All the Dying Children

by James Halpin

  “Then when all the dying children started making headlines … I guess I thought I might be able to help. Like, if I could make a difference … I don’t know. Maybe that I could somehow redeem myself. Maybe I could save someone or stop the abuse. Maybe then the dream would go away. Maybe this downward spiral that has consumed my life for the past fifteen years would turn around. And you know what? It kind of worked. I haven’t had the dream since the day Radcliffe was caught. But then the case went to shit. Now I don’t know where I stand,” Daly said.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Emily said, finding her voice again. “Radcliffe is still caught. He’s still going to prison. That’s because of your work. And you know something? None of this changes my opinion of you. You made a mistake, but you’ve atoned for it. You paid a price no one should have to pay. It’s time for you to move on with your life.”

  Daly gulped down the last of his rapidly cooling coffee and tried to shrug off his embarrassment.

  “I know. The trial made me see things differently. I’m going to try to move on. And I’m going to try to stop drinking. For Lauren’s sake,” Daly said.

  “So what do you like to do for fun?” he asked to change the subject.

  “Roller derby.”

  Daly nearly snorted.

  “What?” he asked, chuckling. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing it with my girlfriends since middle school. My skater name is Tress Passer.”

  “Wow. I had no idea. Are you guys any good?”

  “We do pretty well. We’ve played together a long time so we make a good team. But mostly we just play for fun. Ever since we graduated from high school it’s been hard getting everyone together for it. What about you? Do you skate?”

  “Not at all. I’m more of a basketball kind of guy. The last time I strapped wheels to my feet, there was almost a mass-casualty incident at the skating rink.”

  “Maybe you should try it again sometime,” Emily said, taking a sip of her coffee. “It’s good exercise. And you might have some fun.”

  “I think I’m going to have to pass on that. For health reasons,” Daly said.

  “Well, you should probably know that I don’t take kindly to rejection,” Emily said. “If you pass the offer up now, you might not get another one.”

  “Oh, I’m not turning you down,” Daly said. “Just the possibility of imminent death. The Pittston Tomato Festival is going on this weekend. How about we try that instead? We probably still have time to catch the tomato fight.”

  “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Emily pulled her wilderness green Subaru Outback into a lot off Main Street in Pittston. The city had long been dubbed the “Quality Tomato Capital of the World” because of its climate and soil. At some point in the mid-1980s, someone got the idea to build a festival around it. Since then, tens of thousands of people flock to the event each year for the food and festivities.

  By the time Daly and Emily arrived, the five-kilometer run and parade were already finished. Taking Emily by the hand, Daly led her down the crowded streets to the registration area for the tomato fight and slapped a twenty-dollar bill down on the table.

  “Hold on … I thought you meant you wanted to watch,” Emily said. “I don’t have any extra clothes.”

  “Neither do I,” Daly said. “You’re not scared, are you, Tress Passer?”

  “Please. Give me those,” Emily said, grabbing a pair of rubber goggles.

  Emily strapped the black elastic strap over her flaming red hair and raised an eyebrow at Daly.

  “Well? How do I look?”

  “Like you’re about to get splattered with rotten tomatoes.”

  “I nailed it.”

  They made their way through the throngs of people to take their starting positions. What once had been the black-topped parking lot of a popular seafood restaurant on this day had been transformed into a battlefield. Two columns of combatants faced each other like opposing forces in medieval combat, ready to unleash fury in the form of pelted tomatoes. To that end, boxes of the softening, over-ripe ammunition were lined up in front of each column. Daly and Emily took their places at the end of one group and waited.

  Separated by only a couple of strips of police tape, the opposing forces marched forward when the air horn blared its battle cry, signaling the start of the conflict. The warriors advanced to the front lines and assumed the positions they would use to launch the smashed fruit into the air.

  Some sought shelter behind the front lines, opting to launch their ammunition like artillery fire and take out the enemy from above.

  The bravest of them, a selfless few, ran straight to the front lines, oblivious to their own safety as they tried to secure victory by attacking head-on.

  Daly and Emily grabbed handfuls of tomatoes and let loose from the middle of the pack. But where there is sometimes safety in numbers, they quickly learned that maxim does not apply in the midst of an earnest tomato fight. No sooner had they released their first handfuls of fruit had they been splattered by the wares of the opposition.

  Daly cursed.

  Emily shrieked.

  They both laughed.

  The onslaught lasted only minutes. When it was over the tomatoes’ casualties numbered in the hundreds and both sides were claiming victory. Daly took a deep breath, pulling the goggles from his eyes and wiping a gob of tomato juice from his cheek.

  “That was fun,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

  Emily smiled at him, pressing a handful of tomato guts from her shirt onto his.

  “That was fun. But you owe me a shirt.”

  She leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek, her soft lips pressing against the roughness of his five o’clock shadow. The kiss sent a shock wave through Daly’s body that he hadn’t felt in years. Not since Jessica died.

  For a moment, a flash of guilt came over him. It almost felt like he was cheating on Jessica. But it had been years. He knew she would want him to be happy. Then Daly smiled back at Emily and took her by the hand.

