FAMILY FALLACIES (The Kate Huntington mystery series #3) (22 page)

“Sit down, Counselor,”
Jones ordered. “We’ll say when this interview is over.”

“Now everybody just
calm down,” Bradley said.

Rob stayed on his feet.

Bradley leaned over
toward Skip. In a sympathetic voice, he said, “Son, I’ll bet you just wanted to
talk some sense into the man and things got carried away. That’d only be second
degree. We might even be able to get it knocked down to manslaughter.”

Rob noted the tight jaw
as Skip leaned forward, but otherwise his face looked calm.

“Detective, I was a
state trooper for eleven years. During that time I only discharged my weapon
twice, both times in a pursuit situation, when the S.O.B. didn’t stop like I
told him to. Missed one of ’em, got the other in the leg. Since I’ve gone
private, I’ve had to draw my gun a few times, but I haven’t had to shoot it.
I’ve never killed anything bigger’n a rattlesnake in my life and I hope to God
I never have to.”

Rob figured that was an
excellent exit line. He gestured to Skip.

Jones barked, “I told
you to sit down, Counselor.”

Skip took his cue from
Rob, who had made no move to return to his seat. Rising slowly to his feet, he
was careful not to do anything that could be construed as threatening. He
stepped around his chair to lean against the wall, crossing his arms on his
chest.

Rob looked at Jones.
“Detective, you know you can’t make us stay here. Unless you’re ready to arrest
my client, we’re leaving.”

He never would have
called their bluff like that with Kate. He wouldn’t have risked her spending
even an hour behind bars. But Rob knew damn well they didn’t have enough to
arrest Skip. They actually had nothing. These cops were just trying to shake
Skip’s tree, to see what might fall out.

He gestured to Skip
again. Once his client was out the door, Rob turned back to the detectives.
“Part of me wishes you
would
try to charge him. I’d really enjoy mopping
up a courtroom floor with you two, when all you’ve got is somebody
else’s
hair at the crime scene and you’re claiming that
four
people, one of
whom is a police officer and another an officer of the court, are conspiring to
cover for him.”

Out in the hall and
several long strides away from the interrogation room, Skip quietly said, “Damn
you’re good!”

Rob grinned at him as
they kept walking. “Thanks. I thought it was one of my better performances
myself.”

O
n Saturday, Kate took
over the online research in the note investigation. She was tired of sitting on
the sidelines. While she was tracking down the name and home address of Mark
Wingate’s secretary, Skip once again followed the man from his office at
lunchtime, this time to an apartment complex just east of Towson.

Skip called Kate with the
address and apartment number so she could track down the girlfriend’s name
while he continued to shadow the man for the rest of the day. He ended up at
the Sheraton Hotel again. This time it took a fifty to pry the information out
of the desk clerk that Wingate was renting a suite by the week.

Unfortunately
interviewing the two women on Sunday did not pin down Wingate’s activities on
the day Amy was kidnapped nor on the following Wednesday, when the latest note
had been delivered. Wingate’s secretary had been off the Friday after
Thanksgiving, although her boss had said he would be in the office. On the
Wednesday afternoon in question, she couldn’t remember for sure but she thought
Mr. Wingate had gone to a meeting at a client’s office. He hadn’t told her
which client. The girlfriend swore she hadn’t seen him either day, although
Skip wasn’t totally convinced she was telling the truth.

The women would no
doubt tell Wingate that someone was questioning his movements on those days.
Kate and Skip could only hope that it would scare him into backing off, if
indeed he was the note sender.

Skip had also talked to
Tammy’s maid when her boss wasn’t at home, again using the lost jacket excuse.
Tammy had been out most of the day on both that Friday and the following
Wednesday.

So neither of the
Wingates had an alibi for either incident.

Sunday evening, a
frustrated Kate suggested they start making up the guest list for the wedding.
It was still five months away, but focusing on what she
could
do
something about helped to distract her from the things she couldn’t
control–anonymous notes, suspicious police detectives and picketers.

The next morning, Skip
was pacing the house like a caged animal, very uncomfortable with the fact that
neither he nor Rose could be at the center to supervise the response to the
picketing.

The picketers had shown
up bright and early, but the men Skip and Rose had recruited had gotten there
even earlier. They were lined up on the sidewalk blocking access to the back
parking lot. When Harris and a couple others tried to do an end run, they
suddenly found three mountains standing in front of them. The
shortest
of them was Harris’s height.

Ben Johnson was built
like a grizzly bear, with thick dark hair and a beard to complete the image. He
pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. “Restraining order. Back
lot’s private property,” he growled, as he handed it to Harris.

