The Second Trial
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Boll, Rosemarie, 1957-
The second trial / by Rosemarie Boll.
ISBN 978-1-897187-72-2
I. Title.
PS8603.O463S42 2010 jC813’.6 C2010-900609-7
Copyright © 2010 by Rosemarie Boll
Edited by Doris Rawson
Copyedited by Robin Crombie
Cover and text design by Melissa Kaita
Cover photo © iStockphoto
Printed and bound in Canada
Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts
Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada
through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program.
Published by
SECOND STORY PRESS
20 Maud Street, Suite 401
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M5V 2M5
www.secondstorypress.ca
To my husband, Ron,
who has supported me through many trials
Contents
PART ONE
The First Trial
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
PART TWO
The Second Trial
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Acknowledgments
PART ONE
The First Trial
Chapter 1
Tuesday
The police officer kept his eyes locked on the thirteen-year-old boy. “You’re going to have to move,” he said.
Danny crossed his arms. “No.”
Sergeant Sandhu faced the boy squarely. “Your father – your dad’s a violent and dangerous man, Danny. Your mom can’t trust him and neither can you.” He paused. “If he gets the chance again, we all believe he’ll hurt your mom – very badly. Even kill her.”
Danny tried to swallow, but his throat was as dry as cotton. “I was in the courtroom,” he replied. “He said he wouldn’t. He said he’d never hurt her again.”
“I know, but he’s said a lot of things that aren’t true,” replied the police officer.
“You’re wrong!”
“I wish I were.” The officer looked deep into Danny’s eyes. “I know this must seem like a bad dream to you, and you want it to end. But you have to understand something. The decision about what’s going to happen has already been made. I’m sorry, but that’s something you don’t have a choice about.”
Danny flicked imaginary lint from his sleeve. “So why even bring me here?”
“Because your mom wants you to have a say in how it’s going to happen. You and your sister, Jennifer.”
“Yeah, right.” Pause.
Sgt. Sandhu sighed. “If you don’t take part now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Because this is the rest of your life we’re talking about here.”
“They’re getting a divorce, and he said he’d never do it again! This is crazy! This is nuts!”
“No, Danny,” Sgt. Sandhu said, his mouth grim. “This is reality. We’re way past happy endings. The decision to give you new identities and relocate you wasn’t an easy one. But it’s the only safe one because we can’t afford to make a mistake. If we don’t do anything and your dad kills your mom, well…dead is forever.”
The words came at him like sharp blows. Kill. Dead. Forever. He twisted in his seat and his eyes darted to the door, the escape from this nightmare.
“There’s no running away, Danny. We have to do this. It’s time.”
Danny launched himself from the chair and flew out of the office and into the hallway. The elevator took forever to reach the ground floor.
His pupils shrank to pinpoints in the sudden sunshine of the downtown street. He hunched his shoulders and kept his head down so that the peak of his baseball cap blocked out anything more than a few paces in front of him. He jostled passersby, ignoring their grunts of surprise and anger. Long blocks of heated cement disappeared under his pounding feet, until he veered south toward the river valley.
The broad river split the city in two. Danny dropped onto a vacant bench overlooking the steep-sided valley. His head throbbed, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He hung his head and massaged his temples. His thoughts were puzzle pieces that would never fit together again. What had happened to his parents? What had happened to his family? What was going to happen to his life?
Chapter 2
Sunday
Two days earlier, the summer sun had been setting into an orange nest when his mom entered Danny’s room. He’d been stretched out in a confusion of bedsheets and blankets. He’d wedged a pillow against the headboard and propped his new video game on his chest. It pinged and buzzed with each deft flick of his thumbs. His mother stepped around abandoned T-shirts and sat at his feet.
“Danny, we have to talk,” she said, touching his knee. “Tomorrow’s Monday. The trial starts.” She swallowed. “You have to decide whether you want to come or stay home.”
His fingers kept twiddling the game.
“Jennifer can’t come. She’s too young. She’ll stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a couple of days.”
His eyes stayed on the video game while his thumbs stabbed the buttons.
“Your dad’s going to be sentenced. The prosecutor will ask for a long sentence.” She let the words hang in the air. “Your dad’s lawyer will say what he has to say, and Dad…he might say something too.”
Danny drew up his knees. His mom blinked back tears. “If you come, you’ll hear things that…” She hesitated and swiped a tissue across her eyes. “…things you never dreamed you’d hear. Things I never wanted to tell anyone, but now it’s time to tell the truth.” She held up her head and told him about the victim impact statement she was going to read in court. Still fiddling with his video game, he listened to her outline a story about a buried life he’d never suspected. She told him his father had hurt her many times over many years, not just the few times he knew about.
