Rosie O'Dell

by Bill Rowe

  Rosie folded her arms across her breasts as if she were very cold and looked at me for many seconds. The small movements of her eyes were the only indication of the upheaval taking place in her head. Then she muttered, “I’ve got to get away from everyone so that we can talk and think about all this. I wish Suzy was here.” Suzy was going to dinner with her father and older brother who were in town.

  I went outside with Rosie into the cool sunshine. We left the school grounds and walked until we reached Elizabeth Avenue, then down Long Pond Road and Rennie’s Mill Road, along Circular Road, where Dr. and Nina Rothesay had considered buying an old house upon marrying before deciding on their new modern one, to King’s Bridge, back along Empire Avenue, and up Portugal Cove Road to a bus stop on Elizabeth near Memorial University. We talked a little, but mostly we walked and thought. Every now and then, after minutes of silence, Rosie would say, “My God.” As we waited for her bus—outside the shelter to get away from the other two people waiting—she put her arms around me. “This is incredible,” she said. “Absolutely tremendous. I love you. I’m still mad at you for not checking with me first, though.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. But I had this big brainwave early in the morning and I couldn’t wait to put it into operation.”

  “I know the feeling. And this is going to be very helpful in getting rid of that guilt I always feel. Next brainwave you have, though, let me know before you do anything, okay?” She hugged me again. “Tom, you are amazing.”

  The news from England did alter the view Rosie had had of herself from the time she’d been twelve. Instead of the knowing little woman she thought she was, wholly responsible for the guilt and loathsome disgust she had felt, she told Suzy and me, now her self-image from then was of just one more defenceless and susceptible child in a long list of children victimized by a charismatic, cunning criminal. A list that included—now there was absolutely no doubt left in her mind—poor little Pagan. She said she felt so horrible over not protecting Pagan better, but it had never even occurred to her before Pagan died that he could be a serial predator of children. And sending her away from home to a residential school on the mainland, which was supposed to represent equal treatment of the two girls, making up for Rosie’s expensive tennis camps, prevented any suspicion from arising in her mind.

  “We all had our heads up our arses about the danger to Pagan,” said Suzy. “Our hearts will be broken forever over that, but all of us who should have realized it are in the same boat, Rosie, not just you.”

  Rosie appeared uncomforted. But then she straightened up and looked back and forth at me and Suzy. “Well. What do we figure I’m supposed to do now? I can’t forget about it, even if I wanted to, and just get on with my life. He’ll go ahead and do it to other kids.”

  I knew what she should do, but before I could speak, Suzy jumped in. “You could tell the police everything—your own experience, your suspicions about Pagan again, and now the English stuff, but without getting into the nightmare of laying charges and going to court. Just let the police investigate him behind the scenes and keep him in their sights and track him on their radar for the rest of his life. At least that should keep him from doing it again wherever he ends up.”

  “That was my first thought when Tom’s story from England came to light,” said Rosie. “Maybe it’s the way to do it. But would it work? He was able to slip under the radar and come over here in spite of what happened in England. He’s about to do it again, judging by my friend in BC. And he’s cute and cunning enough to end up in India or Africa or somewhere under a new name and unknown and absolutely free to prey on innocent victims again. What do you think, Tom?”

  I pushed for a process that would lead to the second worst ordeal of my life. “In addition to everything you just said, I think we owe it to you and we owe it to poor little Pagan to nail him right now and nail him good. I think you should report him to the police and have them bring charges against him.”

  “How the heck do I do that? Wander into police headquarters and spill my guts to the first uniform I see?”

  “I’d say you should go and have a confidential talk with my mother. She’s used to this kind of thing as a nurse and can point you in the right direction and send you to the right people.”

