Stranglehold (22 page)

"Mr.
Danse
."

"I am his father!"

"Mr.
Danse
, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"

"
No you may damn well not speak with me in private for a moment!
Not if I can't speak with my own son you can't!"

"In that case listen to me—you take one step out of this office in Robert's company and I'll have you thrown in jail so fast it'll make your head spin. I'm sorry to have to say this in front of Robert but you leave me no choice and I urge you not to test me on this. I urge you very, very strongly."

She watched the man deflate. Watching him deflate did not displease her one damn bit.

"I'll see you, Robert," he said quietly. "I'm sorry we couldn't ..."

"Sure, Dad. It's okay."

He turned on his Game Boy again.

Danse
glanced at her once and then opened the door and left the room. She followed, closing the door behind her. "Mr.
Danse
."

She spoke quietly so that Robert wouldn't hear. The walls were thin.

He turned.

"Mr.
Danse
, if I ever hear you use the word 'fuck' again in Robert's presence I will personally bring an action against you for the verbal abuse of a child—a second, independent action—before the Division of Children and Youth Services. And that action will land you in district court no matter how this custody case turns out. Are we very clear on that?"

He smiled. "He can't hear us now, though, can he?" he said. Now he was speaking softly too.

"No."

"Then go screw yourself, Miss Stone. You fucking tight-assed bitch."

She felt she had the measure of the man.

Lydia was deep asleep when the phone rang. She looked at the clock.

4:45.

"Hello?"

"You'll never prove it," he said.

She was instantly awake.

"He won't tell," he said. "So how are you going to prove it if he won't tell, huh? You can't."

"How do you know he won't tell, Arthur?"

"Because I know my son. I know my kid. He's loyal to me."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"We'll see."

"You'll never prove a goddamn thing you stupid cunt!"

"Gee.
Cunt
, huh? Would you rather I was a little boy, Arthur?"

It felt good to say it to him. To taunt him.

"Fuck
you
!" he yelled and slammed down the phone. She was shaking when she replaced the receiver, but in a way the call was far from unsatisfying. She looked again at the clock. Nearly five in the morning, she thought.

It looked like Arthur was losing it a little.

Too bad.

She thought about that. And after a while, she slept.

Two days before the hearing, she was finishing the lunch dishes over at Ellie Brest's house and worrying why Owen hadn't called back yet so she could tell him about this phone-call-in-the-night thing when Ellie asked her to come into the living room.

Normally this was nap time.

Ellie was usually completely predictable. She'd fall asleep in the middle of one of the soaps and then all afternoon she'd wonder what she'd missed. If Lydia happened to hear any of it while she was going about her business she'd fill her in.

She turned off the tap and dried her hands, and walked into the darkened room. Ellie kept the lights off in there unless Lydia was cleaning. Saved a dollar or two on electricity, she said. Though the television was on all day and well into the night.

Now she wanted it off, though.

"During your soaps, El?"

"Yes."

She walked over and turned it off, thinking how it was such a little thing—but knowing the enormous and painful effort it would have taken for Ellie to get up and do it for herself.

"Sit down,
Liddy
. Please."

She sat across from her in the big overstuffed armchair that nobody ever used anymore now that her husband was gone.

"I know you're going to be away for a few days," she said. "And I just wanted to tell you while I still have the nerve to go butting into other people's business that I admire what you're doing,
Liddy
."

She didn't know what to say. She couldn't have been more surprised if Ellie had got up and danced.

In the past she always seemed embarrassed by Lydia's ... situation. She'd ask a question now and then—but always seemed to shy away from actually listening to the answer. She'd never expressed approval before—or disapproval either for that matter—just an infrequent, hesitant curiosity.

"Thanks, Ellie," she said. "That means a lot to me."

"I know a lot of women would have just let it go on and on, would have turned a blind eye, so to speak. Wouldn't want the publicity or be too frightened of him or whatever."

She hesitated. This clearly wasn't easy for her to say.

