Alma's Will (12 page)

Sharon Stark

They met in chambers, the Reddings, their attorneys, Judge Cole, a court stenographer (not Jessie), and a young, pleasant-looking woman nobody bothered to introduce to them. They left the children in the bailiff's care. It wasn't expected the meeting would last very long.

Liv had quickly whispered to Worthy what was going on when they met in the corridor. "Why didn't you call and tell me?" he asked, clearly annoyed. "I'm totally unprepared!"

What good would it have done?
Liv thought.
You never return my calls
.

"I doubt it will make a difference," Worthy continued. "They won't let your son leave the state until the police finish their investigation."

He was right. That was the first thing the judge said in response to Eric's petition, and he added that under the circumstances it would be unwise to separate Li'l Eric from his sisters.

"Please, Your Honor," Cannon said, pointing to the as yet unidentified young woman, "Mrs. Stark here is best qualified to address your concerns."

The woman introduced herself. "Sharon Stark, clinical psychologist, Your Honor." She handed him her card. "I've been assigned to work with the boy."

"I'm listening, Mrs. Stark," Judge Cole said.

"Thank you, Your Honor. I'm scheduled to meet with the child this afternoon, after this matter is concluded. Nine times out of ten, while we don't get all the details in the first session, we do learn who the culprit was. That will suffice for the police to make an arrest and proceed with their investigation. The child will be better off in familiar surroundings. In my opinion, it's to everyone's advantage. He's more likely to open up in a setting where he feels less threatened. Mr. Redding has arranged for a therapist for him in Idaho. I'll fax her all my notes and she can take it from there."

"Mightn't you change your mind and wish to interview him again?"

"It's not impossible. The police can always request a delay if I do."

The judge asked Eric when he planned to leave.

"I've reserved a flight for tomorrow morning."

"I assume you'll know by then if you'll want to have a second meeting with the minor?" the judge asked the psychologist.

"I expect so, Your Honor. It's pretty much always clear whether or not I'll need to do a follow-up."

"Then I'll order the children placed in their father's custody so he can return them to Idaho. I would strongly urge you to go with them, Mrs. Redding. Your son needs you, and as far as the other matter is concerned, you serve no useful purpose here."

He
will
recuse himself
, Worthy thought.

* * * *

When they left the judge's office, Mrs. Stark went up to the Reddings and asked them to call her Sharon. She wanted to know if they'd both be waiting outside while she met with Li'l Eric.

"Are we both needed?" Eric asked. "I thought I'd go back with the girls to where they've been staying and bring their things to the hotel. Or don't you think there'll be time?"

"It may not take long at all, but it's enough if his mother's there in case he gets upset. I don't expect that'll happen. I've done interviews like this before."

"Liv, will you please call the Heymers and tell them I'm coming?"

"If you like."

"Should I get your things too?"

"Not yet."

He'd asked Liv to phone so he'd have the opportunity of speaking to the psychologist alone. "My wife's gotten it into her head that one of the four men who are opposing her on the house… You know about the house?" Sharon nodded. "Then you also know they're gay. Anyway, she thinks it was one of them who molested Li'l Eric."

"So I've heard. I don't see how it could be. None of them have ever been alone with him."

"I don't think so either. I was afraid she might influence your line of questioning."

"Not to worry. The police have all but eliminated them as suspects. A good friend of mine is the investigating detective. He says it turns his stomach to have to grill four men who are so obviously innocent, but the chief insists. Tell me: How do you think your son is doing?"

"Hard to say," he replied, hoping he could manage to keep his voice steady. "I thought he'd be worse. I haven't been able to sleep since I got the news. I'm trying to hang in there for Li'l Eric's sake, but it isn't easy."

"I know what you're going through," she reassured him. "You're doing a terrific job."

"I pictured him as hysterical or catatonic or something." God! Did he sound as desperate as he thought he did?

"It's seldom as bad as that, but you can't always tell from their behavior what's going on inside their heads."

Her statement cut two ways, at once encouraging and ominous.

"I know," Eric said, "and it frightens me. I do see a difference, though. I just can't put my finger on it yet. I only got here a couple of hours ago."

"First impressions, then. Does he seem more reserved than usual? Distant, maybe?"

"No, if anything, I'd say he's clingier than I've ever known him to be. Then again, he hadn't seen me in over two months. And he didn't make that much of a fuss about going with the bailiff. Of course, he was with his sisters." Was all that pertinent or had he begun to ramble? "Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Should I call your son Li'l Eric when I meet with him?"

"No, just Eric. Li'l Eric is a family name. Will you also try to convince his mother to come home with us?" Then he added, "I intend to file for divorce if she doesn't."