  “LET ME GIVE YOU my own experience of what kind of a person you’re dealing with here,” said my mother to Rosie, alone at our kitchen table. Rosie recounted it all to Suzy and me afterwards. After Mom had gone to see the principal, Mr. Abbott, and Rosie’s teacher in grade seven, Miss Pretty, about her suspicions that someone might be abusing Rosie in some way, perhaps sexually, the principal wondered what they had to go on except wild surmise and unsupported conjectures without a shred of evidence except Rosie’s so-called condition and Nurse Gladys Sharpe’s gut-feeling. Yet, he couldn’t just sit on it now that, rightly or wrongly, the matter had been raised, and he had no choice but to invite Rosie’s mother and Dr. Rothesay to his office for a full and frank discussion with Miss Pretty and himself about Rosie’s mysterious ailment. In other words, said Mom, precisely the wrong action.

  At that meeting, according to the account Mom later received from Mr. Abbott and Miss Pretty, Nina told the principal and teacher that her elder daughter had always been an emotionally sensitive girl, having inherited her natural father’s high-strung aesthetic state. Then Dr. Rothesay intervened with his bombshell: he feared that her current condition derived from causes far more serious than that. He would put the proposition squarely to them that she had begun to manifest some behavioural characteristics of a child being abused by an adult, perhaps sexually. Principal and teacher struggled not to fall out of their chairs.

  Mr. Abbott replied that such a possibility had also been raised by someone outside of the school altogether, another respected professional close to the girl. To which Dr. Rothesay demanded in a booming voice with barely suppressed rage why they, as professionals in positions of utmost trust respecting Rosie, had not notified the child welfare authorities immediately after the respected informant had raised that dire possibility.

  When Mr. Abbott responded that they had absolutely no corroborating evidence beyond the lady’s suspicions, Dr. Rothesay apologized for his tone and sympathized with them in trying to come to grips with this highly problematical area. His experience at practising medicine in England in cases where authorities had been notified of suspicion of child abuse showed that once that Pandora’s box of allegations and finger-pointing was opened, it took on a life of its own among the police and social workers. He’d seen cases where court proceedings ultimately established that there had been, in fact, no abuse at all, yet innocent relatives, teachers, and family friends had in the meantime had their lives ruined. Allegations of sexual assault, often made as a result of overzealous investigators putting words into a child’s mouth, especially a child with a highly developed imagination, often left the police with no alternative for their own protection—for fear of being accused of doing nothing—but to lay criminal charges against close family friends or teachers, often without a jot of corroborating evidence, and let the chips fall where they may in public court. Now none of that was important compared with the possibility that Rosie was being abused by some adult here at school, say, or at the home of a trusted adult friend of the family. He was therefore inclined, especially in the light of their similar concerns, to place the matter in the hands of the police for investigation, and he would like their advice as fellow professionals on taking that initiative.

  To Mr. Abbott’s query whether, in mentioning the possibility of a close family friend or someone here at school being involved, he had any indication of one or the other having actually occurred, Dr. Rothesay replied that he had no indication whatsoever. He was in precisely the same position as the principal and teacher were. He had no evidence of anything outside her home, just as they had no evidence of anything inside her home, though he would be surprised if suspicions of abuse at home had not occurred to them as a possibili
ty. Speculating on these horrible possibilities, parents would naturally think of their child’s teachers or close adult friends, while teachers, principals, or friends would naturally think of the child’s home. He’d brought Rosie’s school up only as one of the logical places, along with the home of friends, for the police and social workers to start asking their questions, making their suggestions, and drawing their frightening conclusions. He hadn’t meant to alarm anyone, but any decision they might make today ought to be made in the full knowledge of what would happen. They could not bury their heads in the sand over the untold damage that notifying the authorities might cause teachers and friends, and indeed Rosie herself. Conversely, the likelihood of such drastic repercussions to everybody should make them alive to other sensible alternatives.

