Stranglehold (27 page)

"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 circumstances. 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 Hampshire 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 hell'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 damn 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 God'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 ..."

"God. 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 goddamn thing. When she finally came out of it Saturday the fever had ... her mind was ..." He shook his head. "Shit. 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?"

"She said he was butt-fucking him."

"Butt-fucking? And she said this loudly?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah. Pretty loud."

"And what did he say?"

"He said she was crazy. He said he'd never laid a hand on Robert."

"And did she
act
crazy, Mr. Whalen?"

"Objection," said
Sansom
. "The witness is not a psychoanalyst."

"I'll rephrase it, Your Honor," Wood said. "How would you characterize her attitude toward him at the time?"

"She was mad. Real mad at him."

"Violent, would you say?"

"She didn't hit him or anything if that's what you mean but I guess it looked like maybe she wanted to."

"Where were they standing? Were they standing close together?"

"They were about three or four feet to one side of me over across the bar. Yeah, they were close together. I mean, she was sort of right in his face."

"Shouting. Swearing at him."

"Yes."

"What else did she say, Jake?"

"I remember her saying she was never letting him see Robert by himself again. That she'd have to be there if he did. Mr.
Danse
said she couldn't do that. She said something like you just go ahead and watch me. Then he asked if Robert had actually said anything about Mr.
Danse
doing something bad to him."

"And what was her response?"

"She said he didn't have to say something. Like she just knew."

"So she didn't actually say that Robert had told her
anything
."

"Not that I heard."

"Jake, do you
like
Lydia
Danse
?"

"Sure."

"So you're not here to do her any personal harm, are you? I mean, you have no problems of your own with her do you? No grudges? No mistreatment?"

"No. I always thought Mrs.
Danse
was a pretty nice person."

"Thank you, Mr. Whalen."

Sansom
stood and approached him.

"Mr. Whalen, you've said that Mrs.
Danse
was very angry. Was Mr.
Danse
angry too?"

"Not at first. He got real angry though."

"Did you hear him say, 'I'll see you in court, you bitch'? Or words to that effect?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And when he said that, was he in
her
face, as you put it?"

Jake smiled. "I guess he was, yeah."

"So what you were listening to was two people shouting, swearing, am I right? Not just one."

"Right, yes."

Wood followed Jake Whalen with someone Lydia knew only slightly—Harold Milford—a short stocky man she'd seen sometimes at the bar. Milford owned a siding business in town. As it happened he'd been sitting next to them that night. Wood took him through pretty much the same paces he'd taken Whalen. In the beginning, anyhow.

"She was acting hysterical," Milford said.

Sansom
objected. The man was not a doctor. Burke sustained him.

"Did you hear Mr.
Danse
respond to all these accusations?"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

"He said this was all just something she'd come up with because she was angry about the terms of their divorce. That if she'd wanted more money she should have just said so and he'd have given it to her."

"And did she deny that money was her motive?"

"No."

"And then did she at any time threaten Mr.
Danse
?"

"Yes, she did. I heard her say that if he ever came near Robert again she'd fucking kill him. Those were her words. That he was a sick man and if he ever came near Robert she'd fucking kill him." He turned to the judge's bench. "Sorry, Your Honor," he said.

"That's all right, Mr. Milford."

Owen
Sansom
looked at her.

"He's lying," she whispered. "
Jesus, Owen, I never
...!"

"It's okay," he said.

"Your witness."

Sansom
got up slowly and walked over to Milford and then stood there a moment gazing at him. The impression was of someone who was contemplating a tree and wondering if it was worth bothering to climb it. Lydia felt frozen to her seat. How damaging was this lie and could he shake it? She thought back to their conversation over lunch. He'd come back well since then. But she knew that
Sansom
was hurting.