The Railroad (17 page)

“Rocks?” he asked me.

My ego had taken a bruising that day so I suppose I was feeling macho. “Straight up,” I told him, a bit of Brando in my voice.

He seemed to appreciate my fortitude. “I spend several weeks a year on Mykonos. I’ve developed a taste for this.”

“I used to have a Greek girlfriend in college,” I told him.

He took a good sip. “Jeff told me you have a case for me?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a case. You have to tell me that. It involves a woman who ran with her child when the system let her down.”

His eyes widened. “We’re not talking about Eileen Benoit, are we?”

“We are.”

He shook his head. “Why did Jeff give you any idea I could help you? I wish he’d told me who this was about.”

“This isn’t such a popular case in Manhattan. Up here…”

“Up here it’s made the rounds. Bob Benoit is a wealthy man, but it’s the sensationalism that got it a lot of attention. Lawyers who serve the same set of wealthy people talk to each other.”

“So you won’t do anything for me because of the notoriety of the case?”

“No. That’s not it. I’m not afraid of Bob Benoit or his lawyers. I just happen to know the current status of the case.”

“Which is?”

He grunted. “Come on, Mike. You must know what it is or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay. She didn’t just run. She ran and took her daughter.”

“Yes. Now she’s got a warrant out on her. If she’s found she’ll go to jail.”

I felt my temperature rising a bit. I was getting tired of hearing that I couldn’t help Megan and her mother. “So the fact that there is at least evidence that she’s been raped by her father is unimportant? We’re supposed to let that go on just to satisfy the law?”

“No. We don’t have to do that. The law will take care of itself. It will let the alleged abuse go on. I don’t like it either. But that’s what will happen. No one is going to go to bat for Eileen now. The person who makes these decisions is a judge whose custody ruling she’s violated. Do you know about that?”

“Actually she never told me exactly how the judge ruled.”

“They are separated, but the judge ruled that they have joint custody. That means unsupervised visitation. That was in the custody hearing that happened
after
the criminal trial against Bob Benoit. They tried to introduce the criminal charges in the custody hearing, but the judge wouldn’t allow it.”

“I had the feeling it was something like that. What if I told you he assaulted me last night and that I have charges against him?”

“I’d say you have criminal charges against him that haven’t been substantiated by an indictment or a conviction. And that even if he was convicted of assaulting you it has nothing to do with Eileen.”

“The fact that he has criminal charges pending isn’t important?”

He stared at me. “Mike, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do unless she turns herself in. Even if we can prove that Bob Benoit broke the law, there’s the fact that Eileen also broke the law. She has to answer for that no matter what happens to her husband.”

“The case can’t be appealed?”

“That’s the problem. There are three cases now and I’m not including your charges of assault; they’re irrelevant. There’s the criminal case that ended last year where Bob Benoit was acquitted of the charges of child abuse. Then there’s the family court case where the judge decided on custody arrangements.  Now there is a new case, the criminal case of the State of New York vs. Eileen Benoit. But that case hasn’t been tried because she’s…well basically she’s thumbing her nose at the system as far as the State of New York is concerned; she’s not around. So there’s no appeal because there’s been no trial.”

“There’s nothing we can do?”

“Not now. Maybe in a few years. You know the case of Elizabeth Morgan? The one who ran to New Zealand? The husband dropped his charges, but that took years and a long trial in New Zealand. Eileen is a criminal now and she’s spit in the face of the system. It doesn’t tolerate that.”

I made a fist. “You said that already and I’ve heard this from everyone.”

“Believe me there are things I can try but the law has chewed Eileen and her daughter up and the verdict is what it is. She isn’t allowed to just run away from that.”

I got angry again. “And what if she had to?”

“She may very well have done the right thing. I don’t know that, but I can’t save her from the law. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“The question is what can I do?”

“You want a personal opinion or a professional one?”

“Which will help me more?”

“The personal one. You’ve already gotten my professional opinion. Help her any way you can, but don’t let anyone find out about it.”

“She’s beyond my help now. She’s gone to the underground.”