  When Mr. Abbott asked if he had in mind an alternative that did not diminish their responsibility to Rosie, Dr. Rothesay said he did. His proposed solution stemmed from his recent realization that her condition was entirely his fault, having resulted from his unforgivable lapse in judgment. Motivated by the overwhelming power of love, he had pushed himself upon this little family too early and too forcefully. It hadn’t affected the younger and less sensitive Pagan, but in Rosie’s case, she being on the cusp of puberty and given to much morbid pining regarding her father, her sense of responsibility, blameless but nonetheless real in her mind, for his death, Rothesay’s taking his place at the hearth and in her mother’s heart, Nina’s assuming of Rothesay’s name, all emotionally traumatic to a high-strung child—well, he simply ought to have waited longer. But regrettably, Dr. Rothesay said, strangling a groan and reaching for Nina’s hand, he could not. However, and herein lay the silver lining, it was his considered professional opinion that her natural young resilience would soon cause her to improve and very shortly to recover completely from her girlish hysteria. The alternative, therefore, to the drastic action of an official investigation—the rumour mongering alone here at school and among parents would involve God knew whose names—was to observe her closely for a few more weeks for improvement or deterioration. From his medical expertise, he believed she would improve, but since he was a parent as well as a doctor in this case, he might be indulging in a loving parent’s wishful thinking. Hence he would leave it entirely to Mr. Abbott and Miss Pretty themselves as concerned professionals to decide on the immediate course of action. He should say, however, that if they did decide to wait and it turned out that Rosie showed no substantial signs of recovery very soon, then he himself would override any differing opinion and go straight to the police at once, despite the dangers to Rosie herself, and to others, of her creative, inventive imagination, frequently given to histrionics. What did her mother think?

  Nina Rothesay said that she fully expected her daughter to bounce back soon from her condition, and the youngster should be afforded that opportunity before inquiries were contemplated that would have no effect except to cause irrevocably damaging gossip and cruelty from other children.

  The consensus in the office was to give the matter a short while longer, a month at most, of careful observation. As to the person who had first raised the suspicions, Mr. Abbott said he would tell her straightaway of their decision and brook no nonsense. The Rothesays, as parents, and the principal and teacher in loco parentis, bore the prime responsibility for her well-being and they were acting according to their very best judgment in her very best interest, sparing her the ruinous repercussions that would grow like malignant tumours as a result of precipitous rather than considered action.

  That afternoon, Mr. Abbott had telephoned my mother at the hospital and given his account of the discussion and the conclusion reached. He assumed, he said, that she agreed. She told him she would sleep on it. Then she called Miss Pretty. The teacher was not as keen about the decision as Mr. Abbott, but considered it the lesser evil for now. That night Mom discussed all aspects with Dad, and they concluded that in the circumstances and for the time being the decision made sense.

  I recalled how my parents had “discussed” it—my father’s enraged, panicky blow-up which had caused my own frightened knock on the door to the study and made them clam up about it around the house forever.

  Mom finished her account to Rosie with how she had called Mr. Abbott at school the next morning and told him she’d wait a little longer to see if Rosie showed improvement. “And you did improve, or at least you seemed to,” she said to Rosie. “But from what we now know about Dr. Rothesay in England, I’m very sorry we didn’t pursue it back then.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Aunt Gladys. In my deluded state, I would have denied everything, not knowing what he really was. What a sly and deceitful man he is! Insinuating I was hysterical and sick in the head and capable of falsely implicating friends and teachers. Pretending he was ready to go to the police himself. What a lying, self-serving monstrosity!”

  “It was all so uncertain, with nothing to go on except my intuition,” said Mom. “Your own mother having no suspicions ended it for me. If there had been anything happening, I felt Nina would have spotted it and come forward with it. Instead she told me she was outraged and insulted at my sneaky, treacherous, behind-her-back interference over absolutely nothing.”

  “Poor Mother. I’m sure she had no idea in her state. You were very courageous to bring it up in the first place, Aunt Gladys. It’s a tragedy I didn’t have more courage or better judgment myself. We might have been able to save Pagan.”

  “I remember thinking at the time that although the break between Nina and me was complete, I trusted her to be on the lookout after that for anything untoward. So, maybe, I thought, it wasn’t entirely in vain. I believed, in my naïveté, I guess, that Pagan’s going away to school on the mainland was part of all that.”

  “It’s incredible to me now,” said Rosie, “but I actually thought I was unique as his child paramour. The delusions of ego.”