Officer Lindsey, off
duty and in civvies, was standing behind Ben and the other two giants. He was
hoping that Harris would try to violate the order, so he could have the
pleasure of arresting the creep.

For the rest of the
day, the picketers marched back and forth in front of the building, waving
signs and yelling obnoxious comments about therapists who filled people’s heads
with lies. A few brave souls picketed on the back sidewalk, in front of the
line of he-men standing at parade rest.

Those picketers quickly
learned there was no point in trying to stop cars from turning into the lot. As
soon as they did, a blockade of thick muscular chests was shoving them back out
of the way. The big men never said anything. Their faces remained
expressionless and they never lifted their hands, which could be construed as
attempted assault. They just herded the picketers aside with their bodies.

By late afternoon
everyone but Harris and three others had lost interest and had gone home. Ben
called Skip with a final report for the day, ending it with, “Me and a few
guys’ll stay on the back parking lot until the center’s closing time, just in
case folks come back after supper.”

Skip’s satisfaction
with the day’s results was dampened when Detective Randolph called to tell him
that Harris’s handwriting was not a match with the notes. Of course, that did
not eliminate the other members of the group.

He called Rose and they
exchanged bad news. “My buddy says this is the last freebie. Have to hire a
private lab from now on.”

“Did you tell him it’s
not for a client?”

“Yeah. Not sure he
believed me. He didn’t find anything but coffee in the saliva sample.”

“So we’re back to
square one on the notes,” Skip said, frustration in his voice. “You got enough
guys lined up for the center tomorrow?”

“Got it covered,
partner.”

~~~~~~~~

S
ally had decided to be
proactive. She called a press conference for first thing Tuesday morning.

Impeccably dressed,
with her staff lined up behind her, she was at her dignified best as she
addressed the reporters crowded into the center’s small conference room. She
gave what Kate thought was a very balanced overview of the false memory
controversy, acknowledging the pain that families affected by this issue endure
and conceding that false accusations do sometimes occur. Then she pointed out
that therapists have no way of knowing if their clients’ memories are true or
not, nor is it their job to make that determination. The therapist’s job is to
support the client through the process of analyzing those memories. The clients
ultimately have to determine for themselves whether they believe their memories
are valid.

That’s as far as Sally
got before she was interrupted. Harris had managed to slip in with the group of
reporters. “That’s bullshit! You damn shrinks are fillin’ our kids’ heads with
lies!” he yelled.

Two bodyguards appeared
on either side of the man. Bill Lindsey produced a pair of handcuffs. Hiding
his pleasure behind his cop face, he informed Harris of his rights.

Sally paused until
Harris, shouting and cursing, had been dragged from the room. Her voice still
calm and dignified, she said, “I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that the man
with the red face has clarified what we are dealing with in this particular
case.” She then turned and left the room.

Sally’s parting comment
made an excellent sound bite for the noon news as her dignified bearing was
juxtaposed against the image of a red-faced, yelling Harris being led away in
handcuffs. By the time Harris had made bail that afternoon, Rob had requested a
restraining order specifically prohibiting him from coming within one hundred
feet of the building’s property line. Since Harris had violated the first
order, the judge was inclined to grant Rob’s request.

With no leader to goad
them on, the picketers dwindled down to two or three at a time, showing up
sporadically.

~~~~~~~~

A
t five o’clock on the
Tuesday before Christmas, Kate closed her office door and walked over to the
loveseat in the corner where her clients normally sat. Settling into one corner
of it, she kicked off her shoes and put her feet up. She had a whole half hour
before her first evening client was due.

Kate heaved a sigh. It
looked like some aspects of her life were beginning to settle down a bit. The
picketers had not shown up at all this week. She said a silent prayer of
thanksgiving that the not-for-profit agency had dodged a bullet that could have
been fatal.

The investigation into
the source of the notes had hit a dead end. But there hadn’t been any more of
them in over two weeks. All they could do was hope that the note sender had
given up, or that he or she would make a mistake when the next note was
delivered, so they would have some fresh leads to follow.

Kate’s two toughest
cases were no longer so. Tammy was gone and Audrey was doing much better. The
young woman had confessed in her last session that she hadn’t had any issues with
sex in awhile. Kate suspected that the uncle’s death had a lot to do with
Audrey’s progress. One of her potential abusers was gone and the other no
longer had any power over her. As Detective Jones had predicted, Audrey’s
father had been unable to get another lawyer to take their shaky case. The
malpractice suit had been dropped.

Kate had also dropped
her lawsuit against the Wells, but Audrey was debating about her own. Rob was
holding off on further action until the client decided what she wanted to do.

