Stranglehold (28 page)

"Mr. Milford, you said that Mrs.
Danse
didn't deny that money was a factor in this, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did she affirm it?"

"She just ignored the money comment, am I right?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"And you say she threatened to kill Mr.
Danse
."

"Yes."

"And you were sitting at the far end of the bar close to them and you could hear them."

"Yes."

"They were yelling at one another at this point, true? So that it was pretty easy for you to hear them?"

"It was very easy. Sure."

"So presumably others heard her threaten Mr.
Danse
as well. Wouldn't that be reasonable to assume?"

"I ... well, sure. I guess so."

Milford seemed to feel he was on ground that was not quite so firm anymore. He was right.

"You're an old friend of Arthur
Danse's
, aren't you?"

"Sure. I've known Arthur a long time."

"Are you good enough friends to lie for him?"

"Am I ... hell no, I don't lie for anybody!"

Milford puffed up, full of indignation.
Sansom
only nodded.

"That's good, Mr. Milford. Because a lie in court can result in perjury charges—as I'm sure you're aware. And I'm sure you're aware that I can call in others who were at the bar that night and ask them what
they
heard. So I want to be absolutely sure of one thing here. I want to be absolutely certain that you heard Mrs.
Danse
use the word 'kill.' Before I ask anybody else about it. That it wasn't some other word. So, was that the word she used? 'Kill'?"

His bluff was working. The little man looked worried.

"I heard ..." he said. "I'm pretty sure I heard her say that, yeah."

He was trying to have it both ways.
Sansom
wasn't letting him.

"Pretty sure?"

"Yes."

"But not completely sure?"

"Listen, they said a lot of things."

"Who was sitting next to you at the bar that night, Mr. Milford? I'd like a name, please."

"I didn't know the guy. Sorry."

"How about somebody sitting near you, then. A few seats away, maybe."

"I don't know."

"You didn't know
anybody
in the bar that night? Not a soul? How about Jake Whalen, the bartender? You knew him, didn't you?"

"Sure, but ... look, Jake was there. He might've heard, he might not. But the others ... hey, I wasn't paying attention. I was there to have a couple of drinks, that's all."

Sansom
gave him a look of disgust.

"No more for this witness, Your Honor," he said.

That night she was struck by a cold unreasoning fear.

She kept hearing Wood's words. Judge Burke's words.

Could you comply with the decision of the court if that decision were to continue visitation rights according to the previous terms of your divorce?

That meant private visitation.

That meant Robert raped again.

And no way for her to stop it.

Anything's possible.

She tried listening to music over a glass of white wine, hoping it would relax her and calm her down but music only seemed to open up her heart, to make her feel soft and yielding, and she needed to be hard now and not feel sorry for herself or
Sansom
or his wife or even for Robert because sorry wasn't the answer. Winning was the answer.

The alternative was unthinkable.

The wine helped a little. She poured another and got into bed. She lay sipping it in the half-dark, staring out her window into moonlight. The sheets felt cool and soothing against her legs.

Could it happen?

Could they actually do such a thing?

When the telephone rang it didn't really surprise her. It was as though the telephone's ringing was going to be part of the answer for her.

"Hello?"

"I didn't think it went all that well for you today,
Lyd
. Did you?"

"Arthur, I don't need this. What do I have to do, change my phone number?"

"Don't bother. I won't be doing this often. I was just curious. So. What do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"Sure it does. It matters to me."

"I can't imagine why."

"Because if you thought it was going badly for you, you might do something stupid. That's why."

"Stupid like what, Arthur?"

"Like packing Robert up and trying to make a run for it. That wouldn't be smart."

"You think?"

"Yes, and you know why? Because you have to work,
Liddy
. You're a nurse—and nurses need to be registered. So no matter where you went, no matter what state or how far away, I'd find you. You realize that? And I could probably get you thrown in jail when I did. I mean, what a great guarantee of your basic stability, you know?"

"I'm happy you're happy, Arthur. Now do you mind if I go back to bed?"

"No problem. What're you wearing,
Lyd
?"

"Fuck you, Arthur. Sheet metal."

She hung up.

The call made her angry. And not just his last comment.