  “We all deluded ourselves because the alternative was so mind-boggling. Rosie, I’ve helped out in some child abuse trials as a nurse, and I’ve gotten to know this prosecutor, a female lawyer in the Department of Justice. She is excellent, sensitive but no-nonsense. Why don’t I set up a meeting with you on a confidential basis so that you can go over everything with her?”

  As Rosie described her conversation with my mother, I experienced surges of rage over how wimpy everyone had been when we’d been in grade seven. My own success in pushing for the information from London and in uncovering my mother’s earlier suspicions made me feel very authoritative these days. “It’s going to be great putting him in jail,” I said. “It’s no longer just your word against his. We now have the London evidence, and we have Mom’s and Dad’s observations from back then, and whatever else the police turn up when they really start to investigate.”

  “Well, let’s hold our horses before we get too carried away,” said Suzy. “I know from my own experience what it’s like when the police and the lawyers get a hold of something like this. You—we—need to be really prepared for the endless ordeal of a police investigation and a Supreme Court trial and God knows how many appeals and retrials.”

  “There’s not going to be any trial,” I scoffed. “When we tackle the perverted psychopath, with his criminal record over there and what we’ve got on him here, he’ll plead guilty, just like your grandfather did. What else can the cowardly pervert do?”

  Chapter 10

  THE CROWN PROSECUTOR, LUCY Barrett, was already a legend in her mid-thirties. The scores of cases she had prosecuted included nine jury trials for serious charges ranging from rape to murder. She had not lost one jury trial. The joke in legal circles was that a new federal prison being touted for Newfoundland should be called the Lucy Barrett Penitentiary since all those convictions of hers had made it necessary. I was eager to get Rosie’s reaction after her first meeting.

  “She’s very nice,” said Rosie. “She listened to me for a solid hour and a half. She seems to have some doubts about the English stuff. She’s
going to check it out and get back to me.”

  “Doubts?”

  “She said she was perplexed by it.”

  Lucy Barrett worked fast. She called Rosie the next afternoon with new information about Rothesay she’d received from the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions in London. The report which Dad’s firm had obtained from the London police was accurate as far as it went, but hadn’t gone nearly far enough. It was okay for dealing with a job applicant, but woefully inadequate for prosecution purposes.

  Rothesay, then known as James Balbo, had three older sisters, all married with children. At university and medical school he’d boarded with one of the sisters and babysat for all three for extra money. One day a niece of Uncle Jim Balbo’s got into a fight with her best friend at school, and in the middle of their slapping, scratching, and hair pulling, the best friend screeched at her, “I hope the bloke who’s bonking you does kill you, you slut.” This startling comment caused the teachers to question the two eleven-year-old girls closely and the friend confessed. The niece had divulged to her in confidence that her uncle was her secret adult lover. The police were called in.

  All the nieces and nephews of Balbo/Rothesay were questioned. Three other nieces admitted under intense questioning to having had prepubescent sex with their Uncle Jim. Charges were laid in all four cases. Balbo pleaded not guilty. The prosecutors proceeded with one case first on the likelihood that, if a conviction were obtained there, Balbo would change his plea to guilty on the other three. After a gruelling trial, the jury convicted him and he was sentenced to three years.

  Balbo appealed his conviction. The appeal judges held unanimously that the prosecutor’s references in front of the jury to the allegations of the other nieces had prejudiced his right to a fair trial. They overturned his conviction and ordered a new trial. When the new trial was about to begin, the parents of the first niece decided they could not put their daughter through that nightmare again. For lack of evidence, therefore, the prosecution of the new trial was stayed. The other parents also decided they didn’t want to put their children through the same ordeal they’d seen their niece go through in the first trial, and those charges were stayed as well. The English Medical Association, which had commenced proceedings against Balbo to take away his licence to practise, pending the outcome of the trials, thereupon dropped their charges too. Hence Dr. James Balbo, because his conviction had been overturned, had no court record of conviction and his credentials as a physician remained in full effect.