by L. N. Cronk
As Dorito became older, Savanna had told Zoe, it became clear that he had needed medical attention for his legs, but the family couldn’t afford it. One day, Dorito’s biological father took him some distance from their home and abandoned him in a busy park where he knew that Dorito would be quickly found. Savanna’s husband came home without the child, refused to tell Savanna where he was, and forbid her from ever searching for him. He also told Savanna that he would kill Dorito if she ever did manage to find him and bring him back into the house. For the next seven years, out of fear for her own safety as well as the safety of Dorito, Savanna never made an attempt to locate her son.
This past summer, Savanna’s husband had become gravely ill. He was sick for weeks before he finally passed away and – during that time – he told Savanna exactly where he had left Dorito. Once her husband finally died, Savanna began looking for her son. The orphanage where Laci had worked was the closest one to the park and was naturally the first place that Savanna inquired. The director, Inez, knew immediately which child Savanna was asking about. She told Savanna that Dorito had been adopted, gave Savanna our names, and told her where we lived.
Thanks a lot, Inez.
Reanna cross examined Zoe.
“You work with many women who have been abused by their partners, don’t you, Ms. Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever worked with women who have filed restraining orders against their abusive partners?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever worked with a woman who has found relief from their abuse because they filed a restraining order?”
“Yes, but-”
“Have you ever worked with women who went to a safe house because their partner was abusing them?”
“Yes.”
“Did any of those women successfully escape their abusive situation by going to a safe house and utilizing the resources that were made available to them there?”
“Yes, but-”
“Have you ever worked with an abused woman who went to the police when her partner beat her?”
“Yes.”
“Have any of those abusers subsequently gone to prison as a result of what they did?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Ms. Walker,” Reanna said. “I have no further questions at this time.”
Beckham then asked Zoe if she also knew of any women who had tried to file a restraining order, go to a safe house, or call the police after being abused who had not had such happy outcomes.
She did.
Had any of those women lost their lives because of their attempts to escape abuse?
Yes, they had.
When Beckham was done this time, Reanna didn’t ask any more questions.
After Zoe Walker stepped down, Beckham called his next witness.
“Your Honor, we call Claudio Escalante to the stand.”
A young, Hispanic man walked forward, swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and then took his place on the witness stand. I found myself sitting forward in my seat, my eyes riveted to him.
Dorito’s brother.
I couldn’t help but be fascinated as I saw the same black eyes as Dorito’s glancing nervously around the courtroom.
“Please state your name.”
“Claudio Escalante.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Thank you. Mr. Escalante, could you please tell us your relationship to the respondent?”
“Yes,” he said with a thick accent. “She ees my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“So . . .” Beckham said, as if he were just now piecing this giant mystery together, “that would mean that you are Doroteo’s brother?”
“Rogelio.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“His name ees Rogelio.”
“Oh,” Beckham nodded. “I see. Well, right now, in the eyes of this court, his name is Doroteo so we’re going to have to refer to him that way, okay?”
“Si. I will try.”
“Is Doroteo your brother?”
“Si. Yes.”
“Full brother?”
Claudio looked confused.
“Do you have the same mother and the same father as Doroteo?”
“Oh,” he nodded, understanding. “Si – I mean, yes.”
“How many brothers and sisters are in your family?”
“I have two seesters and three brothers.”
“Three including Doroteo?”
“Yes.”
“Are your other brothers and sisters also older than Doroteo?”
“Yes,” he said. “I am the oldest and he is the leetlest.”
“And you are all full brothers and sisters?”
“Yes.”
“When is the last time you saw Doroteo?”
“Seven and one half years ago.”
“What happened on that day?”
“We had breakfast and all go to school except for Rog- Except for Doroteo. He ees too leetle to go.”
“How old was he?”
“One and one half years.”
“I see. So you went to school that day and when you returned home, tell us what happened.”
“When I come home he ees gone.”
“Gone?”
“Si . . . yes. Gone.”
“Where was he?”
“We do not know,” he said, shrugging. “Mama was crying and Papa tell her ‘¡Cállate la boca!’.”
“¡Cállate la boca!?” Beckham asked.
“How you say? Shut-up.”
“Did your mother stop crying?”
“No.”
“So what happened then?”
“He heet her.”
“Where?”
“Here,” Claudio said, making a fist and aiming it at the side of his face. “And here,” he touched his nose with his fist. “And here,” he jabbed his fist into his ribs.
“And did your mother ‘shut-up’ after that?”
“A leetle,” he said.
“Did you ever see Doroteo again?”
“No.”
“But didn’t you wonder what happened to him?”
