All These Things I've Done (12 page)

Frappe was in the courtroom, and another woman whom I assumed was the prosecutor. At 9.01, the judge came in. ‘Ms Balanchine?’ She looked at me, and I nodded. ‘Do you know where your attorney is?’

‘Mr Kipling said he’d meet me here. Maybe he was caught in traffic?’ I suggested.

‘Is your guardian here?’ the judge asked. ‘I’m aware that your parents are dead. Perhaps your guardian could call your attorney?’

I told her that my guardian was my grandmother and that she was confined to bed.

‘Most unfortunate,’ the judge said. ‘I suppose we could proceed without an attorney, though, as you are a minor, I’d rather not. Perhaps we should postpone?’

At that moment, a boy who didn’t seem much older than me came into the courtroom. He was wearing a business suit. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Your Honour. I’m Mr Kipling’s colleague. Mr Kipling has had a heart attack and won’t be able to come to court today. In his absence, I’ll be representing Ms Balanchine. I’m Simon Green.’

As soon as he arrived at the table, he offered me his hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘Everything will be fine. I’m not as young as I look and I actually know more about criminal matters than Mr Kipling does anyway.’

‘Will Mr Kipling be all right?’ I asked.

‘They don’t know anything yet,’ Simon Green said.

‘Ms Balanchine,’ the judge asked, ‘are you comfortable with this arrangement? Or shall I postpone?’

I considered the question. The truth was, I was not one bit comfortable with this arrangement and yet postponing seemed like an equally bad idea – I didn’t relish another night in jail or somewhere worse. If the matter was postponed, they wouldn’t send me to Rikers Island, but there was a good chance I’d be sent to a juvenile facility while everything was sorted out. And it would be difficult to mind Natty, Leo and Nana from a juvenile facility. ‘I’m fine with Mr Green,’ I said.

‘Good,’ said the judge.

The prosecutor recited the evidence they had against me, and the judge nodded a great deal, as did Simon Green. The attorney concluded by giving her recommendations for what she thought should be done with me. ‘Ms Balanchine should be sent to Liberty Children’s Facility while she awaits trial.’

I waited for Mr Green to object but he said nothing.

‘Detainment seems a bit excessive in a juvenile case,’ said the judge. ‘The girl hasn’t been convicted of anything yet.’

‘Ordinarily I’d agree,’ said the prosecutor. ‘But you must consider the severity of the crime and the fact that the victim may die. Also, there’s a family history of criminal behaviour’ – I was starting to hate this woman – ‘which suggests that the suspect may pose a flight risk.’

I nudged Simon Green. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ I whispered.

‘We’re listening right now,’ Simon Green whispered back. ‘I’ll talk more after I’ve heard everything.’

The prosecutor continued. ‘I’m sure you know that the father was notorious crime boss Leonyd Balanchine, which probably suggests that Anya Balanchine is rather well connected—’

‘Excuse me, Your Honour,’ I said.

The judge looked at me for a moment, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to discipline me for interrupting. ‘Yes?’ she said finally.

‘I don’t see what my family has to do with me. I have no prior record, and I haven’t been convicted of anything yet. If I were sent to Liberty Children’s Facility, this would pose an incredible hardship for me.’

‘Do you mean missing school?’ the judge asked.

‘No.’ I paused. ‘I’m sort of responsible for watching my sister. My grandmother is sick, and my older brother’s health is . . .’ What was the best word here? ‘Delicate.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said the judge.

‘What Ms Balanchine describes is exactly my point,’ the prosecutor interjected. ‘This ailing grandmother is the girl’s sole guardian. If you allow Anya Balanchine back to her own home, it sounds as if she’ll be entirely unsupervised.’

The judge looked at me, then at Simon Green. ‘Can you speak to her home situation?’ she asked Simon Green.

‘Uh, I’m sorry . . . I only got on this case today and . . . and . . .’ Simon Green stammered. ‘My expertise is more criminal law, not family law.’

‘Well, I need more time to think and to find someone who does know something about this,’ said the judge. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to send Ms Balanchine to Liberty Children’s Facility. Don’t worry, Ms Balanchine. It’s just until we get everything sorted out. Let’s meet back here in a week.’

The judge banged the gavel, and then we had to leave the courtroom.

I sat down on a marble bench outside the courtroom and tried to come up with my next move. I heard the prosecutor say something about arranging my transport to Liberty from here.