  “I guess I do,” Daly said. “But it was worth it.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Friday, August 30, 2019

  10:33 a.m.

  The hard pews lining the courtroom gallery were packed. Reporters, the victims’ family members, and curious onlookers occupied every available seat, anxious to learn Dr. Radcliffe’s fate. A platoon-sized contingent of sheriff’s deputies dressed in black shirts and green slacks surrounded the courtroom, eager to prevent another embarrassing outburst like the one Vu Nguyen had the last time he saw Radcliffe in court.

  The doctor remained free on bail after his conviction and had come in early through a side door, hoping to avoid the media cameras. He had been seated alone at the defense table for well over an hour as dozens of hate-filled eyes stared at his back.

  Melissa Cooper strode in and dropped her document bag on the floor next to her chair, then leaned in and whispered to Dr. Radcliffe. He handed her a sheet of paper that she began scanning, checking over the statement he planned to read to the court.

  From his seat at the back of the courtroom, Daly could see Cooper’s expression shift from mild curiosity to stunned amazement. She lifted her eyes off the paper and leaned close to Radcliffe’s ear, suddenly impassioned. Radcliffe started shaking his head and Cooper slapped the paper down on the defense table, rubbing her brow in frustration.

  She took her seat next to Radcliffe, who then shifted his eyes to the gallery. As he scanned the observers, Radcliffe lifted an eyebrow, apparently impressed by the level of turnout he’d drawn. Then his eyes settled on Daly. He stopped and stared hard at Daly for nearly a full minute. When the tipstaff came out of chambers and called for everyone to rise, Radcliffe gave Daly a smirk before facing front and rising from his seat.

  Judge
Perry ascended the bench and lifted the back of his robe slightly before taking his seat.

  “Good morning, counsel,” he said. “Are we ready to proceed?”

  “We are,” the attorneys answered.

  “Very well. Please approach.”

  The attorneys rose from their seats and walked forward to stand in front of the bench. Radcliffe joined them, standing at Cooper’s side as two sheriff’s deputies moved into position behind him. Radcliffe almost certainly knew he was going to prison, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone panicked and tried to run after learning his fate.

  “Your honor,” District Attorney Phillips said. “As you are aware, this is an atrocious case involving the homicides of four minors. These children did nothing wrong. But they were selected and groomed by Dr. Radcliffe along with his deceased co-defendant for their personal pleasure. Now, I understand that the Commonwealth did not pursue child pornography charges against Dr. Radcliffe. The jury was not able to hear the statements Mr. Gillespie made before his death, but this court has the Commonwealth’s sentencing brief that outlines the statements he made to Wilkes-Barre Observer reporter Erik Daly. Those statements make clear that Dr. Radcliffe was not equally responsible for these deaths — he is the person who is most responsible.

  “Dr. Radcliffe was the ringleader, if you will, of a criminal enterprise that used our most precious resource — our children — and then discarded them like so much trash. He was so desperate not to be caught that he devised a sadistic scheme to get rid of them. He didn’t simply take a gun and kill them. His plan was much more devious. He counseled them and created an app with subliminal messages in an effort to make these poor children so ashamed of what happened to them that they would kill themselves. The level of cruelty inflicted on these children simply boggles the mind, your honor.

  “It’s true that Dr. Radcliffe has no prior criminal history, but the heinous nature of these crimes, I believe, justifies a consecutive prison sentence. Dr. Radcliffe is an extreme danger to our community and our children, and he needs to be held accountable for his actions. As a result, the Commonwealth requests this court to impose the maximum possible sentence for these offenses.”

  Phillips looked over his shoulder at the courtroom gallery and cleared his throat before continuing.

  “Your honor, before we turn this over to the defense, we have a couple victim impact statements.”

  “Very well,” Judge Perry said. “Bring them up.”

  Phillips gestured to the gallery and waved his hand for those who wanted to speak to come forward. Jack Foster and Celeste Gonzalez rose and walked to the front of the courtroom. When they got there, Jack extended his fingers, signaling for Celeste to go first.

  In her trembling hands, she held a folded piece of paper. She slowly unfolded the sheet and slipped on a pair of reading glasses before addressing the judge.

  “Your honor, I want you to know my son was a good boy,” Celeste said. “He loved his family and his church. He did well in school. He had a bright future ahead of him. Everyone who knew him knew he was going to be successful at whatever he did. But because of this man — this monster — he’ll never get to do any of it. This monster changed my son. He used to be a happy and outgoing boy. But because of what this man did, my son killed himself in the garage like some kind of outcast. Because of this monster, I had to walk into my garage and see my boy hanging there …”

  Celeste began sobbing uncontrollably. Phillips put a hand on her shoulder and handed her a tissue from the box at the bench. After a moment, Celeste composed herself enough to continue.

  “No mother should ever have to go through that,” she said. “And what’s worse is that I knew something was wrong. I knew my son was communicating with Vincent Gillespie. I tried to stop it, but it wasn’t enough. Now I stay awake at night wondering how things would have turned out if I’d called the police. If only I had been brave enough to put aside my pride, my son might still be alive.

