bill’s superior at the VA hospital, he saw Bill every day, Bill was assigned to about sixty patients, and he saw Bill working with other people in the hospital.
“Now, does he have a reputation in the hospital?”
Gandhibir seemed puzzled. Although Bea had gone over this question when she spoke to him on the phone, when it came to the actual question in court, it must have sounded strange.
“What is his reputation in the hospital?” Bea asked again.
“Well, Your Honor, I’ve known him for four years, and all I can tell you is from my experience and from what I have heard about him,” Sandeep Gandhibir began. “He has always been a very proper and decent man. I would call him a gentleman, and I would say—this is right from the bottom of my heart, because—”
“I’m going to object,” Aguilar said.
Gandhibir adlibbed, Bea thought.
“He may answer this,” Goldblatt turned to Dr. Gandhibir. “Go ahead.”
“Your Honor, I’m telling from my side, Sir, and I really sympathize with him because he’s a very—”
“I don’t care about your sympathy,” the judge said, going right to the bottom line as if he, too, wanted Dr. Gandhibir to get out all he could about Bill. “The question is, what is his reputation?”
The doctor got the picture immediately. “He’s a very hardworking, decent man, and is very well-liked in the hospital by everybody.”
“Okay. You’ve answered.”
“Do you know whether he has any more reputation, reputation meaning what other people think of him in other ways as well?”
“He’s considered to be one of the nicest guys at the VA Hospital.”
“Judge, I’m going to object and ask that the answer be stricken,” Aguilar said.
“What he’s considered to be is okay. You may have it.”
“He’s your witness.” Bea passed the witness to Aguilar, who had no questions.
“You’re excused, Doctor. Thank you.”
“Thank you very much, Dr. Gandhibir.” Bea beamed at the very tall short man who resisted a knee-jerk response to the charges against Bill.
Auburn-Haired Beauty
Jennifer Ouellette, a social worker at the VA Medical Center, was a slender, young, auburn-haired beauty with a warm and compassionate voice. She had worked with Bill on two 30-bed psychiatric units over the past four years.
“Bill interacted very sensitively with a very difficult psychiatric population. He worked with them in a manner well attuned to their needs and to their deficits psychiatrically. He has a reputation in the hospital as a compassionate and conscientious clinician.”
Jennifer and Bill had shared an office for a good year and a half, spoke to each other regularly, and became friends over the last few years. Yes, he did discuss his current problems in court with her. And although she’d never met Chloe, Bill would tell her tales of Chloe’s growing up—her childhood—and of her going to school for the first time. He also shared some of his parenting issues with her.
Aguilar’s interruption broke her flow and the rest of her planned statement was forever lost in the subsequent legal shuffle.
At Bea’s urging, Jennifer was also going to relate an anecdote which would show that Bill also had a reputation of being funny and good-natured and that his humorous perspective pervaded his work, but
Aguilar objected and Goldblatt agreed with him.
“I don’t need anecdotes. She’s testified as to what his reputation is in the hospital. I have that. I don’t need anything more.”
After that remark, Bea had no more questions. Neither did Aguilar.
Dojos and Katas
Denzil Fillmore was both a consultant for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and Bill’s karate instructor.
Bea established Fillmore’s ability to observe people and their behavior. Particularly relevant was his experience in crisis management, about which he instructed and lectured. And, of course, his experience in “internal self-defense, how to restrain the behavior of clients when they get out of control.” He’d received some of his training and experience at the Massachusetts Criminal Justice Training Academy. Earlier, he’d been an administrator at a private school for children with behavioral problems. His work at the YMCA youth division with children from the age of four spanned sixteen years.
Bill was one of Fillmore’s students in the art of self-defense at least twice a week for a little over six years.
Fillmore also knew Chloe Abernathy. “She used to come to karate class with Bill and was very friendly with my little son. That’s how I happened to know and remember her.” He first met her when his son was two, but had not seen her for about a year.
To explain some of the kicking and punching about which Chloe complained, Bea led Fillmore into explaining the class. “Well, in the training session we all go into a room, which we call a dojo. We line up, we bow to each other, and then we go into a particular stance, and the children go into the stance with their fathers because they want to be a part of the program, and we just do a set of various movements called katas.”