‘I’m sorry, Anya,’ Simon Green said to me. ‘I very much wish I’d had more time to prepare.’

In a way, it had been my fault. If only I’d kept my mouth shut about needing to take care of Nana, Natty and Leo! By mentioning my situation, I’d only made things worse. In my defence, it really hadn’t looked like Simon Green knew what he was doing. Someone needed to say something.

‘Anya,’ he repeated. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There isn’t time for that,’ I said. ‘I need you to do a couple of things for me. There are people I need you to call. Mr Kipling will have the numbers. There’s a woman named Imogen Goodfellow. She’s my grandmother’s home-health-care worker. Call her and tell her that she needs to stay at the apartment full-time. Tell her that we’ll pay her time and a half for the extra hours.

Simon Green nodded.

‘Do you need to note this somewhere?’ I asked. I could not have had less faith in this man.

‘I’m recording it,’ he said, removing a device from his pocket. ‘Please, continue.’

Daddy would never have stood for recording conversations, but there wasn’t time for me to worry about that. ‘Scarlet Barber goes to school with my sister and me. Tell her that she needs to accompany Natty to and from school.’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Finally, I need you to call my brother, Leo. Tell him that I don’t want him to take the job at the Pool because I need him to watch everyone at home. I doubt he’ll put up an argument but if he does, tell him . . .’ I could see the prosecutor and a social-worker type walking towards me and I lost my train of thought. There wasn’t much time.

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know what to tell him. Come up with something that makes sense.’

‘Yes, I can manage that,’ Simon Green said.

The social worker came up to me. ‘I’m Mrs Cobrawick,’ she said. ‘I’ll be transporting you to Liberty.’

‘Ironic name for a jail,’ I said, making a semi-joke.

‘It’s not a jail. Simply a place for children in trouble. Children like yourself.’

Mrs Cobrawick was one of those overly earnest types. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. Jail was where I’d be going later if they tried me as an adult and if I didn’t manage to get acquitted of poisoning Gable Arsley. I nodded towards Simon Green. ‘I’ll be hearing from you?’

‘Yes,’ he assured me. ‘I’ll come see you this weekend.’

I watched as he walked away. ‘Mr Green!’ I called out.

He turned.

‘Please give Mr Kipling my best wishes!’

And then it happened. My voice broke on the word
wishes
, and I started to cry. Nothing else could make me do it, but somehow the thought of Mr Kipling in the hospital made me feel lonelier than I’d ever felt in my life.

‘There, there,’ said Mrs Cobrawick. ‘It won’t be so bad at Liberty.’

‘It isn’t that—’ I started to say, but then I changed my mind. At the very least, my passing display of weakness hadn’t been in front of anyone I knew.

‘I always find it’s the hardest cases that shed the most tears,’ Mrs Cobrawick commented.

Let this Mrs Cobrawick think what she wanted. Daddy always said you only explained things to the people that actually mattered.

V I I I.
i am sent to liberty; am also tattooed!

M
RS COBRAWICK AND I
RODE
the ferry to Liberty Children’s Facility. The view from the boat did not necessarily encourage me: several low-rise grey concrete structures, bunker-like with few windows, surrounded a pedestal. Atop the pedestal was an enormous greenish pair of woman’s feet in sandals and the bottom of her skirt, both made of what I’d guess was ageing copper. I think my father had once told me some story about what had happened to the rest of the statue (maybe it had been scrapped for parts?), but at that moment I couldn’t remember it, and the torsoless woman seemed ominous to me. There was something inscribed on the base of the pedestal but the only words I could make out were
tired
and
free.
I was the former though not the latter. The whole island was surrounded by a chain-link fence, which, I could tell from the coiled structures at the top, was electrified. I told myself that I wouldn’t be there long.

‘Back when my mother was a girl, Liberty used to be a tourist attraction,’ Mrs Cobrawick informed me. ‘You could climb up the woman’s dress and the base was a museum.’

What hadn’t been? Half the places in my neighbourhood used to be museums.

‘What you said back at the courthouse? Liberty is not a jail,’ Mrs Cobrawick continued. ‘And you shouldn’t think of it as such. We’re very proud of Liberty and we like to think of it as a home.’

I knew I should probably keep my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help replying. ‘What’s the electrified fence for then?’

Mrs Cobrawick narrowed her eyes at me, and I could tell my question had probably been a mistake. ‘It’s to keep everyone safe,’ she said.