  “This man will continue living with what he’s done, but I urge this court to make him live with it in prison. What he did sickens me to my core, and I hope he dies in prison for it,” Celeste said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Judge Perry said, turning to Jack Foster. “Sir, do you have a statement as well?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said, stepping forward to the bench. He didn’t carry a speech and wrangled his hat in his hands for a moment before speaking.

  “My daughter Kimberly was popular in school. She was a cheerleader. She was a good daughter who would do anything to help others. Because of this man’s actions, nobody will ever remember any of that. She will always be the girl who killed herself on the Internet. She will always just be a crazy story and a punchline. People won’t remember the real Kimberly Foster. This man made sure of that. He changed her legacy. And he ruined our lives,” Jack said, turning to look directly at Radcliffe.

  “Do you have any children?” he asked. “Can you imagine what it’s like to hear a gunshot and walk into your daughter’s room late at night to find her bleeding out on the floor? To see your wife clawing at the pieces of her head, trying to put it all back together?”

  As he listened, Radcliffe was silent and still, acknowledging neither Jack’s presence nor his words.

  “Your honor,” Jack said, turning back to Judge Perry. “I agree with Mrs. Gonzalez that this man is a monster. I can’t even begin to comprehend how someone could do something so vile. He needs to be punished severely for what he did, and he needs to be locked away so that he can’t hurt anybody else.”

  With that, Jack lowered his head and backed away from the bench. Judge Perry nodded and turned back to Phillips.

  “Anything else from the Commonwealth?” he asked.

  “No, your honor,” Phillips said.

  “The defense?”

  “Thank you, your honor,” Cooper said. “Let me start by thanking District Attorney Phillips for correctly noting that Dr. Radcliffe was not charged with producing child pornography. As much as the Commonwealth would like to paint Dr. Radcliffe with that brush, it simply doesn’t stand up. They didn’t think they had enough evidence to take that allegation to the jury, so they certainly can’t turn around at this juncture and try to use it against Dr. Radcliffe.

  “What the evidence in this case has shown is that Vincent Gillespie was a very disturbed man. He was producing child pornography with the victims in this case, and as a result, he clearly had a motivation to commit the homicides. The evidence presented to the jury did establish that Dr. Radcliffe helped Mr. Gillespie produce the Soma app that ultimately resulted in the deaths of four youths. It was an unfortunate mistake born of Dr. Radcliffe’s helpful nature. He had known and worked with Vincent Gillespie for years, so when he needed help Dr. Radcliffe didn’t hesitate. Had Dr. Radcliffe understood the full scope of what was transpiring, I think the situation would have turned out differently.”

  Cooper paused as a murmur broke out in the courtroom. Jack Foster and Celeste Gonzalez exchanged looks and began shaking their heads in disbelief.

  “I would urge this court,” Cooper continued, “not to throw away this man’s life work over one mistake. Dr. Radcliffe has been a respected member of this community for many years and has done good work with the youth, including here in this courthouse. This is a man who has no criminal history and who has devoted his life to helping others. I would urge the court to impose a concurrent prison term to hold Dr. Radcliffe accountable for his role while also acknowledging the mark he has made — and can continue to make — upon this community.”

  “Thank you,” Judge Perry said. “Is there anything else from the defense?”

  “Your honor, I believe Dr. Radcliffe would like to make a statement,” Cooper said. “I would like to note for the record that I have advised him against doing so, but Dr. Radcliffe has insisted.”

  “Oh? Is that correct, sir?” Ju
dge Perry asked.

  “Yes, your honor,” Radcliffe said.

  “Very well, proceed.”

  Radcliffe ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and smoothed out the paper containing his speech. He scanned the parties standing at the front of the courtroom before beginning. As he spoke, the creases on his forehead rose and fell like ocean waves.

  “I have spent a lifetime working to better the lives of those in this community,” Radcliffe said. “It has been my life’s honor to help those who are less fortunate than myself. In a great many cases, I have been able to markedly improve the lives of my patients. People with crippling psychological ailments have been able to turn their lives around and make something of themselves. Such instances are why I got into the field in the first place.

  “Unfortunately, I have not been able to save everybody. One such unfortunate case was Vincent Gillespie. I worked with Vince for years, and on a few occasions, I thought we were close to making a breakthrough. But it seemed like every time we took a step forward he would slip back two steps. He was neurotic and had a case of impulse control disorder. I believe he had a sexual compulsion. He was compelled to act out his fantasies — particularly his homosexual fantasies — with gay people such as Justin Gonzalez.”

  Radcliffe paused for effect and smirked at Celeste Gonzalez. The color drained from her face and her jaw dropped. Celeste’s eyes watered up and she groped at the tiny golden cross hanging around her neck. She had been so careful to protect Justin. She could have called the police and stopped the abuse. But she didn’t because she was mortified about how it might affect him.

  Now Radcliffe had outed Justin in front of a packed courtroom. The whole world would now know the secret Justin died to protect.

  What was worse, Radcliffe seemed to be suggesting that Justin wanted it — that he wasn’t a victim at all but a willing participant in a perverse pornographic operation.

  Phillips immediately objected to the characterization, and Judge Perry warned Radcliffe against denigrating the victims.