“I heard about that. Then I guess she’s in the best place she can be right now, as awful as that is.” He stood up and shook my hand. I left the Metaxa sitting unfinished on the coffee table.

*

The next morning I called Jeff at Peltzer and Michaels “You struck out with Beyers, didn’t you?” he asked me.

“Do lawyers have a psychic link?”

“No we talk all the time. Who else would talk to us?”             

“Actually I did strike out. Is it true that there isn’t anything I can do for Eileen and Megan?”

“From what I understand, they really don’t have any legal avenues open to them. She could try to bring another charge against her husband, but then there’s the fact that she’s a fugitive. She can’t deal with a lawyer by phone and any charge she made would be ignored. The weird thing is that, if she was in jail, she could make some kind of trouble for her husband.”

My mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with some clever angle of attack. Of course I knew, deep down, that I was a novice when it came to the law. “What if someone else made a charge? Like me.”

He laughed which didn’t do my heart any good. “You can’t be a plaintiff because no one did anything to you.”

I sighed. “What about someone making a complaint on behalf of Megan? An aunt maybe.”

“Any aunt or uncle you could find won’t be Megan’s legal guardian. That’s her mother and, unfortunately, her father…”

“There’s nothing I can do?”

I heard nothing for a few moments. “I’m thinking. Honestly, the only way that Eileen has a chance of working the system is if she turns herself in. And you know what that means.”

“It means Megan has to come in also.”

“Exactly.”

“What if Megan stayed with someone while Eileen turned herself in?”

“Oh boy! Imagine what a lawyer would do with that in front of a jury. ‘She left her child with some unknown strangers so she could fight her husband in court.

“If they knew why she had run in the first place?”

“I’m not even sure that would be allowed into a trial. It’s another case. What you have to realize is that the next case to be tried will be against Eileen. I would assume the charges would be kidnapping, violating custodial regulations, and anything else the DA can think of.”

Something went click. “What about the DA?

“Oh no. You’re not thinking of talking to him?”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

“I did a little research yesterday. I’d advise against it.”

“He’s a public servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s also a politician. He’s going to have to walk a fine line here. He prosecuted the criminal case against Benoit and it didn’t go his way; a black mark against him he’s still living down. He’s got a pending criminal case on one hand, but the prospective defendant is a mother of a child who some people
will
believe was sexually abused. He can’t buck the system because he’s part of it. Trying to soften Eileen’s sentence through plea bargaining would be political suicide. Coming down hard on her would be, well it would also be political suicide. This is a very volatile issue and there are people on both sides that are crazy on the subject.”

“The judge in the custody case?”

“Please, Mike! The judge is a judge. He makes his decisions and they can only be overturned on appeal. Please don’t try to talk to him. I’ve heard about him and he’s likely to try to have you put in jail if you piss him off enough.”

“Do you know anyone who has any power up here?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I want to see the DA. It’s worth a try.”

“Oh god, Mike. If you weren’t my friend I’d tell you it was impossible. But…”

Chapter Nine

Two days later I went to the Dutchess County court house to meet with District Attorney, John Arnotti. Jeff had a friend who, it turned out, had a friend who had gone to law school with Arnotti. It was being considered a favor and I was only to be in there for half an hour at the most. I’d gotten the impression from Jeff that Arnotti had agreed under duress and that it was likely that his secretary would have been asked to go out on an errand just before I arrived. In essence, it would be like I’d never gone there.

It took  three tries through the metal detector before they let me through. It had been awhile since I’d been in a court house and I’d forgotten about my keys and a couple of other items. The guard gave me an odd look when he came across the tiny pocket knife I used as a keychain.

“It was my grandfather’s. My ex-girlfriend had it made into a keychain for me.”

“I’ll have to take it. You’ll get it back when you leave.”

Once I got through the detector, I was directed up to the second floor. After leaving the elevator, I entered a front office with an empty desk where the secretary should have been. In the next room I could see Arnotti talking on the phone. He looked up when I entered and held up his finger, telling me to wait.