“Si, but Mama tell us not to talk about eet anymore and so we do not ask. We do not want things to be worse.”
“Worse?”
“We do not want Papa to heet her anymore.”
“Did your father beat your mother frequently?”
“Only if he ees drinking or if he ees mad at her.”
“Was she ever injured by him?”
“Oh,” he nodded matter-of-factly. “Si. Yes.”
“Did she ever go to a hospital because of her injuries?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No money.”
“Did she ever receive medical care of any kind for her injuries?” Beckham asked.
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Our neighbor ees putting bandages on her or putting glass out of her head. She put ice on her. One time she . . . how you say? Give her steetches.”
“Did your father ever hit any of the children?”
Claudio looked thoughtful. “No,” he finally said. “Not unless we get in the way.”
“Get in the way?”
“If he ees heeting her and we ees trying to stop him. Then he would heet us too. We ees not getting in the way very often.”
“Claudio, why didn’t your mother ever go to the police after your father hurt her?”
“Calls for speculation,” Reanna interrupted.
“Claudio,” Beckham said, “why didn’t you ever go to the police and tell them that your father was hurting your mother?”
“He ees her husband,” Claudio shrugged.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“If you get married one day, do you think it will be okay for you to beat your wife?”
“I will not be heeting
my wife,” he said carefully.
“But if you did,” Beckham asked, “what would happen to you?”
“No thing,” he shrugged.
“Nothing?” Beckham asked, feigning shock. “Are you telling me that you wouldn’t be arrested and put in prison?”
“No,” Claudio said, shaking his head.
“Are you aware that if a husband were to beat his wife in the United States and was caught, he could go to prison?”
“Si,” Claudio shrugged, “but eet ees deeferent in Mexico.”
“So, is it safe to say that your mother was oppressed by your father?”
“Oppressed?”
“Kept from doing what she wanted to do . . . not free from your father.”
“Oh. Si. She ees oppressed.”
“Why didn’t your mother leave your father?”
“Calls for speculation,” Reanna interrupted again.
“Did your mother ever talk about leaving your father?” Beckham asked.
“No.”
“Do you have an opinion about why that might be?”
“She cannot be leaving him. She ees having seex children. He makes her money and she ees doing what he says. She cannot leave him.”
“Thank you, Mr. Escalante. I have no further questions at this time.”
Next it was Reanna’s turn to question Claudio.
“Mr. Escalante, you testified that your father beat your mother when he was drunk or when he was angry. Is that correct?”
“Si. Yes,” he nodded.
“And you also testified that to your knowledge, she never sought professional medical treatment for any of the injuries that she sustained during the time she was allegedly abused?”
“No.”
“Did you ever take any pictures of any of your mother’s injuries?”
“No.”
“What is the name of the neighbor who allegedly attended to your mother’s various injuries?”
“Her name is Yesenia Jimenez.”
“Hmmmm,” said Reanna, looking over a piece of paper. “I don’t see that name anywhere on the witness list. I guess we’ll just have to take your word for that.”
“My father hurt my mother,” Claudio insisted. “She ees very afraid of him.”
“Your Honor!” Reanna implored, looking at Judge Goebeler.
“Mr. Escalante,” he said, “please limit your remarks so that you are only answering the questions that Ms. Justice asks of you.”
Claudio nodded.
“Mr. Escalante, are you aware that it is against the law in Mexico City for a man to beat his wife?”
“I think eet ees wrong,” he nodded.
“No,” Reanna said. “I’m not saying that it is just wrong. I’m saying that it is against the law in Mexico City. I’m saying that if a man is charged with beating his wife and he is found guilty, he can go to jail. Are you aware of that?”
“I guess,” he shrugged.
“Please answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ Mr. Escalante. Are you aware that it is against the law in Mexico City for a man to beat his wife?”
“Yes.”
“And at any point during your parent’s marriage, did you ever once report the fact that your father was beating your mother to the authorities.”
“No, but I-”
Reanna put up a hand to stop him. “Are you familiar with Casa de Esperanza on Las Cruces?”
“No.”
“No? Oh. Have you ever heard of Casa Segura Para Mujeres on Corrigedora?”
“No.”
“Hmmmm. How about Ministerio de Mujeres En Sus Manos on Degoltado?”
“No.”
“I have a list here of over twenty safe houses for women that are located within Mexico City. I found these after just a brief search – I’m sure there are many more. But is it safe to say that you are not going to have heard of any of them?”
“No,” Claudio said, shaking his head. “I have not.”
“Mr. Escalante, you do live in Mexico City, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Since you seem unaware of the existence of any of these safe houses, I assume it would also be safe to say that you never contacted any of them in regard to the fact that your father was abusing your mother?”
