A Child is Torn: Innocence Lost (23 page)

“Sure, Dr. Hope. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Judy was on the phone when I walked in. She gestured for me to sit down. After a few seconds she hung up and turned her attention to me.

“That was the ER. They’re trying to regulate Trevor’s blood pressure and he’s tachycardic. His heart rate was 120 and his blood pressure was 180 over 100 when they took him in. They called in a cardiologist to examine him, just to make sure he doesn’t have an undetected heart problem. They’re going to keep him for a few days for observation and diagnostic testing.”

Her words seem to hang in the air. I could tell how frustrated she was becoming. Judy hated to have to leave a child in anyone else’s care, but sometimes it was inevitable. We just didn’t have the facilities here to take care of this type of cardiac emergency, nor did we have the diagnostic tools to monitor him. Judy never had biological children of her own, so each and every one of these children owned a piece of her heart; she thought of them as her own.

“I called Brian. He’s going to go to the hospital to stay with him.” Brian was a disabled veteran and a regular volunteer at Armistace; he was our very own unsung hero. I could see by the expression on her face she was relieved that Trevor would have someone familiar with him while he was at St. Katherine’s.

She changed the subject abruptly. “I’d like you to work Thanksgiving morning—would that be a problem? You can leave by 1:00 that afternoon. I have Michelle coming in at 12:30, but we’re understaffed with Kyle out sick.

I was disappointed. My mother had called me the previous evening; she had called the Captain back after I left and made plans to help the Captain with the dinner preparation. I wanted to make sure I was there to keep her on a short leash. I was mortified at the thought of her being there without me to muzzle her if—not if, but when—it became necessary.

I guess she saw it written all over my face, because she started to make an excuse for me. “If it’s a problem….”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be here. I’m just having dinner over at Marty’s, no special plans.”

“Okay, good. All right then.” She stood up, glancing at her watch. “I have a meeting with Janet with social services. They may have a foster family for Sharon Siskin.” She lifted her hand, fingers crossed, and led me out of the office. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find her a
normal
home life?”

I smiled. I knew that all of us dreamed of the day when each and every one of these children could be placed in loving homes, and we could turn this institution into an outpatient clinic. We knew it was a pipe dream, but we could still hope.

She walked one way, and I the other. Cindy and one of the aides were leading a parade of children bundled up in winter wear, two by two, out the door. Several of the children were jumping eagerly, inspired by the sight of the fresh snow blanketing the grounds.

“Going sleigh riding,” Cindy informed me. A half a dozen little voices echoed her words.

“Going sleigh riding, going sleigh riding!” A chorus of voices sung out as the kids continued to jump up and down.

I smiled as I patted a few heads, and headed back to my office. Sandy was on the phone as I walked in.

“Hold on, she just walked in,” I heard her say, and then she whispered, “Detective Whitley.”

“Put her on hold—tell her I’ll be right with her.”

She nodded, repeating what I said as she handed me a piece a paper with the address and phone number of Brad’s grandparents.

“Thanks, Sandy.” I put the paper between my lips so I would still be able to help myself to another cup of coffee and grab a donut from the box next to the coffee machine.

I unloaded my goodies on the desk and picked up the handset.

“Hi, Jean. Thanks for calling me back. I’m really sorry to bother you—I know you’re going through a terrible time, but I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

 I took another bite of the donut; it was Bavarian crème—and it was delicious.

“No, no problem, Hope. Right now I desperately need to keep busy, so if there is something I can help you with…”

I took a quick sip of the coffee, excited to find out what she knew.

“You said you spoke to Mr. Madison, Brad’s paternal grandfather?”

“Yeah, guy’s a regular asshole—sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. Do you know anything about him, or his wife? What I’m getting at is—do you know if there is any mental illness in the family?”

“Honestly Hope, we never really looked into it. They weren’t involved in Brad’s life. My personal opinion was he seemed to be a real dick, but there wasn’t really any reason to bring them into the investigation. Why? Is Brad okay?”

“He’s fine, it’s just something that the Captain said last night that got me thinking.” I heard her inhale. “Are you smoking, Jean?”

“No. Believe me, I would love a cigarette, but that’s the last thing I need right now. Glenn and Bethany have been watching me like hawks. They’re scared to death something is going to happen to me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught Bethany staring at me. I feel like I am living in a fish bowl.” She gave a nervous laugh.

“Would you like me to talk to Bethany? I’d be happy to.”

“I might just take you up on that, Hope. I think Connie’s death had a much more profound effect on her than I realized. Let me see how things progress in the next few days.”

She was interrupted by someone asking for her signature, then came back to the phone.

“Sorry. Now the Madisons—what are you looking for?”

“Well, not to go into too much detail, but I was wondering if there was mental illness in their family, particularly someone with anti-social or sociopathic behavior. There have been studies that discovered that more often than not, mental illness tends to run in families. We’ve been concentrating on his mother’s family because they had a relationship with Brad. Maybe we were looking at the wrong people.”

Jean was quiet for a second. “I wish there was a way to find out Hope, but the DA has closed the case—my hands are tied. Besides, Mr. Madison wasn’t very hospitable when I called him the last time.”