"Have you told her this?"

"Not yet, but I will before we go. She has more than enough on her plate as it is."

"And because the judge would think twice about granting you temporary custody if he knew there was a divorce in the works," Mrs. Stark said in a clipped voice. "Let's be up front about this, shall we, Mr. Redding? And don't expect me to take sides. You must realize that what happened to your son isn't her fault. Nobody could have foreseen it."

"I'm not blaming her for that. It's that she's putting this business with the house above our son's welfare. Isn't that what really matters? The house is unimportant, but it's all she thinks about nowadays. I scarcely recognize her anymore."

"She should get counseling. You both should."

"I've told her that already. I'm making it one of the conditions for continuing with the marriage. All this is off the record, of course."

"I understand. This is between you and your wife; my business is with your son."

Liv finished her call, and they went to get Li'l Eric and the girls.

"Patty and Clara are going to Jessie's with Daddy to get your things," Liv told them.

"Are we going home?" Li'l Eric asked.

"You mean back to Idaho? Do you want to go home with Daddy?"

"Yes. Shouldn't we go get my things too?" There was no mistaking his excitement.

"Daddy will get them. We have to stay here so you can speak with this nice lady."

Sharon crouched in front of him and said, "Hi, Eric. I'm Sharon. We're going to have a little chat together in about an hour. Is that okay?"

He looked dubious. "I s'pose. Where?"

"In my office. I don't think you've ever seen an office like mine. It's like a big playroom."

"You mean with toys?"

"Lots and lots of toys."

"Will Mommy be there too?"

"I'll be right outside, angel, and then we'll go to the hotel."

"Let's go, girls," Eric said. "See ya later, kiddo."

He ruffled the boy's hair and headed toward the exit.

* * * *

Sharon spent nearly half an hour trying to lead Li'l Eric around to speaking about the abuse, but once she'd got it out in the open it took only a few questions to find out what she wanted to know. The molester had opened the boy's pants and fondled his genitals.

"Did he do anything else to you?"

"He made me touch his…"

"Did he put your hand on it?"

Li'l Eric hung his head. "Uh-huh."

"Did he hurt you any other way?"

"He said he would if I told." His answer was nearly inaudible.

"He can't hurt you now. You're going home, remember?"

The boy nodded, but didn't look reassured.

"Are you going to miss the friends you made in Georgia?"

"Uh-uh."

"Don't you think people are nice here?"

He mumbled something about someone being nice to him sometimes.

"Did you say 'Jesse'? Is Jesse the man who hurt you?"

She had to put her ear to his mouth to hear his whisper.

"No, Jessie's his wife."

Fletcher MacGuire

Fletcher MacGuire, the detective assigned to the case, called them in for a second round of questioning, the men who'd lived next door to the boy's grandmother and their friends from Boston. This time he'd be talking to all four of them together. He had no other leads, but he knew for a fact that it was pointless. None of them could have done it. He had interrogated each one separately the day before.

The first time around, he'd begun with the boy's uncle, because the mother had, as she put it, "a gut feeling it was him." MacGuire didn't like him, and was suspicious at first. The man was hostile, somewhat cocky in his manner, and very savvy. MacGuire had the impression he'd been questioned by the police before, probably often.

At first he'd refused to say anything without his lawyer present, Magda Caille from Atlanta, a good two hours south of Macon.

"While we're waiting, you'll at least give me your name and address, I hope."

When the man gave a Boston address, he asked, "How long have you been in Macon and how have you been spending your time here? You realize that we'll have no trouble checking out your story."

"We got in last night, and what I've done since then can wait till my lawyer gets here."

The boy's mother mustn't have known that if she thought he was a suspect. MacGuire went on: "We?"

"Me and my husband, Edward Blacknoll. He's waiting his turn outside your door. You dragged him down here too."

"Nobody dragged you. We asked you to come and you agreed. May I ask why the two of you came to Macon?"

"May
I
ask what this is all about? If you tell me, I
may
agree to answer some of your questions."

MacGuire told him, and could see that the shock and surprise in the man's face was no act. In return he opened up a little and provided some information.

"I was down here for a couple of days about a month ago to take care of some business regarding my mother's will. My sister's contesting it."

"Yes, the house. I know about that."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me? Anyway, there was some question about whether I really was who I say I am, so I got some proof together while I was back in Boston. I had my DNA tested, too. That ought to show that Mrs. Redding is my sister."

McGuire didn't say anything while he jotted it all down. Cameron blurted out, "Jesus, that poor kid! What exactly did the bastard do to him?"