“And where did Chloe stand?” Bea asked.
“She stood right next to her father.”
“Right next to her father. And then what would happen?”
“Well, you know, a kid of that age, they want to play after a while, so they just want to stay long enough to be involved in the program, and then they go off. We have a large room, so they can go off into the corner with the rest of the kids, and they begin to play with each other, and then they’ll come back and get back into the program.”
“What did you observe of their interaction, how they interacted?”
“I thought he was a beautiful father.”
“Objection.”
Goldblatt said, “Just what you saw. What he did, and what she did when you observed them.”
“Their interactions as father and daughter—they were what a normal father and daughter do.”
“Did you ever see Bill Abernathy and his daughter show each other friendship?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. He’s testified it’s a normal father-and-daughter relationship, and I take notice of what that means.”
Angel.
“Does karate involve kicking?”
“Yes, karate does involve kicking.”
“Do the people playing karate kick each other, when we’re talking of young children, or do they just play-kick?”
“No, they don’t kick at each other. That’s not allowed.”
“Could you describe in a little more detail in your own words?”
“Is it all right if I stand for a second?”
Goldblatt said, “Try to describe it. The court reporter has got to write it down on the record.”
“This is the karate program.” Fillmore demonstrated. “Everyone is lined up in here. This is Chloe, this is my son, and I’m up front.”
Bea said, “Let the record show the witness states that when the parties are doing karate, the participants line up beside each other, and the children line up beside their parents who are in the line.”
“It’s more like a drill. They get into a thing and they kick at air. In other words, there’s nothing in front of the children or there’s nothing in front of students who are kicking. That is something that’s not allowed.”
Fortunately the Toffetts and DeSegonzac were gone. There wouldn’t have been room for Fillmore’s long, kicking legs. His tiny hoop earring finally looked in place. The man had style and pride.
Goldblatt said, “You may sit down.”
“Thank you,” Bea said, as Denzil took his seat. “Does he have a reputation at the Y at the karate sessions?”
Aguilar objected and the objection was sustained.
“Do you know his reputation in the community?”
Aguilar objected, but the objection was overruled.
“Judge, for the record, the community of the Y does not equal the community of his neighborhood,” Aguilar insisted.
“I understand that, but I want to hear this.”
“Do you know his reputation?” Bea asked again.
“Yes, I do. His reputation at the Y working with the other students as well as working with the kids at the Y are second to none. He’s one of the better students I’ve had over the twenty-seven years that I’ve been involved in—”
“I’m going to ask that his statement be stricken. That goes to his personal feelings and his opinion as to what type of student he had.”
“Knock out the part about he’s a better student,” Goldblatt said.
“Let the rest remain?” Bea asked.
“Yes.”
“No cross,” Aguilar said.
“Thank you, Mr. Fillmore. You’re excused.” Goldblatt looked at Bea. “Any further witnesses?”
A Gracious Octogenarian
George Warren Abernathy, a man of eighty years, should not have had to identify himself as Bill’s father: He was what his son would look like in another forty years. He was still trim and had the mustache Bill had shaved off soon after he’d first met Bea.
“Do you accompany Bill on Saturdays to the supervised visitation at Howes Way?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the Court what you’ve observed as to how Bill and Chloe play together on Saturday afternoons?”
“They play together very well, and they love each other very much, act just like a father and daughter. They play together on the floor. They chase each other around the house.”
“Is that a game like hide-and-seek?”
“Yes. Chloe thinks up the games; of course, Bill goes along with it. She’ll be a cat one day, a doll the next day, and Bill, you know, Bill plays with her very, very well.”
George also acknowledged he also saw Denise interacting with Chloe. “Denise sits on the end of the couch and reads or does puzzles, and once in a while, when Bill touches the baby, the child, Denise will say, “No touching.” I don’t know where that came from, but about six or eight months ago this no-touching business came into effect, and I don’t like it at all.”
“Objection.”
