“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.
Chapter Ten
It took two days for me to realize that I couldn’t afford to coddle myself. I wasn’t done with the legal system. What was the next step? I wasn’t sure. Over coffee and a Hot Pocket, it hit me.
I called Eileen’s lawyer. She had given me his number and told me to wait a few days and tell him that she’d gone underground. To my surprise I found that I felt sheepish about making the call. It occurred to me that he might look on me as an intruder.
He didn’t disappoint me. Once I got through his secretary his first words were, “Who is this?” He didn’t sound friendly.
“I’ve already told your secretary. I’m a friend of hers.”
“What kind of friend?”
“I don’t think I’m obligated to go into that. She wanted me to call you, so I’m calling you.”
“How do I know I can believe you?”
“What can I say to you? I guess I should hang up.”
“No. Wait!” I heard him shuffling some papers. “You wouldn’t be Mike Dobbs, would you?”
“Whoa! Did she call you and tell you who I am?”
“No. Let’s just say I have some friends on the force.”
“Wonderful. I’m famous.”
“No, you’re just getting attention from the police.”
“So, should I end this call?”
He paused. “I got the impression you helped Eileen and Megan.”
“As best I could.”
“Okay. I want to talk to you, but this probably isn’t the best way. Can you give me your address?”
“You want to come see me?”
“I figure it’s easier. What town do you live in?”
“Bardstown.”
“Excellent. I pass near there on the way home.”
“Okay. To be honest I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
“In my legal capacity?”
“Sort of.”
“Okay. What if I get there around six thirty?”
“That’s fine.” I gave him my address with directions.
“See you then,” he said and hung up.
*
Steven Moskowitz, Esq. wasn’t what I expected. During our phone conversation, I had imagined a short, wiry man with thinning hair. The real Steven was about six foot four with an athletic build. He moved gracefully, like a man comfortable with his physical self. I suspected running and basketball in his background.
“You want a drink?” I asked him, not caring what he thought of me.
He looked at the bottle I held out to him and smiled. “Laphroaig. Good stuff.”
I went into the kitchen and got two rocks glasses. He seemed like a connoisseur so I poured a couple of fingers. The folks at Laphroaig pride themselves on creating a single malt scotch that not everyone can stand. For some people even the smell is disgusting. It was nice to share it with someone who appreciated it.
Moskowitz, Esq. sniffed it first, then took a good pull. “Can’t afford this very often. I think it’s been over a year since I had it.”
“Have as much as you like. There’s another bottle in the back.”
He nodded as though he’d expected as much. “Did you fall in love with Eileen?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes.” I saw no reason to lie.
“How long did she stay here?”
“About five months.”
“And what happened to make her leave?”
“You obviously value tact. I thought you had the whole story from your cop friends.”
“They can only tell me so much.”
“We went into the City and she ran into some people who weren’t her friends. It seemed like they were her husband’s friends.”
“What happened then?”
“They hassled her. I got angry. I got out of there as soon as I could, but they saw my license plate.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He sat thinking and sipping. He was a nervous man; his hand kept tapping his knee. “She talked about The Railroad a lot, especially when it seemed that her case was going bad. I know that’s where she is now.”
“That’s the way it worked out.”
“That really ties my hands.”
“To be honest, it seemed that your hands were tied before. Tha
t’s why she had to run in the first place.”
He smirked. “To some extent that’s true. We got a bad judge. He was an old man who believes in the status quo. You know, women should stay at home, children are all naughty, don’t buck the system, sexual abuse never happens. We had testimony to support Eileen’s case, but he wouldn’t allow some of it and the rest sort of got overwhelmed by the defense’s case. They had some great expert witnesses.”
“The best money can buy?”
“Yes. And you’ve figured out I’m not the best money can buy.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do. You strike me as a yuppie. You know about lawyers. I don’t charge much. I take on hopeless cases. I don’t have the right connections. I don’t dress the part. Eileen’s husband hired the perfect lawyers, just the kind that the judge would like to see his kids become.”
“Okay, so you don’t have much clout. What can we do for her now?”
“Now?” He shook his head sadly. “Do you think that you can pile some money into this and turn it around? This is a new criminal case and she’s the defendant, or she will be, if it ever comes to trial.”
“I was hoping that maybe I could hire the same type of piranha lawyers that her husband hired.”
“That would have been helpful a few months back. Right now, you’d never get to court because we don’t have anything we can do. She hasn’t gone to trial so no one can defend her or make an appeal. Her husband was already cleared of all criminal charges. Do you think you can sue the judge who presided over her custody case?”
“I’m not that stupid. So there’s nothing we can do now?”
“Probably not.”
“That’s wonderful. Would you be willing to turn your files over to another lawyer who might want to try to save her?”
To my surprise he laughed. Then he raised his glass asking for more scotch. I wanted to hit him with the bottle, but I kept my cool. When I returned from the kitchen with his refilled glass I found him scanning the titles in my bookshelf. “Philosophy, religion and … computers, an interesting combination”.
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