The Kills (6 page)

"There
was an Article Ten proceeding," I explained, "on neglect and abuse.
Every eighteen months there's to be a hearing held about the continued care of
the child."

"Have
you got all the institutional records, Ms. Cooper?" Moffett shifted his
attention to me.

"No,
sir. Only the meds from Bellevue, the morning Ms. Vallis reported the
crime."

"You
two," he said, waving at Taggart and Irizarry. "Why can't you give
the district attorney all your reports? She's got a job to do."

Taggart
pursed her lips. "We've got serious concerns about the confidentiality of
the material here. The foster parents don't want to be identified, nor do we
want to reveal the location of the child, for his own security."

"So
we redact the papers. Take out specific names and locations." Taggart and
Irizarry huddled with each other to think of a response to the court's
suggestion.

Tripping
was agitated now. He was writing furiously on a legal pad, sticking his notes
under Robelon's nose.

"Are
you at least prepared to discuss the psychological findings, so I can make a
decision here?"

Taggart
nodded to Moffett as she answered. "I'll let Dr. Huang do that."

I rose to
my feet. "Your Honor, I'd like the witness to take the stand so that we
might do this under oath. I'd like to question Dr. Huang myself."

"Sit
down, Ms. Cooper. I can handle this."

"Most
respectfully, Judge Moffett, I'm more familiar with some of the history here
and might be better able to direct the cross-"

He glared
at me and I took my seat. "Don't test me, Ms. Cooper. I still got some
tricks up the big black sleeves of this robe. I didn't get here just on my good
looks."

The heavy
old door creaked open behind me and I turned to see who had entered. Two men,
suited like bookends, walked in shoulder to shoulder and sat in the last row of
benches on the bride's side, behind me. If
Saturday Night Live
was doing a spoof of spooks, they would have
cast this pair. Dark glasses in a dim courtroom on an overcast day,
government-issue suits with drab patterned ties, and haircuts from the local
PX.

I focused
back on the witness. Huang stated her credentials and gave the background of
Dulles's history, from his mother's death shortly after he was born, to his
grandmother's care, to his placement with his father after her loss.

"It
was my recommendation that there be no visits, no contact, between Mr. Tripping
and his son. There is a strong bond between them, but it is a pathological one.
Dulles is worried about losing his relationship with his father"-she
stopped speaking and glanced over at the defendant-"but he is even more
fearful of retribution."

Tripping
was talking in Peter Robelon's ear, while Frith tried to ease him away so
Robelon could follow the proceedings. Tripping had no use for Emily Frith,
aware that she was just seated at the defense table for decoration.

Robelon
interrupted Huang's narrative, fumbling through his notes. "And your
colleague, I think it's a Ms. Plass, her view was entirely opposed to yours.
Her opinion was that it would be good to arrange visitation between the two
because this child adores his father and will eventually be given trial
visitation opportunities with him at the conclusion of these proceedings."

"You'll
get your chance, Mr. Robelon," Moffett said. "I want to hear what Dr.
Huang has to say. Has there been any regular contact at all?"

"By
telephone, sir. That was the compromise we reached."

"Monitored?"

"No,
sir. But there were rules. Mr. Tripping was forbidden to discuss the
allegations before this court, or anything to do with the criminal proceedings.
And brief meetings. There were two meetings which I conducted at the
hospital."

Now I was
as agitated as the defendant. "
What?
When
did this occur? There has been an order of protection in place since Mr.
Tripping's arraignment. There was to be
no
contact with the child. I'm not even blaming the defendant for the violation-I
have to find out here in court that it's two professional agencies that are responsible?
Your Honor, it would appear that everyone except for me has had the opportunity
to talk with this child. What more do you need to hear?"

Huang was
nervous, biting her lower lip as she ran her fingers across the top page of her
records, looking for dates.

"Were
you aware of the order of protection?"

"Yes,
sir. The family court judge said she was overriding it. In the best interests
of the boy." Huang gestured toward Ms. Taggart. "The lawyers told me
to arrange the meetings."

Put that
in the category of "nice to know."

"When
were they held?" Moffett asked.

"I'm
trying to find you an exact time. The first one was early on, when the
defendant was still incarcerated. I remember that clearly. The second one was
midsummer, before I left for my vacation in August."

There
must be one enormous stretch of beach on the Atlantic coast where every
psychiatrist and psychologist in New York disappear for the month of August,
hoping the city's supply of anti-depressants and mood elevators will hold all
the patients at bay.

"How'd
they go, these meetings?" Moffett asked.

"Perhaps
you can understand my reluctance to respond to you, Judge. My conversations
with the child are privileged in nature. If I betray that confidence to the
court, especially in the presence of the father, I'm not certain I'll be able
to get Dulles to speak with me again."

"Well,
was there any discussion of these criminal charges in your presence?"

"No,
sir. Not these charges." She spoke with hesitation. "But others.
That's why I terminated the conversation."

"What
did Mr. Tripping talk about?"

