“What?”
“There’s no getting around it, at this point. You know you’ve been accused of it in the past.”
I felt churning nausea. Whenever a relationship goes sour, there’s always some residue of resentment, some pockets of bitterness and anger—as well as lots of private things that you know about the other person, that you can use against them. If you choose to do that. Lauren never had.
“Lauren, you know that abuse charge was trumped up, You know everything about that. We were married at the time.”
“I only know what you told me.” Her voice sounded distant now, moralistic, a little sarcastic. Her prosecutor’s voice.
“Lauren, for Christ’s sake. This is ridiculous. What’s going on?”
“It is not ridiculous. I have my responsibilities as a mother.”
“Well, for God’s sake, you’ve never been particularly worried about your responsibilities as a mother before. And now you—“
“It’s true that I have a demanding career,” she said, in an icy tone, “but there has never been any question that my daughter comes first. And I deeply, deeply regret if my past behavior in any way contributed to this unpleasant circumstance now.” I had the feeling that she wasn’t talking to me. She was rehearsing. Trying out the words to see how they would sound before a judge. “Clearly, Peter, if there is child abuse, Michelle cannot continue to live with you. Or even to see you.”
I felt pain in my chest. A wrenching.
“What are you talking about? Who told you there was child abuse?”
“Peter, I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to comment at this point in time.”
“Was it Wilhelm? Who called you, Lauren?”
“Peter, there’s no point in going into this, I’m officially notifying you that I’m going to pick Michelle up at four p.m. I want her ready to go at four this afternoon.”
“Lauren—“
“I have my secretary, Miss Wilson, listening on the line and making stenographic notes of our conversation. I’m giving you formal notice of my intention to pick up my daughter and take her for a physical examination. Do you have any questions about my decision?”
“No.”
“Four o’clock, then. Thank you for your cooperation. And let me add on a personal note, Peter, I’m truly sorry that it has come to this.”
And she hung up.
I had been involved in sex abuse cases when I was a detective. I knew how it worked. The fact is, you usually can’t determine anything from a physical exam. It’s always equivocal. And if a kid is questioned by a psychologist who hammers her with questions, the kid will eventually start to go along, and make up answers to please the psychologist. Normal procedure requires the psychologist to videotape the kids, to prove that the questioning wasn’t leading. But the situation is almost always unclear when it finally comes before a judge. And the judge must therefore rule conservatively. Which means, if there is a possibility of abuse, to keep the child away from the accused parent. Or at least, not allow unsupervised visitation. No overnight visits. Or perhaps not even—
“That’s enough,” Connor said, sitting beside me in the car. “Come back now.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But it’s upsetting.”
“I’m sure. Now: what haven’t you told me?”
“About what?”
“The molestation charge.”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to it.”
“Kōhai,” he said quietly. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”
“It had nothing to do with sexual molestation,” I said, “It was something else entirely. It was about money.”
Connor said nothing. He just waited. Looking at me.
“Ah, hell,” I said.
And I told him.
You have these times in your life when you believe you know what you’re doing, but you really don’t. Later on, you can look back, and you see you weren’t acting right at all. You drifted into something, and you were completely screwed up. But at the time, you thought everything was fine.
What happened to me was, I was in love. Lauren was one of those patrician-acting girls, lean and graceful and understated. She looked like she grew up with horses. And she was younger than me, and beautiful.
I always knew it wouldn’t work between us, but I was trying to make it work anyway. We had gotten married and had begun living together and she was starting to be dissatisfied. Dissatisfied with my apartment, where it was located, how much money we had. All of that. She was throwing up, which didn’t help. She had crackers in the car, crackers by the bed, crackers everywhere. She was so miserable and so unhappy that I tried to please her in little ways. Get her things. Bring her things. Cook her meals. Do little domestic things. It wasn’t my usual way, but I was in love. I was drifting into this habit of pleasing her. Trying to please her.
And there was constant pressure. More this, more that. More money. More, more.
We also had a specific problem. Her health insurance through the D.A.’s office didn’t cover pregnancy and neither did mine. After we got married, we couldn’t get coverage in time to pay for the baby. It was going to cost eight thousand dollars and we had to come up with it. Neither of us had the money. Lauren’s father was a doctor in Virginia but she didn’t want to ask him for the money because he disapproved of her marrying me in the first place. My family doesn’t have any money. So. There wasn’t any money. She worked for the D.A. I worked for the department. She had a lot of debts on her MasterCard and owed money on her car. We had to come up with eight thousand dollars. It’s hanging over our heads. How we are going to do this. And it gets to be an unspoken thing, at least from her. That I should handle it.
So one night in August I’m out on a domestic violence call in Ladera Heights. Hispanic couple. They’ve been drinking and going at it pretty good, she’s got a split lip and he’s got a black eye, and their kid’s screaming in the next room, but pretty soon we calm them down and we can see that nobody is seriously injured, so we’re about to leave. And the wife sees we’re about to leave. At that point she starts yelling that the husband has been fooling with the daughter. Physically abusing the daughter. When the husband hears this, he looks really pissed, and I think it’s bullshit, the wife is just doing something to harass him. But the wife insists we check the daughter, so I go into the kid’s room and the kid is about nine months old and screaming red in the face, and I pull the covers back to check for bruises and there I see a kilo of white brick. Under the covers with the kid.
So.
I don’t know, it’s one of those situations, they’re married so she’d have to testify against her husband, there’s no probable cause, the search is invalid, on and on. If he’s got a halfway decent lawyer he can beat this, no problem. So I go out and call the guy in. I know I can’t do anything. All I’m thinking is that if his kid ever got this brick in her mouth, chewed on it, it would kill her. I want to talk to him about that. I figure I’ll fuck him over a little. Scare him a little.
So now it’s him and me in the kid’s room. The wife is still out in the living room with my partner, and suddenly the guy pulls out an envelope two centimeters thick. He cracks it open. I see hundred-dollar bills. An inch thick of hundred-dollar bills. And he says, “Thanks for your help, officer.” There’s got to be ten thousand dollars in that envelope. Maybe more. I don’t know. The guy holds out the envelope and looks at me. Expecting me to take it.
I say something lame about how it’s dangerous to hide shit in a kid’s bed. Right away, the guy picks up the brick, puts it on the floor, kicks it out of sight under the bed. Then he says, “You are right. Thank you, officer. I would hate something happens to my daughter.” And he holds out the envelope.
So.
Everything is in turmoil. The wife is outside screaming at my partner. The kid is in here screaming at us. The guy is holding the envelope. He smiles and nods. Like, go ahead and take it. It’s yours. And I think… I don’t know what I thought.