The Code of the Hills (9 page)

“Charlene, could you be specific? What exactly did he do?”

Charlene laughed and looked away. “One time, he pooped in my mouth.”

Elsie, who had been listening intently, reeled if she had been struck a blow. She had handled many sex cases and was no stranger to the abuses children suffered, but that particular act came as a shock. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back.

“He made me eat it.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Elsie said, and started to rise from the table. Ashlock grasped her arm, and she got her horror under control. She sat back down, eyes glued to Charlene.

“He did it 'cause I cussed. He said he'd learn me not to cuss.” She looked defiantly at Ashlock. “Didn't work.”

Elsie listened as Charlene related other offenses and described sex acts with her father in a flat, matter-­of-­fact voice, stopping at one point to get a fresh cigarette. Ashlock and Elsie watched the girl light the kitchen match by scraping her thumbnail on the tip. She lit the cigarette and French-­inhaled the smoke.

Elsie exchanged a look with Ashlock. When she saw her profound sadness mirrored in his eyes, she placed her hand over his.

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questioning Charlene, Tiffany slipped back into the front room where Donita sat. In stocking feet, she crawled up next to her mother on the ragged sofa. Donita studied the child for a moment and then whispered, “You scared? You scared of that man? Policeman?”

Tiffany shook her head.

“Oh,” said Donita, “you're scared about Daddy. Worried Daddy's coming back.”

Tiffany nodded and burrowed into her mother's bony chest. Donita sighed and gathered the child into her arms. Stroking the girl's back, she bent over her head and spoke softly.

“Don't you worry. We're getting rid of Daddy. Mama's fixing it.”

She rocked the little girl back and forth, silently at first.

“Think nice things,” she whispered. After a quiet moment, she began tapping her foot and softly, in barely a whisper, began to sing.

“She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes, when she comes . . . ”

Tiffany closed her eyes and relaxed in her mother's arms as Donita sang the words of the old folk song with a nasal twang. The girl was almost asleep when Donita finished the fourth verse, with a sly grin that showed the brown stains on her teeth:

            
“We will kill the old red rooster, kill the old red rooster,

            
We will kill the old red rooster when she comes.”

Donita gazed down at her youngest child and smoothed the girl's tangled hair as she sang.

Chapter Ten

T
HE SWORN STATEMENTS
of Donita, Charlene, and Kristy Taney were paper-­clipped together in a file folder on the counsel table. Next to the folder was the state's copy of the amended felony complaint against Kris Taney, signed by Elsie Arnold, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney. The new complaint alleged that Taney committed five felony counts of statutory rape in the first degree against his two eldest daughters.

The courtroom was quiet. Elsie stood near the witness stand, ready to begin, adrenaline pumping and nerves on edge. In a case involving child witnesses, anything could happen, and she needed to be ready to roll with the punches. She felt faintly nauseous. She swallowed and focused on her witness, intent.

Judge Carter looked somber as he sat at the bench. Josh Nixon leaned back in his seat with his left hand gripping the back of his client's chair.

Kris Taney's eyes were glued to the witness stand, where his daughter Kristy sat. Kristy's dark hair was pulled back from her forehead with a rubber band. She looked forlorn in the witness box, her chin shaking, her hands clutching the sides of the wooden chair and hanging on as if her life depended on it.

Elsie leaned against the corner of the empty jury box and addressed Kristy.

“Kristy,” she said in an encouraging voice, “I'd like you to think back to the twenty-­fifth of November of last year, Thanksgiving Day. How old were you on that date?”

“Twelve,” said Kristy, eyeing her father fearfully.

Got to pull her focus away from Taney, Elsie thought as she moved closer to the witness stand.

“Kristy,” she repeated. The girl transferred her gaze to Elsie, who gave a reassuring nod and a hint of a wink. Once she had Kristy's full attention, Elsie continued: “Do you remember what happened last Thanksgiving?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell what you recall?”

Kristy was silent for a minute. “We ate. Mom got a chicken. But Dad got mad after supper. I don't remember why.”

The child paused again. With a twinge of anxiety, Elsie thought, Keep talking, Kristy; if I try to lead you, Nixon will jump out of his chair.

Willing her to continue, she asked, “What happened when your dad got mad?”

“I tried to leave. I didn't want to be around. I knew he'd get mean. He always does when he's mad.” Josh Nixon rose from his seat, and the girl stopped speaking, looking at the defense attorney.

“Objection.”

“Overruled,” said Judge Carter, holding up a hand to silence Nixon. The judge's eyes never left the witness.

“Go on, Kristy,” Elsie said, praying that she would get the necessary revelations out of the girl without making the child fall apart.

“He caught me going out the door. He grabbed me and made me come back in.”

She prompted gently: “Then what happened?”

