Stranglehold. Part 29

"Lydia," he said, "I swear-I'm sorry. I really am."

"Objection," said Sansom.

"Sustained. Strike that," said Burke. "Do you have any further questions of this witness, Mr. Wood?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Mr. Danse," said Owen Sansom, "I believe you just told us that you noticed in the car that Robert was acting as though he had a hard time sitting there, and that then when you hit this pothole you thought he was actually hurting. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And you asked him what was wrong and he said nothing, that he was only concerned about being punished by his mother for being late."

"That's right."

"And you believed him on this?"

"I didn't see any reason not to. Yes, I guess I did believe him."

"Didn't you say you thought he was actually hurting? Physically hurting?"

"Yes."

Sansom was sweating. She could see it from here and so could the judge. She knew the effort this was costing him with what was going on in his own life, but she thought that so far he was managing to do this right.

"And isn't there an obvious difference between what a person would look like if he were simply worried about the loss of a few privileges, say, as punishment for being late, and what he'd look like if he were physically in pain?"

"Speculation, Your Honor. My client's neither a doctor nor a trained psychologist."

"Sustained."

"Let me put it another way, then. Why did you so quickly dismiss the notion that his discomfort was physical, after seeming to observe exactly that?"

"I believed what he told me."

"You observed what appeared to be a physical discomfort in your son, and then dismissed it, said to yourself, fine, no problem, he's just worried about his mother punishing him for being late-you dismissed these observations simply because you believed what he told you. Is that correct?"

"Asked and answered, Your Honor."

"This conversation didn't occur at all, did it Mr. Danse? Nor these 'observations.'

"Objection. Argumentative."

"Sustained. Please, Mr. Sansom, get on with it."

"What sort of paperwork were you doing in your office that day, Mr. Danse?"

Arthur shrugged. "Bills. Orders. Shipment records. The usual."

"And were these very ... engaging?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't say engaging. Pretty dull stuff, actually."

"But they were absorbing enough so that you never heard Robert leave the bathroom. All these boring bills and orders had that much of your attention."

"Sure they're boring. But they still take concentration."

"Were you aware of hearing the toilet flush? Water running in the sink? The bathroom door opening and closing?"

"No. Not really."

"You have hardwood floors over there, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Was Robert wearing shoes?"

"I don't remember."

"But this is a hall we're talking about, correct?"

"Yes."

"What else is down that hall?"

"Excuse me?"

"What else is down the hall aside from the bathroom?"

"There's a deck leading out through a door to the backyard, and then if you turn the corner and go around the other way you're in the dining room and then beyond that in the kitchen."

"So you don't really know that he went to the bathroom at all that day, do you? You heard nothing. Saw nothing. He might have been going to the deck, or to the dining room, or to the kitchen."

"He was jiggling."

"He was what?"

"He was jiggling. Standing there jiggling. You know, the way kids do. When they've got to go to the bathroom."

"So you a.s.sume he went to the bathroom because he was jiggling."

"Yes."

"You didn't tell us that earlier, though, did you?"

"It didn't occur to me."

"Isn't it true that it didn't occur to you because this is just another lie, Mr. Danse? Like your conversation with Robert in the car and your observations in the car?"

"Absolutely not."

"Did Lydia Danse ever tell you or give you any reason to believe that she was unhappy with the terms of her divorce prior to this incident?"

"No."

"Then why would she now?"

"I don't know."

"Mr. Danse, you're aware that there are penalties for perjury, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I'll ask you once again. Did you, on that day or on any other day, s.e.xually molest your son, Robert Danse?"

"Listen ..."

"Yes or no. Did you?"

"If you don't believe me, why don't you just ask him? Ask Robert. No, I did not. Ask my son."

Wood requested a sidebar and the three lawyers approached the bench. Whatever they were talking about went on for a while and, Burke aside, drew heat from all of them. Finally Burke said something and they turned away.

As he returned to their table Owen Sansom was shaking his head.

"What? What's happening?" she asked him.

"We'd like to recall Lydia Danse to the stand, Your Honor," Wood said.

"That's what's happening," said Sansom. "Try not to strangle him, all right? Try to stay cool up there."

Cool was not the operative word. She felt frozen. Afterwards she could barely remember walking across the room to the witness chair and sitting down and then being reminded that she was still under oath. It was as though something had locked down inside her, frozen into gear like a cog on a wheel that still ought to have been spinning.

Wood didn't waste a minute.

"You stated earlier," he said, "that you didn't know if you could comply with any order that would permit my client free and unrestricted access to Robert. I'm talking about perfectly normal visitation rights. You've had time to think it over, and we're wondering now what your position is on this."

"My position?"

"Yes."

She wasn't stupid. There were danger signs everywhere.

She knew what he was after. She just couldn't believe that Judge Burke was allowing it.

Careful, she thought. There's got to be some way to deal with this.

"My position is that my ex-husband is a rapist," she said.

Wood looked stricken. It was pure phony melodrama, playing for the judge. But she thought maybe it actually might give her an opening. Maybe she could put him off balance for a change.

"Is it the word that bothers you, Mr. Wood?" she said. "Maybe you'd prefer something like 'morally challenged'?"

"Unresponsive, Your Honor."

"Please answer the question, Ms. Danse," said Burke.

It hadn't worked. She'd have to scramble for some other way. She needed time.

Think.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor. What was the question again?"

"What is your position regarding Arthur Danse receiving free and unrestricted visitation rights, if that should be the decision of this court?" Wood said.

"That he absolutely shouldn't have them and that the court shouldn't order it. Not under any circ.u.mstances whatsoever."

"But if that should be the case, Ms. Danse."

"I don't believe it will be, Mr. Wood."

"But if it is."

"Mr. Wood is badgering the witness, Your Honor!" said Sansom.

"Overruled. The witness will please respond."

Get control, she thought. Tear it off him. Tear it away from him. One last time. Rage simmered hard in her just below the surface. Use it. But get control. Turn this around on the son of a b.i.t.c.h.

"You're asking me, Mr. Wood," she said, "if I could comply with an order that would give a child molester, a rapist, access to an eight-year-old boy who also happens to be my son. Is that right? I don't understand. Why would you want to do that?"

He smiled as though to say, pretty good, and then covered it immediately.

He sighed dramatically. "Ms. Danse, your ex-husband, my client, is not a rapist until this court finds him a rapist. Hasn't everyone made that clear to you from the beginning?"

"Yes. But your client's s.e.xual proclivities ought to be clear to you by now too, shouldn't they?"

Wood turned to the bench, arms spread wide, imploring. "Your Honor ..."

Burke leaned down to her.

"Ms. Danse," he said, "the issue here is strictly a question of compliance with the law. Mr. Wood is attempting to determine your willingness to uphold the law as a citizen of this county and this state, as that law is handed down to you. We are not now addressing the question of what Mr. Danse may or may not have done to your son. We are not addressing his guilt or innocence. Only this single issue. So I am ordering you now to answer Mr. Wood's question with a simple yes or no. Could you comply with any judgment the court may arrive at in this matter, whatever that judgment might be?"

You're not going to scream, she thought-though she wanted to out of sheer frustration. And you're not going to cry. She looked at Owen Sansom. She thought she'd never seen a man look quite so tired, and certainly never a lawyer look quite so sad.

She looked at Andrea Stone. Her eyes seemed hard and angry and compa.s.sionate all at once-angry at the unfairness of this and compa.s.sionate with her in its inevitability.

She drew herself up.