"Not
him, sir. Dulles." Huang spoke softly and stared at a spot on the floor in
front of her. "The boy asked his father whether it was true that Mr.
Tripping had been involved in a plot to assassinate the president of the United
States seven or eight years ago. The child had brought a news clipping with
him. Something he had taken off the Internet."

Robelon
was on his feet, pounding his fist on the table. "I'm going to object to
this line of questioning, Judge. That case was never brought by the government.
There's no need to add any mention of it to this record. I move to
strike."

Moffett
seemed to miss the point about the gravity and magnitude of the accusation, as
well as the boy's concern about his father's possibly violent history. The
judge seemed more interested in the level of the child's intelligence.

"Motion
denied. The boy was able to find that news article by himself?"

Huang was
on firm territory here. "On-line, on his computer. Dulles is a very smart
young man. Tests way beyond his age range. Although he's only ten, he's capable
of reading at a college level."

"So
I don't have to worry about swearability?"

A child
of ten could not be presumed to understand the meaning of an oath. Moffett
seemed relieved to know he would not have to grapple with that problem, too.

"He
has the intellectual capacity to have an oath administered. What I can't
guarantee is whether or not he will choose to give false testimony in your
courtroom."

"That
puts Ms. Cooper in a very difficult position, Ms. Taggart. Suppose I let her
call the boy to the stand, and you haven't allowed her to speak with him first.
Suppose he testifies in an exculpatory fashion, denies that his father injured
him. Let's say-and I never know what Ms. Cooper has in her arsenal-but say she
knows the boy's statement is inconsistent with things he has said before."

"That's
possible."

"Well,
then Ms. Cooper's stuck. She can't cross-examine him. She can't impeach her own
witness."

Taggart
glared at me. "She can have Dulles declared a hostile witness."

I was
back on my feet. "I don't know whether Ms. Taggart's ever tried a case to
a jury. I would guess not. If you think I'm about to put a ten-year-old child
through
that
experience,
emotionally or legally, you need a refresher course in trial advocacy."

"Judge
Moffett," she went on, "Dulles Tripping is at massive risk for the
development of a mental disorder-"

"Which
I certainly have no intention of compounding," I added.

"I've
already told you to sit down, Ms. Cooper. How so, Ms. Taggart?"

"The
risk factors start with the multiple loss of caretakers throughout his young
life-mother, grandmother, and now father. Even a stepmother. You may not be
aware, Your Honor, that Mr. Tripping remarried for a brief period, a few years
back. Second, parental suicide increases the risk of his own suicidal ideation.
Third, being abused-or witnessing abuse-by his father increases Dulles's risk
of disturbing conduct. And-" Taggart's volume dropped as she made reference
to Andrew Tripping.

"What?"
Moffett asked, cupping his hand to his ear.

"I
was talking about the paternal psychosis that's been diagnosed. Mr. Tripping is
a schizophrenic. It increases some tenfold the probability that Dulles will
inherit that same condition."

The
swinging doors creaked behind me again. Moffett had turned his chair toward the
wall, tapping his fingertips together as he tried to settle on a Solomonic
solution.

I
swiveled to see who had entered the room this time. The man who stood with his
back to the door, getting his bearings, seemed out of place in the drab
surrounds of the criminal courthouse. There was an air of elegance about him,
with his charcoal gray bespoke suit, horn-rimmed glasses, barrel-cuffed shirt,
and tasseled loafers. I guessed him to be in his early forties, and at
five-eight, a bit shorter than I am.

I watched
as he sauntered down the aisle, Robelon and Tripping engaged in an animated
discussion as they eyed him, too. There was in him none of the strident urgency
that blanketed so many of the earnest young defense attorneys who walked these
hallways every day.

The judge
pushed his chair around so that he faced us again. "This mention of
schizophrenia by the doctors, Mr. Robelon, you're not gonna spring any kind of
psych defense on us in the middle of the trial, are you?"

"No,
sir."

Tripping
looked over his shoulder at the man in the gray suit, now seated three rows
behind him, who mouthed something-several words-to the defendant. I could not
make out what he said.

"Just
a minute," Moffett said, slamming his gavel on his desktop. "Mr.
Tripping, you wanna pay attention to these proceedings or you wanna play
charades with the people in the peanut gallery? You, you got business
here?"

The man
answered, "Yes, I do." Moffett's courtroom was more casual than most.
The fact that the man did not rise to respond to the judge was not taken as a
sign of disrespect by the court, but there seemed a touch of arrogance about it
to me.

"You
a lawyer, too?"

"Yes,
sir."

"Jesus.
I'm choking to death on lawyers here. Get me an Indian chief. Doesn't anybody
go to medical school anymore? Who are you?"

"Graham
Hoyt." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small leather case, black
alligator, and removed a business card from it, standing to pass it to the
clerk to give over to the judge. Then he looked at me and nodded, passing
another card.

"I'm
the guardian
ad litem
for Dulles
Tripping. The family court appointed me to protect his interests during the
pendency of this case."