"Willie and I never did have children and there are many times I've regretted that. But regrets don't get you much in life, do they? The point is, I want you to know that I think you're
doin
' your duty by the boy. The important thing's the boy. That nobody hurt him. A child and the good decent life of a child is the most important thing in the world. I think I missed out on something. But I'm glad that a woman good as you are,
Liddy
Danse
, I'm glad you didn't. Nothing I can do but pray for you. But I want you to know that I'll do that for you."

She saw tears in the old woman's eyes. She was shaking with the effort of holding them back. And then there were tears in Lydia's eyes too as she stood and stepped over and gave her the gentlest and most delicate of hugs, her body so frail between her arms and against her cheek, smelling the good clean old-lady smell of her and feeling the warm wet tears pressed between their faces, and she thought, I love you old woman, I had no idea, it happened so quickly, I didn't know it could happen so quickly, but I do.

Just look. Just look at what you've given me.

When she pulled into the driveway after school with Robert the Lincoln was parked outside.

"Go on into the house," she said to him.

He didn't hesitate.

She walked over to the car. Arthur was slumped low in the seat. If he was trying to look inconspicuous sitting there it wasn't working. Not in the big black Lincoln.

He rolled down the window.

"Arthur, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing. Waiting."

"You know you're violating a court order being here."

"I wanted to see him."

"Why? You saw him the other day."

"That was nonsense."

It was a cold, gray damp afternoon. She could feel the heat wafting out of the Lincoln. She wasn't about to stand here talking to him.

"Well, you saw him," she said. "Good-bye. You can leave now."

"Lydia?"

"What."

"When did you get to be such a bitch?"

He was smiling. She didn't think it was funny.

"When I found out who you really were, Arthur." She turned to go.

"Lydia?"

"
What?
"

The smile was still there. In his hand, poking out of the window and held so low that only she could see it, was the magnum.

"Bang," he said.

"You go to hell, Arthur."

"Bang," he said.

"You go play your damn games somewhere else."

She hoped she didn't look or sound as scared as she felt. Who knew what he would do? After what he'd already done? He was crazy enough, anyway, so that she'd bet the gun was loaded.

She turned and walked quickly toward the door.

She was shaking.

"
Bang, bang
," she heard behind her.

It was only when she was in the house, peering out through the window to see that the Lincoln was gone, that she realized there was a week's worth of groceries in the trunk. She walked out to get them like a soldier looking for sniper fire and wondered if things would ever be anything like normal again.

The room was old and dark as the day was dark outside beyond the three long tiers of windows—and empty but for the lawyers, judge, bailiff, stenographer and Lydia and Arthur. Child welfare cases were closed to the public and press, and she was glad of it. More and more so as the day progressed.

It started badly. After brief opening statements from the attorneys, Judge Burke ruled on a motion by Edward Wood to disallow testimony and evidence regarding Arthur having beat her in November, finding it irrelevant to the matter at hand despite
Owen's
argument that it went to show potential for violence. So they couldn't use Ralph Duggan or the officer who'd examined her. Or the photos or hospital records.

For their side it was a major disappointment. Wasn't violence an issue here?

Apparently Burke thought it wasn't.

Things got better with Andrea Stone.

Stone's role here was unusual. She was both attorney representing Robert's interests in the case and available for questioning, as investigator of the case, from either party.

She told Owen
Sansom
how she'd spoken with Lydia
Danse
at length, with
Hessler
and Bromberg, and visited Robert alone at home on three occasions. That she found him seemingly quite content there, and hesitant but open to speaking to her in what she called guarded terms about what had happened. Until she asked him who'd done it.

He still wouldn't talk about that. Or about his father.

"Which leads you to conclude what, Miss Stone?" asked
Sansom
.

"Objection."

"Miss Stone is in the
business
of conclusions, Your Honor. Mr. Wood's aware of that."

"Overruled. The witness may answer."

"Which leads me to believe that his abuser and his father are one and the same."

"Is he willing to talk about any
other
man? His grandfather, for instance? Or me?"

"Yes."

"It's just his father he doesn't want to speak of."