“He said I done bad because I didn't mind. I was sneaking out. He said I had to learn that he was boss.”

“Then what?”

“He took me to his bedroom. He didn't even shut the door.” She paused. “He put his thing in me.”

Here we go, Elsie thought; this is it. Delicately, as though she handled a fragment of spun glass, she moved closer, asking softly, “Exactly what did he do?”

Kristy hung her head and didn't answer. Elsie's heart twisted; it was a horrific thing, forcing a child to speak aloud in public about her sexual violation. Resolutely, she took a breath and straightened, pushing her reluctance aside. It had to be done; if she could not make Kristy speak the words, the law would not protect the child.

“Kristy,” Elsie said carefully, “are you saying that he put his penis in you?”

“Objection—­leading,” said Nixon.

“Overruled,” said the judge.

Fabulous, Elsie thought, flashing an appreciative look in Judge Carter's direction, because her question had in fact been leading. Kristy was silent until Elsie said, “Kristy, you may answer.”

“Yeah. His penis.”

“Where did he put it?”

“You know. Sex. My vagina.”

“Where did that happen,” Elsie continued.

“Our house. The front bedroom.”

We're almost there, she thought. Just nail down venue, and we're done. With a nod, she asked, “Where was your house located?”

“Where it is now. 985 High Street.”

“Is that in Barton, McCown County, Missouri?”

“Yes.”

Oh, thank God, she did it.
She wanted to collapse in her chair; it had been a nail-­biter, guiding Kristy through the elements of count five.

She said to the judge, “No further questions, your honor.”

The judge looked at the defense attorney. “Mr. Nixon?”

Elsie sat in her chair at the counsel table, but every muscle in her body tightened as she anticipated what Nixon would do to Kristy on cross-­examination. She had seen children massacred on the witness stand by defense attorneys, a hideous thing to watch. The only advocate Kristy had, the sole person who could protect her from the onslaught, was her. She tensed, ready to pounce if Nixon made a misstep.

Nixon stood and buttoned his jacket. “Kristy,” he said in a neutral voice, “who all saw this act you say happened on Thanksgiving?”

“Everybody.”

“Everybody!” he said in disbelief. “Your sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

Kristy faltered a little as she said, “JoLee. And I think Uncle Al. He might've left.”

Nixon paused a moment for effect, and then he said, “You mean to tell us that your father had sex with you in a house full of ­people and nobody did a thing.”

“Nope.”

Elsie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She saw that he was controlling the girl's responses, but he had not yet asked a question that called for an objection.

“Your mother didn't stop him.”

“No.”

“Five other ­people in that house and no one tried to save you.”

Kristy was silent for a long moment. “No,” she said finally.

Nixon scratched his head. “Why not?”

The girl stared at him, struggling to put the explanation in words.

“They couldn't do nothing.”

“For God's sake, why not?” He shook his head, incredulous.

“They wasn't supposed to. He's the boss. We got to do what he says.”

Elsie kept her face neutral, with an effort. Kristy had hit the nail on the head. How many times had she heard victims explain that they were powerless to protest against the abuse, or confront the man of the house? She'd lost count.

“Your own mother—­in that house—­didn't lift a finger to help you.” Nixon's look and tone conveyed skepticism.

Kristy shook her head. “She says it's no good to try. She says it would just make things worse if she'd try to stop him.”

He paused to digest the answer, made a note on the pad, tossed his pen. Sitting beside his client again, he leaned back in his chair and said, “It's been a long time since Thanksgiving. Who did you tell about this?”

“I just told everybody in here.”

“No, no, I mean before the case, who'd you tell? A special friend?”

“No.”

“School nurse?”

She shook her head.

Elsie scribbled a note to herself: Nixon was trying to ascertain whether the state would produce outcry evidence at trial. Sadly, she suspected there was none.

“Teacher at school? Favorite teacher?”

“No. We wasn't supposed to tell
anybody
.”

A smile flitted across Kris Taney's face as he sat in his orange jail jumpsuit and watched his daughter.

The judge appeared to have heard quite enough. “Mr. Nixon?”

“Your honor?”

“Have you completed your cross-­examination of this witness?”

Elsie looked up at the judge with surprise. Judge Carter was trying to cut off the cross-­examination. He was going to bat for her witness. Her stomach unknotted a trifle. Having this particular judge on her side was a novel experience. She prayed it would last.

“Well?” the judge said to Nixon.

Nixon paused and reflected. Elsie fancied she could see him debating the merits of further inquiry versus the perils of badgering a child witness in front of the press. He bent toward his client to murmur the obligatory question:
Is there
anything further that you want me to ask
? Taney shrugged.

Nixon shook his head. “Nothing further.”