“I thought it best that no one knew. I thought I could protect you and Jen, Grandma and Grandpa, and maybe even myself, from the truth. I couldn’t tell my friends, I couldn’t tell the neighbors, I couldn’t tell the people at work. If I did, then I’d have to admit to myself that I was living a lie.
“Now I know that the only person I was protecting was your father. I was protecting him from dealing with his violent anger. I was protecting him from the truth that h
e is an abuser.”
Danny squeezed his game until his knuckles turned white.
“You don’t have to come,” she continued, “but everyone thinks you should. The prosecutor, Sgt. Sandhu, the counselor, Grandma and Grandpa.” She paused while her fingertips brushed the rash on her neck. “I won’t tell you that you have to come, Danny,” she said. “No matter which way you decide, it’s going to be hard. But if you do come, you’ve got to know – it will be the hardest thing you’ve done in your life.”
Danny knew there’d been problems. It had been eight months ago – nearly Christmas – when his father went to jail. He and his little sister had gone to bed. But his bedroom shared a wall with his parents’ room, and his father’s rising voice stirred him awake.
“We are not going to your mother’s for Christmas again! You know I can’t stand those people! We need to have our own Christmas. No one’s gonna tell me where to sit and how to behave!”
“But Paul,” Catherine pleaded, “it’s been four years since we were there for Christmas. Jennifer was only four and –”
“I don’t care if she was still in diapers. We’re not going! Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”
Danny heard his dad pacing like he always did when he was angry.
“If you touch that doorknob,” Paul growled, “I’m going to kill you. I’ve got my gun right here, under the bed. You know I’ve got my gun, don’t you. Wanna see it? I’ll shoot you right here. Right now.”
Danny heard the bedroom door crash open, frantic footsteps, and then a sickening crack, followed by muffled thumps. Buddy, his border collie, barked wildly. His barks were interrupted by the sharp slam of the front door.
Danny wanted to stay in bed, pretend nothing had happened. He’d overheard arguments at night before, the words inaudible but the tone unmistakable. He’d noticed his mother at dinner, hardly saying a word while Dad carried on about sports, stupid politicians, and the irritating neighbors. Danny knew his parents didn’t always get along, but that wasn’t so unusual, was it? His friends’ parents argued. Some even divorced. Yet tonight his dog’s whimpering signaled this was no simple argument, no “accidental” shattering of dishes on the kitchen floor. Something more was wrong, and it bathed him in cold sweat. He held his breath, clutched the covers around his neck, and squeezed his eyes shut. His heart beat with such violence he thought it would burst. Then his mind registered another sound – sobs, muffled by a pillow – and he knew Jennifer had heard it too.
The dog exploded into his room and leapt onto the bed. Then he jumped to the floor, barking at Danny, his head lowered and haunches raised. Just as suddenly, he turned and darted away. Danny threw off the covers and scrambled after him, but he paused in his doorway. A shattered lamp lay outside his parents’ bedroom, its shade buckled and cracked. He stepped around the glass shards and stopped dead at the top of the landing. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw at the bottom: his mother lying motionless, her nightgown twisted around her thighs, and her face covered by a snarl of hair. Two fingers of crimson blood oozed from her scalp and seeped into the carpet. Buddy paced alongside her, making deep-throated sounds and gently nuzzling her body.
Mom didn’t move. Danny sped down the stairs and hurtled over her body. He landed well past the spreading stain and sprinted for the kitchen phone. He dialed 9-1-1, but when the operator answered, his pounding heart swept away his breath, and all he could do was cry.
They’d spent that Christmas after the assault with his mother’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Wilson. Mom’s arm was still in a cast, and because of her broken ribs, she slept sitting under a patchwork quilt in a recliner by the fire. Her pain was like an unwelcome guest at a party – unmentionable, but unforgettable. Grandma and Grandpa had gone all out. They burned cookie-scented candles, played Christmas carols, and Grandma baked the special Scottish shortbread Danny loved. Everyone helped decorate the tree, and Danny had to admit it was a good Christmas, even without his dad.
But by Easter, Mom’s injuries had healed and his memory of her pain faded. When she tried to get him to decorate Easter eggs with his sister, he scoffed and said he was too old. He started fighting with both of them. Just about anything could spark him to anger. Most of the time Mom wouldn’t yell back. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t seem to feel as alone without her husband as he felt without his father. He wanted Dad back. He wanted things to be just the way they used to be. One night, while his mother was on the phone, he tiptoed into his parents’ bedroom. Most everything was as it should be, except that their wedding photo above the dresser was gone.