The conversation went on for another five minutes, all in rapid-fire staccato. I suspected that whatever was being discussed was important and Arnotti didn’t want me to know what he was saying. I looked around at the ugly standard municipal office with the requisite about-to-peel paint. Then I studied the man himself. Fit, tanned, very well-dressed, cocky as hell. I figured he had bigger ambitions, maybe governor, someday.

Finally, it seemed that Arnotti was finished. He gestured me into his office with an abrupt wave of his hand. I doubted that I could expect much in the way of sympathy from him.

Before I could even finish sitting down he began speaking. “Please close the door,” he instructed. I complied and sat down a second time.

“I’m willing to talk to you, Mr. Dobbs,” he went on. “But I want you to know that I’m speaking to you only because of my respect for Mark Goodson. I don’t really think that we can accomplish much here and if you want to save yourself some time, you can end this conversation now.”

I stared at him. “I think it’s a little odd that you’d be willing to talk to me and start out by giving me a hard time.”

He shrugged. “I’m just being realistic. I know what the outcome of this meeting will be. You probably are hoping that I’m wrong. Either way the result is the same.”

I decided to ignore him. “Okay. You know that there is medical evidence to prove that Megan Benoit was sexually abused.”

His fingers drummed on the desk; I suppose this wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. “There is evidence that supports the
possibility
of sexual abuse. Benoit’s criminal trial did not explicitly show that Megan had definitely been abused.”

“From what I gather the evidence wasn’t really given any weight by the judge.”

“And why do you say that?”

“I heard it from someone who was there.”

He smirked. “I know who it was, Mr. Dobbs. I’m a DA. Don’t you think I talk to the police?"

I’d heard enough “I’m sure you do. And- hold on! Before you go into your routine, I want to tell you that I know of a woman and a little girl whose lives have been ruined by someone else’s sickness, as well as ruined by the State of New York. Now if you accept that as a possibility, do you really want to give me the party line? Or do you have something relevant to say?”

He leaned back and applauded. “Okay. So you’re not going to be so easy to handle. I won’t try to con you to get you out of my office, but I will be honest. What I can do is limited by the laws of the State of New York you were talking about a second ago. The State of New York isn’t going to let me simply wipe away felony charges because I know what is right. If I tried to do that, the State of New York would fire me and put someone in my place. Is that good enough for you?”

“No.”

“No? What do you think I can do then?”

“Let Eileen Benoit come in and be arrested and then put her in some low-security facility, and give her daughter to Eileen’s sister pending the trial.”

He barely suppressed another smirk. “I’ll repeat myself. In fact I’ll elaborate. When Eileen Benoit comes in she will be charged with kidnapping. That is a major felony. There are also other charges having to do with custody, but I doubt I’ll be able to be involved in that. So basically there can be no special treatment of Eileen or her daughter. The only justice she can get would be in a trial and, honestly, I don’t think she’s going to get a lot. To repeat myself, finally, I can’t do anything for her. I would be fired and the next person in my job would prosecute her just like I plan to do. She did break the law.”

“She had to break the law.”

“I know you think that you’re going to make me uncomfortable by showing me the immorality of the situation. What you don’t realize is what I have to see every day. There are people who are in much worse shape than Eileen. And, yes, the system doesn’t work all the time, but it’s the one I work in.”

“What if I go to the news?”

“With what? They’ve already heard both sides. One side says that Eileen is a courageous mother and the other says she’s an attention freak trying to get back at her husband. You’ll just be fueling the fire and selling more newspapers. Why should they believe you more than any one of the hundred people they’ve already interviewed for this story? You’ll get lost in the shuffle.”

“What if I get a lawyer?”

He gave me a short look and then pulled a bottle of Chivas and two glasses out of his desk drawer.

“Wow,” I said. “Just like the movies.”

He shrugged. “I’m going to pour you and me a drink. I’ll tell you what I think, and then you’ll have to go because I have some research to do. Or one of my ADAs does, but I have to tell her what I want her to find.”

He poured the drinks and ran down the situation as he saw it. Essentially it boiled down to this: Megan and Eileen were in deep shit. The situation had gone too far. Even before Eileen had decided to go underground she had run out of options; a judge had given her husband unsupervised visitation rights. A criminal court had given her husband a walk on the molestation charges.