I didn’t comment.

‘Did you hear me?’ Mrs Cobrawick asked. ‘I said, the fence is there to keep everyone safe.’

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Good,’ Mrs Cobrawick said. ‘For the record, it’s polite to show some acknowledgement when a person’s answered a question you’ve asked.’

I apologized and told her I hadn’t meant to be rude. ‘I’m tired,’ I explained, ‘and a bit distracted by what’s been happening.’

Mrs Cobrawick nodded. ‘I’m glad to hear that. I was worried your rudeness was a sign of poor breeding. I’m well versed in your background, Anya. Your family history. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to me if you lacked certain refinements.’

I could tell she was baiting me, but I wouldn’t take it. The boat was docking at the island, and I’d be quit of this woman soon.

‘The truth is, Anya, your stay here can be easy or it can be difficult,’ she said. ‘It’s completely up to you.’

I thanked her for the advice, making sure not to sound sarcastic.

‘When I heard about your situation this morning, I specifically offered to transport you myself, though normally such responsibilities fall well below my purview. You could say I had an interest in you. You see, I went to college with your mother. We weren’t friends per se but I often saw her on campus, and I’d hate to see you end up like her. I’ve found that early intervention can make a world of difference in borderline cases.’

I took a deep breath and bit my tongue. I mean I literally bit it. I could taste the blood in my mouth.

The boat had stopped, and the captain called for everyone going to Liberty Children’s Facility to disembark. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘thanks very much for taking me over.’

‘I’m coming in with you,’ she said.

I had assumed she worked at the court, not at Liberty, but, of course, this had been foolish of me. I wondered how she had known that I’d be sent to Liberty, considering how quickly the hearing had progressed. Had my fate been decided before I even arrived at court that morning?

‘I’m the principal here,’ Mrs Cobrawick told me. ‘Some people call me the warden behind my back,’ she added with a strange smile. ‘Though don’t you go being one of them.’

Once we were off the dock, my hostess led me to a concrete room marked
CHILDREN
’
S ORIENTATION,
where a skinny blonde girl in a lab coat and a man in yellow coveralls were waiting for me. ‘Dr Henchen,’ Mrs Cobrawick said to the blonde girl, ‘this is Anya Balanchine.’

‘Hello,’ Dr Henchen said, looking me up and down. ‘Do I process her as long or short term?’

Mrs Cobrawick considered the question. ‘We’re not entirely sure of that yet. Let’s say long term to be on the safe side.’

I have no idea what short term might have been like, but long-term orientation was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life to that point.
(NB: This is foreshadowing, dear readers – more and deeper humiliations to come . . .)
‘I do apologize, Miss Balanchine,’ Dr Henchen had said in a polite if curiously emotionless voice. ‘In the last several months, we’ve had a rash of bacterial outbreaks so, in order to avoid this, our intake procedure has become rather intense. Especially for long-term residents who will be exposed and expose themselves to the general population here. This won’t be very pleasant for you.’ Still, I was unprepared for what came.

I was made to strip and then I was hosed down by the male attendant with scalding-hot water. After that, I was soaked in an antibacterial bath that stung every part of me and then what I’d guess was a delousing solution was placed in my hair. The final part was a series of ten injections. Dr Henchen said they were mainly to protect against flu and sexually transmitted diseases, and to relax me, but, at that point, my mind was elsewhere. I’ve always been able to do that – separate my brain from the awful thing happening at the moment.

Whatever they gave me must have knocked me out because I woke up the next morning in the upper bunk of a metal-framed bed in an extremely stark girls’ dormitory. My arm hurt where they had repeatedly injected me. My skin was raw. My stomach, empty. My brain, fuzzy. It took a moment to even remember how I’d gotten here.

The other inmates (or whatever term Mrs Cobrawick had invented for us) were still asleep. There were narrow windows – not much more than slits – along the sides of the room and I could make out a bit of predawn light. Of my many concerns, the most immediate was breakfast and what it would consist of.

I sat up in bed and was glad to find that I was clothed as, last I remembered, I had been naked. I was wearing a navy-blue cotton jumpsuit – not particularly stylish but better than the alternative. In sitting up, I became aware of an odd pain on my right ankle, almost like a fire-ant bite. I looked down and discovered that I had been tattooed. A tiny bar code that presumably linked my person to my nascent criminal record. (This was common practice. Daddy had had one, too.)