Judge Carter pointed his pen at Elsie. “Redirect?”

“No, your honor.”

“Call your next witness.”

Elsie turned and peered through the glass panels of the courtroom door. Charlene was on the bench outside, waiting her turn to testify. When the girls had arrived at the courthouse that morning, Kristy suffered such a fit of nerves that Elsie feared she would balk and refuse to enter the courtroom. It took forty-­five minutes and the combined efforts of Tina and herself to settle her down, so she'd decided to lead off with Kristy as her first witness.

And when they arrived at the courtroom and Elsie had instructed Donita and Charlene to wait in the hallway while Kristy testified, they pitched another fit. Donita linked an arm with each daughter and hissed, “No. No splitting up.”

With exaggerated patience, Elsie said, “You need to be out here with Charlene, to wait until she's called to the stand.”

“We're all going in together. No splitting up.”

“Donita, they can't. There's a rule against witnesses being in the courtroom, except when they testify. When Kristy is in there, Charlene's in the hall; when Kristy is done, you'll sit out here with her while Charlene testifies.”

“Them girls can't go up against their daddy alone. You don't know him. We got to be together.”

“This is the way it is. It's the rule.” She gave them a smile that she hoped was reassuring. “But I'll be in the courtroom with you. Everything is going to be just fine.”

It had been one hell of a morning; but with Kristy off the stand, Elsie hoped the hardest part was behind her.

“Your honor, the state calls Charlene Taney to the witness stand.”

The bailiff walked to the door and opened it wide enough to poke his head through. “Charlene Taney,” he bellowed so loudly that it made Elsie jump.

The girl approached the stand with a swagger. Elsie's heart went out to her; Charlene was a girl who balanced a chip on her shoulder. She walked up to Charlene and placed her hand on the girl's arm. “Walk up to the judge; he'll give you the oath to tell the truth.” She had to speak up because Kris Taney and his lawyer were engaged in a lengthy exchange at the defense table. “After you're sworn, you'll take that seat up there, right by Judge Carter.”

Charlene stood briefly before Judge Carter to be sworn, and took the seat as directed. Elsie approached for her examination, a little nettled that the defense continued to talk audibly between themselves.

“Please state your name.”

“Charlene Taney.”

She smiled at Charlene, hoping to set her at ease.

“Charlene, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“When is your birthday?”

“December the sixth.”

“Charlene, I'd like to direct your attention to—­” Elsie said, preparing to launch into her direct examination when Josh Nixon jumped to his feet and exclaimed:

“I'd like to ask leave to voir dire this witness.”

Elsie whirled on him with a flash of irritation at the interruption. “What?” she snapped.

“Ms. Arnold!” the judge interjected. “This is my courtroom, thank you. Mr. Nixon, what's the subject of your inquiry?”

“We need to establish that the witness understands the meaning of the oath.”

Elsie gaped at the judge. “Judge, she just testified that she's fifteen years old. The state is not obliged to demonstrate that a minor of fifteen understands the oath; she's already been sworn.”

“This request is crucial to the defense, your honor.”

Her heart rate increased as she cried, “I object! The state objects! Why is this crucial? Her younger sister, Kristy, just testified; she's twelve, and the defense didn't feel the burning need to quibble about the oath with her.”

Leaning back in his chair, the judge turned his head toward the defense attorney.

“Mr. Nixon?”

“The examination may reveal a problem with this particular witness. I repeat my request.”

The judge shot a sidelong glance at Charlene, who appeared genuinely confused. Elsie was confused as well; she didn't know what Nixon had up his sleeve, and that scared her.

Judge Carter shook his head but said, “I'll allow it. Proceed.”

Elsie took her seat as Nixon approached the witness stand. “Charlene Taney, do you understand the significance of the oath to tell the truth?”

“Huh?”

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning out loud, Elsie leaned forward in her chair, eyes locked on Charlene, willing her to answer appropriately.

“The oath, Ms. Taney. You have sworn to tell the truth. Do you know what that means?”

Charlene's jaw locked. “Yep,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Do you know the difference between the truth and a lie?”

“Uh-­huh.”

“Are you a truthful person?”

Charlene's eyes shifted. “Yeah.”

“Have you ever told a lie?”

Elsie's heart hammered; it was a trick question, there was no good answer. “Objection,” she cried, but the judge waved her down.

“Overruled.”

Nixon leaned back against the side of the jury box. “What do you say, Ms. Taney? Have you ever told a lie?”

Charlene took on a hunted look. She glanced at her father, then back at Nixon.

The pause dragged on. Elsie couldn't stay in her seat; she jumped up and said, “Your honor, this is ridiculous. Clearly, the defense is using this voir dire to badger and intimidate the witness. I object to the line of questioning and ask the court to cut it off.”