Am I really that easy to read?
she wondered.

Because she'd considered running.

And rejected it for exactly the reason Arthur cited. It boiled down to money. If she had money of her own she might have run already.

But he was right. She had to work. And nursing was the only way she knew of keeping them both somewhere above the poverty line. There wasn't much choice but to stick it out in the courts and pray it would all come out for the best.

Could they really be so insane as to give him what he wanted? Unlimited, unsupervised visitation?

And if they did—what was she going to do?

It took two more glasses of wine to put her to sleep

Restless sleep. Full of unremembered dreams.

The kind that provide no clues and answer no questions.

They led with a pair of character witnesses, local businessmen who did nothing more than establish that Arthur was reliable in financial matters and business practices. Neither Stone nor
Sansom
even bothered to question them.

Next was Arthur's mother.

She hadn't seen much of Ruth since the divorce except around Christmas time and she certainly hadn't missed her. Even decked out in her Sunday best—again, she suspected, selected by Arthur—there was something basically unattractive about the woman and always had been, some meanness of spirit that worked its way through her flesh like a subtle but distinct aroma.

She's give her this much, though—she was loyal.

"My boy wouldn't hurt a soul," she said. "If you ask me it's nonsense. And he sure wouldn't hurt somebody
that
way, let me tell you. My Arthur's had more nice girlfriends over the years than you could count on your hands and toes. Fact is I used to confuse the names of 'em."

"Thank you, Mrs.
Danse
," Wood said. "Nothing further."

"Mr.
Sansom
?"

"Nothing for this witness, Your Honor."

He looked better today, she thought. Tired. But that haunted look was gone.

"I have a few questions for Mrs.
Danse
, Your Honor," said Andrea Stone, "purely of a formal nature."

"Proceed, Ms. Stone."

"Mrs.
Danse
," she said, "when I visited you at home you indicated to me that, in the event that the court should find for neither Arthur
nor
Lydia
Danse
in this matter, you would be willing to offer Robert legal adoption. Is that still your position and your husband's position?"

"Absolutely."

"Your husband's too?"

"Absolutely."

"And would you be able to comply with the court's instructions regarding visitation?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, suppose the court said Lydia
Danse
was allowed to visit Robert twice a week, take him on vacations, have him for a given number of weekends every month, that sort of thing. Would you be all right with that?"

"Sure I would. She's his mother. Whatever I might think about her and what she's doing to my boy personally have no bearing on it."

"And then suppose the court
limited
Arthur's visitations. Suppose the judge ruled that Arthur could only see Robert under structured, supervised conditions. Or even permitted no visitation at all."

She hesitated only a moment. But Lydia wondered if she was the only one in the room who was able to recognize the sly secret look that passed over her face and then was gone. She wondered if you had to have seen it before—as she had many times—to notice it.

"Well, I have to be honest," she said. "I wouldn't like it. I wouldn't think it was fair to Arthur. But if that's what you folks decided then I'd be duty-bound to honor the law, and that's what I'd do."

"Thank you, Mrs.
Danse
. Nothing further."

"We call Arthur
Danse
, Your Honor."

She studied him as he turned to face them on the witness stand. If I were the judge, she thought, would I be inclined to believe this man?

I might. Dammit, he looks good.

His face contrived to show nothing other than to register the seriousness of the moment—kind of intelligent concern. No guilt, no shame. No nervousness. The face of a man who wished nothing more than to clear this up once and for all and leave it behind him. She decided he'd missed his calling. The camera would have loved Arthur. He met her eyes for a moment and didn't seem to need to look away.

Wood made quick work of the preliminaries. So that the lies and half-lies weren't long in coming.

"Mr.
Danse
," he said, "can you describe for us in your own words the events of January eleventh of this year?"

"Yes." He leaned forward intently. "I picked up my son at his mother's house at around noon. We drove to the McDonald's out on 93 for lunch. Robert likes the Chicken
McNuggets
there, though I try to keep our visits down to one or two a month. We ate in the car. After that we drove to Ellsworth, near where my parents live. We went hunting. I'd just bought a brand-new shotgun—a Remington over-and-under—and I wanted to give it a try."