“No.”
“And I also assume that you never suggested to her that she find a safe place to go where she could get away from your father and be protected from him?”
“No, but-”
“So, let me just clarify here, Mr. Escalante,” Reanna interrupted. “To your knowledge – at no point during the course of your parent’s marriage did your mother make any attempt to get herself out of an abusive situation. To your knowledge the police were never notified. To your knowledge, she never sought professional help of any kind?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Mr. Escalante. I have no further questions at this time.”
After Claudio testified the prosecution rested and then it was Reanna’s turn.
First she called Dorito’s second grade teacher to the witness stand to testify that Laci and I were the most wonderful parents who had ever walked the face of the earth and that Dorito was the most well-adjusted, friendliest and smartest kid she had ever had the pleasure to teach. She also testified how I had volunteered regularly in Dorito’s class and how I had not only worked so hard with Amber but had taken her into my home and loved her as one of my own. By the time she had finished, my nomination for sainthood was pretty much in the bag.
After that, Reanna called Amber’s social worker, Stacy Reed, to the stand to tell a similar story. The main thing Stacy was able to add was that she could testify to what a safe and nurturing home environment we were providing for our children and how she hoped we would foster another child one day because kids needed parents like me and Laci.
After each woman testified, the judge gave Beckham an opportunity to cross examine them.
“No questions at this time, Your Honor,” he said both times.
After Stacy testified, Judge Goebeler decided that we would break for lunch and reconvene in one and a half hours.
“How’s it going?” I asked Reanna on the way out.
“About like I expected,” she shrugged.
“Is that good or bad?”
She shot me a long look and I shut up.
We walked to a small restaurant not far away from the courthouse.
“Why didn’t Beckham ask Dorito’s teacher or Stacy any questions?” Tanner wondered as we walked along.
“I don’t think he’s going to try and show that Doroteo would be better off with Savanna,” Reanna said. “I think he knows he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance of proving that and he’s counting on the judge ruling in their favor based strictly on the fact that Savanna never consented to the adoption.”
“Is he going to ask me anything?” I asked.
“I doubt it,” she said. “I think if he was going to take that route we’d know it by now.”
I shot a relieved glance at Tanner.
We arrived at the restaurant and Tanner held the door open for Reanna and me. We found ourselves a table and then Reanna excused herself to go to the restroom, asking us to order her a water, with lemon, when the waitress arrived.
“I can’t believe that was Dorito’s brother,” I told Tanner after we were seated, shaking my head.
“Why not?” he asked. “He looks a lot like him.”
“I know,” I said, “but he’s so . . . so old! He’s closer to our age than he is to Dorito’s!”
“I think Dorito’s gonna be short,” Tanner observed.
“Thanks,” I said, sarcastically. “I hadn’t figured that one out yet.”
“Don’t worry,” Tanner said. “He makes up for it with personality.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
The waitress arrived and gave us some menus. She took our drink orders and left, just as Reanna was returning to the table. She sat down and then turned to me.
&nbs
p; “You’re on this afternoon,” she said. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go over it one more time – just to make sure.”
“But Beckham probably isn’t even going to ask me anything!” I protested. “You said so yourself.”
“‘Probably’ is the key word there,” Reanna said. “I want to make sure you’re ready for anything.”
“So much for a nice lunch,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes with my hands.
When I looked back at Reanna, she was staring at me, unimpressed.
“Hit me with your best shot,” I told her. “I’m ready.”
By two o’clock I’d been sworn in and found myself sitting in the witness chair. Reanna asked me to state my name, age, what I did for a living, and my relationship to Dorito. I told her that I was his father.
“And your wife is Laci Cline Holland? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is she present in the courtroom today?”
“No.”
“Can you tell the court why your wife is not here today?”
“She’s home,” I said, “with our kids. Doroteo is almost nine years old and he needs her to pick him up after school in just a little bit. Lily is four and she’s not in school yet. This hearing – this situation – has been very stressful for both of us, but we’ve worked very hard to make sure the kids don’t know that anything is going on. Laci and I felt that it was very important for her to stay home today and keep the kids in their normal routine. We don’t want them upset.”
“That’s very understandable,” Reanna nodded. “How did you come to first meet Doroteo?”
“My wife was volunteering at an orphanage in Mexico City. I was working full-time, but I would go to the orphanage in the evenings a lot and help out. I met him there – he was one of the orphans.”
“How old was he when you met him?”
“Well, at the time we thought he was about eighteen months old, but now we know that he was almost twenty months old.”
Now we also know that his birthday is in November, not January . . .
“So he was walking?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Aren’t most babies walking by the time they’re twenty months old?”