"You know I can't give out that information when I'm trying to determine if you were involved, Mr. Enslik."

"You can see for yourself I couldn't have been. But yeah, I figured you wouldn't. And the name's Blacknoll. I had it changed."

"I'll make a note of that. Is there anything else you're willing to tell me?"

"I'll be signing some papers this afternoon. I intended to go home tomorrow, but I don't suppose you'll allow that now."

"I won't oppose your leaving if your story checks out. And your partner?"

"Husband."

"We don't recognize your kind of marriage in Georgia."

"I don't give a damn. Just make sure that the transcript says exactly what I say on that tape—my husband. Don't go tampering with the evidence to make it conform to Georgia law."

MacGuire refused to let the man's needling get to him. "Are you going to tell me why he came with you?" he asked calmly.

"On our first trip, for moral support. This time he came to confer with some people who are making preliminary arrangements for the shelter my mother specified in her will. You'll have to ask him for the details."

He had never met his nephew. He refused to answer any questions about the other men. There was no point going on, or even questioning him again once his lawyer arrived unless one of the others said something to implicate him, which seemed unlikely, if not impossible.

His story meshed perfectly with what his partner… husband, whatever… had to say.

The third man he interrogated, Franklin, was so visibly shaken that MacGuire thought he might be guilty. It turned out that he'd lived for a while as a runaway and had never gotten over his irrational fear of the police. MacGuire also learned that he'd been brutally molested as a child. Statistically, that would make him more likely to abuse children, but it didn't give him much to go on.

Caille had arrived by the time he got around to questioning the black man, who impressed him because of his dignity and reserve. He'd tried another tack with him, saying, "I see your brother is in prison."

Caille looked as if she was about to jump down his throat, but Christ merely said, with haughty calm, "Then he couldn't have done it, could he?"

Convinced of the sincerity of the disgust and horror all four had expressed, MacGuire had decided to question them as a group on the off-chance that if there was a hole in one of their stories one of the others would pick up on it. He didn't think they would try to cover for the molester. So here they all were the next afternoon, back at the police station for no good reason, this time the four of them being questioned together.

* * * *

If anything, Cameron felt feistier than he had during the first interrogation; only the presence of the other three kept him from venting. There was no sense to it. After what they'd told him the day before, the detective had to know none of them could have done it if he had even a shred of intelligence. What a day it had been! Instant replay was the last thing they needed.

The morning after he and Ed had flown down to Macon, the police had shown up at Jay and Baron's house in the middle of breakfast and asked them all to come down to the station to answer a few questions.

"All four of us?"

Cameron was immediately suspicious that his sister had instigated some new tactic and asked to see a warrant.

"We can get one if you'd prefer to be arrested."

"On what charges?"

"I couldn't say. I wasn't told."

Baron said, "We'll go there on our own. We still have to shower and dress and call in to work to tell them we'll be late. We can be there about ten. If you want to get a warrant in the meantime, go right ahead."

"No, ten o'clock is good."

They finished their breakfast in silence. It was useless speculating why the police wanted to question them. But after they got home from the station they'd talked about it non-stop.

News of any kid being molested always made Jay physically ill. That night he had picked at his dinner and could barely keep it down. Later, Ed and Cameron could hear Baron comforting him in the room next to theirs. The sounds were embarrassingly loud and made them more than a little jealous.

* * * *

As MacGuire expected, the group interrogation was going nowhere. He'd looked into their stories and they had all checked out. He had nothing to ask, really.

A very overweight police officer stuck his head in the door.

"Fletch, will you step outside a second?"

"Time to play 'good cop, bad cop'?" the boy's uncle sneered. He'd been openly hostile from the beginning.

MacGuire was gone less than a minute. "You can go home now," he said. "We know who it was." He looked straight at Enslik (he couldn't bring himself to think 'Blacknoll') and added, "You see, that we were 'wasting our time' questioning you doesn't mean we wasted all our time."

If MacGuire had been expecting an apology for his 'good cop, bad cop' crack, he didn't get one.

Franklin, who had reacted the most strongly when he learned of the molestation, muttered, "I hope they lock the bastard up for life."

"They won't; nowhere close. It seems nothing more went on than a little fondling."

"Isn't that bad enough?" the uncle asked. "How many times did he do it?"

"We don't know that yet."

"So there could be more."

"Let's hope not. What really freaked the boy out was being made to touch the man's genitals."

Franklin groaned. "Was he… Did he have an erection?"

"Maybe. Probably."

Franklin groaned again. The black man gave his upper arm a gentle squeeze. "C'mon, Jay. Let's go home. It's over now. They've caught him."