“That may go out,” Goldblatt ruled. Bea assumed it was the “I don’t like it at all” that was out.
“What happens if Chloe touches Bill?”
“Well, one incident about four months ago, the child comes to her mother and says, ‘Daddy touched me, Mommy. Am I going to be punished?’”
“Hold on just a minute.” When Goldblatt finished his note-taking, he said, “Okay. Go ahead.”
George completed what he had heard Chloe say. “‘Do I have to go to my room after they go?’”
“And what did Denise answer?”
“Denise didn’t say anything. No answer at all.”
“Did Chloe ever initiate touching?”
“Yes. At about five minutes of four, I say to Bill, ‘Five minutes, Bill.’ One day, they started to say goodbye to each other, and she reached up to him and grabbed him around the neck and he picked her up and they hugged each other about, oh, two minutes or one minute, whatever, and of course they parted.”
“Did Denise say anything when they hugged each other goodbye?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether Chloe was punished for that?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Did Chloe ever relate while you were there she had been punished for touching Bill?”
“No.”
“What was the answer?” the judge asked.
“No.”
“Do you remember the shorts incident?”
“Oh, yes, yes.”
“Were you there that day, when Bill went to the visitation in running shorts?”
“I was there. I certainly was.”
Goldblatt asked, “This is the Saturday visit again?”
“Saturday visit. I’ve been going for a year and a half every Saturday.”
“Was his organ exposed?”
“Of course not.”
“Objection.”
“I’ll sustain the objection. It’s a leading question.”
“Could you tell us in your own words, then, about that Saturday?”
“Yes. Bill came in gym shorts up to here,” the elder Abernathy said, pointing to a spot high on his thigh.
“When was that? Does anybody have a date on that?” the judge asked.
“Six months ago,” George Abernathy said. “Last summer. I’ve been going so long now that everything is sort of hazy. You know what I mean?”
“I understand.”
“I can’t pinpoint, except the last few weeks.”
“Let’s get to this incident now,” Goldblatt said.
“Bill was playing with the baby, of course, and these shorts were short; there’s no doubt about it. So the following week, Bill wore a longer pair of shorts, and Denise said to Bill, ‘Bill—’”
“Hold on a minute, please, Mr. Abernathy.” Goldblatt was writing. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“‘Bill, I want you to go home and get a long pair of pants on.’ Bill didn’t go.”
“What was the weather like?”
“It was in the summertime.”
“Do you remember whether it was a day when it was appropriate to wear shorts?”
“Of course. It was the summertime.”
“What happened after she said, ‘Go home and get a long pair of pants?’”
“Well, Bill didn’t go.”
“He didn’t go? Is that what you said?” the judge asked.
“Bill did not go,” George Abernathy repeated.
“What happened that day?”
“Nothing. Then they started to play. But the following week, Bill wore long pants.”
“But at all times, in the short shorts, in the long shorts, and in the pants, he was dressed appropriately?”
“Objection.”
“That may go out.”
“Of course he was!” Not understanding what “That may go out” meant, Bill’s father answered in a tone that conveyed “How could anyone think otherwise?”
“Now, are there any other—”
“There is one incident I want to bring up, okay?” George Abernathy asked.
“You may bring it up. Go ahead,” Goldblatt said.
“Thank you.”
“It will shorten this. And give us a time... an approximate time,” the judge suggested.
“Approximately a year ago, I came in and sat down.”
“This was on a Saturday?”
“This is on a Saturday, yes, two o’clock on Saturday. I came in and sat down. There are two little flags, white flags on a stick, on the couch next to me. They’re about, oh, 4 inches by 6 inches, two white flags. The child took one of them, started to march and said, ‘We hate Daddy. We hate Daddy.
We hate Daddy.’ Then I think she realized what she said and she went over to the table, over to the dining room table, and she started to draw hearts with a crayon on a piece of paper, and then she showed it to me, and it said, ‘I love Daddy.’”
“Did she show that piece of paper to Denise?”
“She did,” he said, “and she showed it also to Bill and to me.”
“What did Denise do when Chloe was holding the flags and walking around?”
“Just sitting there, that’s all.”