He circled the foot of the bed. A floor-to-ceiling closet with mirrored doors was built into the opposite wall. The right side was his mom’s and the left side was his dad’s. He slid open the left side. Dad’s suits and shirts hung in the closet, dry-cleaning plastic still covering some of them. His dress shoes were lined up, clean and shiny, just the way he liked them. Italian silk neckties hung from a rack at the end of the closet. Danny reached over and stroked Dad’s McMillan silk hunting tie, the modern tartan – yellow and red stripes over green, blue, and purple plaid. It was identical to the one hanging in his own closet. Everything was in order. Mom hadn’t actually thrown him completely away. It was a sure sign Dad would be back in Danny’s life.
Then Mom started seeing a lawyer. A couple of times he found her at the kitchen table filling out forms, and he could guess what they were about. She had tried to talk to him one night, but he scowled and stalked off to the TV room to watch some reality show. He didn’t even like the show much, but with Buddy’s warm head resting in his lap, he could lose himself in the lives of people whose troubles seemed larger than his own. When Mom nagged him, he turned up the volume.
Danny hated the idea of a divorce. He’d been furious with his mother for wanting it, furious with his dad for causing it, and furious with the world and everything in it. People called them broken homes, didn’t they? But there was nothing broken about his home, except that his dad just happened to be in jail for a bit. Broken homes happened to other people. In broken homes, parents fought about visiting rights and money. Kids from broken homes had two frantic Christmases spent elbowing for space and attention with half brothers and stepsisters. Some people called them single-parent families as if they were special, but Danny knew he had two parents and he wanted them both. Together. At the same time. When Dad got out everything would be okay again.
After the arrest, some kids at school had said crude things about his dad being a criminal and how his mom must have deserved it. Danny cut them off. Soon, turning his back on people became a habit, and even his friends walked away. He refused to join any teams or after-school activities. Life became just one tedious day after another.
Until the trial.
Chapter 3
Monday
The wide courtroom doors shut behind them. Danny and his mom found seats on a long bench. His mouth tasted bitter, and he longed to have his mom wrap him in her arms and tell him, “Don’t worry, Danny-boy, everything’s going to be okay.” But she just sat beside him, her back rigid. He relaxed his fists and tried to slide his hands under his knees, but the cold sweat on his palms stuck to the wood. His hands lurched forward, jarring his arms like the time Dad had let him drive the SUV and he’d released the clutch too fast. Dad had laughed as the vehicle jumped forward. “Take it easy, son, relax, don’t lose your head, just relax and it’ll come.”
Danny pressed his palms onto the scratchy black trousers he wore for school band performances. He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
They sat to the right of a carpeted aisle that divided the courtroom. The teak benches, the color of autumn leaves, reminded him of church. Earlier that morning, Mom had introduced him to Sandra Johnson, the prosecutor. The prosecutor had shown him the courtroom to acquaint him with the setup. He knew His Honor Alexander Cunningham would sit in this windowless room and preside over the unraveling of Danny’s fami
ly.
Danny’s eyes moved across the courtroom. There it stood – the prisoner’s box. Prisoner. Prisoner. Danny tried to keep his hands loose and his breathing regular, just the way Dad had taught him to relax before a soccer game. Pris-on-er. Pris-on-er. His heart beat out the rhythm of the word. His father in the prisoner’s box, his father in jail, his father a convicted criminal, his own father now in the final play of this…game? Was it a game? Which side was he on? Which side should he be on? Maybe it didn’t matter. How could it matter, when there weren’t any rules, and the game could end only in a loss?
People started filing in. His mom slid a little closer to Danny, as if she’d just remembered she was his mother and that mothers need to take care of their sons. She glanced at him sitting there awkwardly in his long-sleeved white shirt. He was dressed up – dressed for a school Christmas concert, for church, or for a funeral. Today, at age thirteen, Danny wanted her protection, but she’d said he was now a young man and she could not protect him – no longer wanted to protect him – from the truth.
The door behind the prisoner’s box swung open. A guard with a holstered gun slung from her wide black belt loomed in the doorway. Dad came out wearing his tailored gunmetal blue suit. He’d buttoned down the starched collar of his white shirt over a navy and black silk tie. Although Danny couldn’t see them, he knew his father’s leather shoes were polished as black as ravens. Dad looked normal: sharply dressed, his head up, stepping politely past the guard. He looked just the way he did every morning on his way to work.
But nothing was normal.
Mr. Miller, Dad’s defense lawyer, approached his client and spoke too softly for anyone to overhear. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he had shouted across the courtroom. Danny couldn’t have listened even if he’d wanted to, couldn’t have talked if he’d needed to. He was unable to move, his eyes frozen on his dad.
“Order in court! All rise!” called the clerk, startling Danny into action. He leapt to his feet, his throat as dry as ashes. The judge entered briskly and took his place behind the raised bench.
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