The investigation into
Wells’ murder was still a dark cloud hanging over them. But the detectives’
subpoena had been quashed. The judge deemed their justification for it too
vague to require a therapist to reveal privileged information.

Unfortunately, this had
pissed Detective Jones off sufficiently that she was uncooperative when Rob had
contacted the detectives about Kate’s Christmas travel plans. Although the
police have no legal authority to restrict someone’s movements unless they are
prepared to make an arrest, Rob had suggested they not push the issue. He had
reassured Kate and Skip that, even if the hair was Kate’s, the detectives had a
very weak case. Nonetheless, with the DNA results due back any day now, Rob
felt it was a bad idea for Kate to be out of town should the detectives want to
talk to her again.

After her initial
disappointment, Kate had decided there was something to be said for a quiet
holiday at home, just the three of them, especially since this would be Edie’s
first Christmas, and hers and Skip’s first one together.

She had long ago
requested the week between Christmas and New Year’s off, and she’d decided to
leave that part of the plan intact. Miraculously, her clients were all
relatively stable and as ready as she could get them to deal with the holidays.
Her parents were now coming to Maryland for a few days after Christmas to help
them celebrate Edie’s first birthday on December twenty-ninth.

Kate glanced at the
clock and dropped her feet to the floor, fishing for her shoes. It was time for
Audrey’s appointment.

The young woman was
beaming as she came into Kate’s office. Before she had even settled completely
onto the loveseat, she said, “I’m pregnant!”

“Wow! That’s terrific.
How far along are you?”

“Not very. I used a home
pregnancy kit. I’ve got an appointment with my obstetrician for the Saturday
after the holiday. We’re not telling anybody but you until the doctor confirms
it.”

Kate asked how things
were going otherwise.

“Good overall. I did
have a short anxiety attack the end of last week. Alicia’s going through a
phase. I swear she’s reverting back to the terrible twos. She wanted candy when
we were in the grocery store and I said no. She threw a tantrum and started
screaming, ‘I want a lollipop’ over and over again.”

“Oh, no! I can see how
that would be a trigger.”

“It was all I could do
to get her and myself out of the store. I abandoned my cart right in the middle
of an aisle. But once we were in the car, I took a couple of deep breaths and
did one of those relaxation techniques you taught me, and I was fine... It
actually worked out good with Alicia. She must have thought I yanked her out of
the store as punishment for the tantrum. She was good as gold for a whole day
afterwards.”

“So have you talked to
your mother lately? How are things going there?” Kate asked.

Audrey was still
refusing to have anything to do with her father, but she had started talking to
her mother again by phone. The woman, desperate to see her granddaughter,
actually seemed to be developing better listening skills. Audrey had finally
agreed to meet her for lunch occasionally, bringing Alicia along, so
grandmother and granddaughter could have some semblance of a relationship.
They’d had one such meeting so far.

“She’s been a bit more
pushy lately, with the holidays coming up,” Audrey reported with a grimace.
“She wanted us to get together as a family. I told her I wasn’t willing to be
around my father. Then she started in on how he never would have hurt me, he
loves me, my abuser had to have been my uncle, yada, yada. And then she slid
right into why couldn’t I let Alicia come over and stay with them for a
weekend, now that Uncle Phil was dead and I knew there was no chance that he
might come around while she was there.”

Kate was shaking her
head.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m
not about to let Alicia stay with them. I think I’ve backed Mother off, for now
at least. I told her that I couldn’t leave Alicia with them even if wanted to,
because then my therapist would have to report to Child Protective Services
that a child was at risk of abuse. And then the old man would be investigated.”

“I
would
have to
report it,” Kate confirmed, “but they probably wouldn’t investigate your
father, unless
you
reported that he abused you. The situation’s a little
too fuzzy, and they’re so overwhelmed with cases they only investigate what
they call a first party report, from someone who has been abused or has
personally witnessed concrete evidence of abuse.”

It was the only thing
she disliked about the law mandating that professionals report suspected abuse.
She had to breach confidentiality and report such situations, even if it was
against the wishes of the client, which it sometimes was. But her reports were
considered third party reports and only merited opening a file and keeping an
eye on the situation. She knew it was the best that Child Protective Services
could do, with their limited resources, but she wondered how many children
continued to be abused, even after the situation had been reported.

“Yeah, but Mother
doesn’t know all that,” Audrey said. “And it’s a mute issue because I have no
intention of letting my father get within a hundred feet of me or Alicia again.
Even without the possibility of sexual abuse, he’s been plenty abusive in other
ways.”