She had said “fuck you” to both judges and the State of New York. Now the State of New York wanted to prove it was right. That was it.

“Do you concede the possibility that Bob Benoit might be a pedophile?” I asked him, desperation in my voice.

“I’ll deny this if you ever repeat it. But I’ve seen the man and I’m sure he is. I’ve been doing this for a long time and I can smell it.”

“Then why did you let the judge do what he did?”

“I’m a DA. He’s a judge. I can only attempt to make the case go my way. I can get sentence recommendations or I can set up plea bargains, but I don’t make the final decisions. Don’t you think I tried to make Eileen’s criminal charges stick? My office got her the medical experts she used, and they also subpoenaed her family doctor.”

“Isn’t a jury supposed to decide on the criminal charges, not the judge?”

He smiled. “The judge can decide to admit certain evidence. Or not admit it. Or downplay it.”

“What about the medical records?”

“I wasn’t really involved in the case past a certain point. In fact I really didn’t know what happened until after it was over. In this case, the judge decided that some of the medical testimony was redundant. He had already heard some experts say that Megan’s inflammation and non-specific vaginitis were attributable to normal causes. We had another witness to prove that it wasn’t. But the judge decided it would just be overkill.”

“Do you think he was biased?”

“Very likely, but I can’t prove it and he is a judge.”

I shook my head, feeling suddenly very tired. “Thanks for the drink.” I stood up.

He face softened, to my surprise. “Give it a while. Memories are short. In a few years she might be able to come back in, and when Megan is eighteen, there’s nothing Benoit can do.”

“That’s a long time to wait.”

“I know. Look, I have to throw you out. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do, stupid or otherwise.”

He smirked again and I wanted to hit him. “Believe me, there’s always something stupid that someone can do. I’ve made my career on that.”

*

About 10 days after my inherited family had left, I stumbled out of bed around 1:00. I had become a little lax about collecting and answering my mail. If I got a turn-off notice from the electric company or the phone company that seemed a decent system of reminders. Clearly the efficient and responsible paying of my bills wasn’t a big priority. If I could manage to keep the electricity working to keep the lights and TV on, it was enough.

I was rifling through my coat for my car keys when I noticed the pile of mail that had been pushed through the door while I was sleeping off last night’s scotch. Normally my eyes would have passed over it, accepting it as merely part of the landscape, not worthy of my attention, but this time there was a postcard sticking out of the pile and the bright colors caught my eye. Not too strangely, the sight of trees and water were a little more enticing than the bland envelopes I’d been receiving from my various creditors. An actual person had sent me this.

Then it hit me that only a couple of people knew my address. I couldn’t imagine Barbara or Dennis sending me anything after the way we’d parted. I finally leaned over and picked up the card to see a rather tacky montage rendering of the high spots in Boston. The colors were lurid and ugly. In the middle of the card, between the various shots of the City were the words “Bean Town”, rendered in an appropriately ugly font and color. By the looks of it, this postcard had been created twenty years earlier, but it was still being sold today.

I turned it around and saw only my address, written in an unfamiliar hand. On the left side where I’d expect to find a message there was nothing. It was clearly addressed to me but whoever had sent it had nothing to say.

There was a return address in Boston. It looked like it had been written in a child’s hand.

I stared at it thoughtfully for a good minute before I gave up trying to solve the mystery. Right then I needed food in my abused, acidic stomach. I put the postcard on the mantle below the moose head and went out to my car. This afternoon’s cuisine would be IHOP. Eggs and sausage were always best for a hangover.

*

That night my phone rang about 8:10. There was no one there. After a few thousand hellos, I decided to listen. Of course Benoit was uppermost in my mind but there was something odd about what I was hearing. I could have sworn that I heard water and some light breathing. Something about the breathing made me think that it wasn’t Benoit on the other end but, of course, that was ridiculous; who knew who he had with him?

There was something decidedly creepy about it, yet oddly familiar. In the end I just hung up.