Stranglehold. Part 26

"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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sume 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 s.e.x 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 Hamps.h.i.+re 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 h.e.l.l'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 d.a.m.n 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 G.o.d'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 ..."

"G.o.d. 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 G.o.dd.a.m.n thing. When she finally came out of it Sat.u.r.day the fever had ... her mind was ..." He shook his head. "s.h.i.+t. 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?"