“Did she have any expression on her face that you saw?”
“I didn’t look at her. I didn’t look at Denise, so I don’t know.”
“What other games do they play on any of the Saturdays?” asked Bea.
“Well, we bought her a computer, a little computer, for Christmas, and they play that for about twenty, thirty minutes. And they have a dining room with a bay window, and in front of the bay window is sort of a little stage and she stands up there and sings and dances. Of course, Daddy has to get up and do the same thing, sing and dance, the best he knows how.”
“And do they play any other games?”
“Well, they were playing one time a game whereby Bill had to go to jail.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Last summer. Last summer.”
“She would handcuff him, that is, make-believe handcuff him, and she’d send him over to jail, ‘Now you go to jail. You have to sit in there. You can’t get out.’ So, of course, then Bill would escape because this was sort of a game to her, I suppose, but he had to go to jail.”
“And then what happened after they played that game?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” George was allowed to say Chloe spoke to Denise afterward, but was not allowed to tell everyone what Chloe said to her mother.
“Did you ever hear her mother tell her what game to play?”
“No, except Denise said, ‘How about the game I told you about?’ or something like that. Then the baby said, ‘Oh, we don’t want to play that today.’ That was another day she was supposed to put Bill in jail.”
Bea asked, “In the last few weeks, which are closer in time, and perhaps easier to remember, are there any particular games they played?”
“No. Just general games, You know what I mean, like rolling around the floor. Bill bought her a mat, an 8 by 3 mat, and it rolls up, and they lay on the floor and they tumble. Bill showed her how to tumble like he does in karate, and they do that. That’s a wonderful game.”
“What do you see when they part?” Bea asked Mr. Abernathy.
“Two weeks ago the child hid his shoes—”
“She hid Bill’s shoes?” Goldblatt asked.
“Hid Bill’s shoes, yes,” George Abernathy repeated, “as if to say, ‘I don’t want you to go.’”
“Objection.”
“Hid his shoes, okay,” the judge ruled.
“And then last week she grabbed him around the ankles and said, ‘I don’t want you to go, Daddy.’”
“Hold on just a minute,” Goldblatt wrote a note. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“Back in the fall, a few times I observed where she rapped on the window for Bill and put her lips against it. Bill, of course, kissed her through the window. Twice I observed that.”
“Can you describe how Denise and Chloe interact from what you’ve observed?”
“When we go in there everything is focused on Bill. Denise sits on the couch, either reading or doing crossword puzzles and, as far as I can see, she has no reaction at all, unless the child runs for something, but that’s all. That’s the only interaction I can think about.”
“When you go in there and Denise is sitting on the couch, where is Chloe?”
“Chloe is generally waiting at the door. And I take my coat off and hang it on the chair next to the door.”
“Have you ever seen Denise kiss the child?”
“I never have, no.”
“Have you ever seen her put her arms around Chloe?”
“Oh, yes. For example, one day Bill and Chloe were roughing up on the floor, and the child hit her hand. She ran to her mother, who kissed it, and it was all better. That’s all.”
“I think that’s it,” Bea said.
“Mr. Aguilar?” the judge asked.
“I just have a few questions, Your Honor.”
Aguilar asked George Abernathy, “On the day your son wore the shorts, you said they were gym shorts?”
“Gym shorts, yes.”
“Do you know if he was wearing underwear?”
“He was. He always wears underwear.”
“And do you know if Chloe saw part of his penis hanging out at any time?”
George Abernathy shook his head in disgust.
“Have you talked to Chloe about that?”
“I never talk to Chloe at all about anything.”
“So you don’t know what Chloe has relayed to other people regarding that incident?”
“I don’t know anything about it, no.”
“And Denise Abernathy didn’t say to Mr. Abernathy that he could not visit, did she?”
“Explain that, please.”
“On that day, she did not tell him he could not visit. She told him, ‘Please go home and wear long pants?’”
“She said, ‘Please go home and put long pants on.’ That’s all.”
“But she never said, ‘You can’t visit with the child?’”
“No.”
Look for Part 22 of this 41 part serial on Friday