“Maybe I can go talk to him.” I stopped doodling on the paper with the address; I wanted to be able to read it.

“Look Hope, if you think that Brad may have inherited this violent streak, then you need to stay away from this guy. I have no clue what he’s capable of.” I heard concern in her voice.

“Well, I’m sure he isn’t a serial killer, Jean. I mean he has a wife and kids.”

“John Wayne Gacy was a Boy Scout leader,” she reminded me.

I heard her shuffle a few papers shifted the phone from one ear to another. Sandy came in and dropped some papers on my desk.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” I asked her.

“I asked if you wanted to go for a ride. We can be there in less than three hours.”

“Serious?” I looked at the clock. “Let me call you back in a few minutes, I’d have to rearrange a few things. You know what, how about I just meet you at the station. If I don’t call you back, it means I’m on my way.”

“Sure, no problem. I can’t promise he’ll talk to us, but maybe we’ll get lucky and we can talk to his wife. She might be more responsive.”

I got off the phone.

“Sandy, do you think you can rearrange my scheduled appointments for today? Is there anything I can’t miss?”

“Yes, and no,” she responded.

“Okay, thanks. I won’t be back today. I have something important to take care of. Can you let Judy know I’ll be back first thing in the morning?”

I grabbed my coat and rushed out, again almost plowing down Gabby on my way. I got to police station in record time. Marty was just leaving the building with Justin as I entered.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

I gave him a quick kiss and kept running. “I’m meeting Jean, can’t talk. I’ll call you later!” I left him with his mouth wide-open.

Jean had her keys in her hand when I reached her. She grabbed her coat, and within minutes we were on the road.

I spent the first few minutes of the drive explaining the conversation with Marty’s father the previous night. She listened intently. I could see she was becoming more and more intrigued at the prospect that the cause of Brad’s violent behavior might be a result of his D.N.A make-up.

We made the trip in less than two and a half hours. We pulled up in front of a two story colonial home that was desperately in need of new paint. The front lawn was covered with snow, and a few mounds of dog feces scattered about. The cracked cement path leading up to the house had been recently shoveled.

We heard the dogs in the house start to bark. I saw the drapes move in what must have been the front room, with the shadow of a figure behind them.

Jean knocked. I heard someone command the dogs to get back. The dogs got quieter and the door opened a crack.

“Yeah, what do you want?” It was a man’s voice, his face still hidden partially behind the door.

“Mr. Madison, my name is Jean Whitley.” She lifted her badge so he could read it. “We’ve spoken before. I am a detective with the Fallsburg, New York police department.”

“Yeah, so what do you want?” I could see the snout of a small dog trying to push its way out. Loud noises seemed to be coming from a television playing in the background.

“Mr. Madison, would you mind opening the door so we can talk?”

 I could tell she was getting agitated. The wind was starting to pick up and the cold air was starting to bite.

He was reluctant, but opened the door. A Jack Russell darted out, stopped a few feet away, and squatted. The snow turned a bright yellow.

“Damn you, Nellie—get back here.” When the dog ignored him and turned away, sniffing, he turned aside so we could enter the house.

I walked in behind Jean, looking around. The house was dimly lit. It was neat, and the furniture in the living room was old but well maintained. Another dog, a golden retriever, lay uninterested on a hearth in front of the lit fireplace. The roaring fire seemed to be the main source of heat in the house. When he closed the door behind us, I could feel the draft being sucked back outside.

“Thank you, Mr. Madison. This is Dr. Hope Rubin. She’s Brad’s therapist.” My introduction did not seem to interest him. Jean was raising her voice; the TV was drowning her out.

“I told you, lady.” He picked up the remote and cut off the volume. “I want nothing to do with the kid. You’re wasting your time.”

“Keith, who is it? Is someone here?” A plump, shapely woman appeared at the top of the stairs.

“It’s nobody, Beverly. Go back to your sewing.” He was clearly dismissing her, but she wasn’t haven’t any part of it. She made her way down the steps, looking at us both, and turned to Jean.

“I know you, don’t I?” She was nervously twisting the corner of her blouse in her hands.

“We’ve met, Mrs. Madison. I’m Detective Jean Whitley, and this is Dr. Hope Rubin. Dr. Rubin is Brad’s doctor.”

“Brad?” She glanced over at her husband, and then asked Jean, “Is he alright? Has something happened to Brad?”

“Can we sit down, Mrs. Madison?” I asked. “We’d like to talk to you about Brad. Perhaps you can help answer a few questions. Maybe we can help Brad heal.”

“Look,” her husband interrupted. “We don’t want to talk about it, okay?” He was looking at his wife, and this time I thought I saw some compassion in his eyes.

Jean focused on him. “Mr. Madison, we’re talking about a ten- year-old boy, here. We’re trying to help his family. I understand your anger. I know you’ve lost a son, but he’s only a little boy. We need to find out what happened and why. This is your grandson—don’t you have any compassion for him?”

He looked back at his wife and then used the remote to turn off the TV off this time. He gestured for us to sit down. His wife cleared a space for us on a loveseat, apologizing for the dog hair that clung to the fabric. He waited for his wife to sit before he took a seat on a large lounge chair directly across from us.