Return to Innocence

by G. M. Frazier

  “One final word of advice, Glen. You better be more forthcoming with DSS than you were with me. Otherwise, they are going to assume you did it. That’s certainly the impression you have left with me.”

  I thought I had an ally in John. As I leave his office I am no longer sure.

  Chapter 5

  The End of Innocence

  A good lawyer. That is what John Brantley said I needed. I can’t believe the man who hired me ten years ago to run New Horizons would lend any credence to Tommy’s accusation. It’s ridiculous. But Children and Youth Services is involved. And the sheriff’s office. Tommy told Karen first, so the entire staff probably knows by now. And all the boys. God, how is this going to look to them? What are they going to think?

  I can’t worry about that now. I need a lawyer. The only lawyer I know personally—or at least well enough to talk with about my problem—is Jim Aiken, my old prep school buddy who sold us our house three years ago. He hasn’t practiced law since his wife was murdered four years ago.

  Jim is a good man. And a good friend. He’s the one to call. If he can’t help me, he will know someone who can.

  I sit down at my desk and flip through my rolodex to get his number. I punch it in and get an answering machine.

  “Hello, this is Jim Aiken. You have reached my beach house. The number of my main residence in town is 852-2786. Please try me at that number. Thank you.”

  I flash the phone and punch in the number. Jim answers. After the requisite small talk I get down to business.

  “Listen, Jim, I know you’re teaching now, but the last time we talked you mentioned that you were thinking about practicing law again. Are you?”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Could you take a case and still teach at the university? I mean, you can still practice law, right?” I ask.

  Jim chuckles “Yeah. What’s this about, Glen?”

  “I can’t get into it on the phone...but I really need to talk with you about something. I need to know where I stand. And I don’t have a whole lot of time.”

  Silence.

  “Jim? Are you still there?”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble, Glen? With the law?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Alright, do you know where my house is in town?”

  “No, I thought you were living out on Freemen Island. I called there and got your message with this number. When did you move?”

  “Joyce and I bought a house on the Battery back in August. Discrete sale, friend of the family. You know what that’s like. I’m a real S.O.B. now.”

  Jim has coaxed a laugh out of me. An S.O.B. in Charleston is a blue-blood who lives “South of Broad Street.”

  “You want to come by here and talk?” Jim asks. “Or we could meet at Backstreet, if you like.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “How long will it take you to get there?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem, buddy.”

  The Backstreet Tavern is within walking distance of the campus of Chadwick Academy in downtown Charleston. Despite its name, it is a family oriented establishment and has served for years as the main watering hole for Chadwick students. It is where Jim and I first met almost thirty years ago. I don’t think I’ve been to the Backstreet more than four or five times since I graduated from Chadwick in 1970.

  My main concern as I maneuver down the narrow streets of downtown Charleston is whether or not I will find a place to park. It’s after eleven. The lunch crowd.

  As I turn down Back Street, I see Jim standing behind a striking blue car. I’ve never seen one, whatever it is. He motions for me to pull into the open parking space behind it. I pull in and notice that the car is a Bentley. A Continental R. I look at the license plate. Aiken 1. Yep, it’s Jim’s.

  “I thought I’d hold this for you,” he says as I get out of the car.

  Jim wears suits the way most men wear jeans. Today he looks as if he just stepped off the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. We shake hands and walk through the polished brass and oak door of Backstreet. A flood of memories sweeps over me. Oh, to be seventeen again.

  “What happened to your Rolls convertible?” I ask as we wait for the hostess to seat us.

  “I traded it on the Bentley. I just didn’t feel right driving it after Joyce and I got married. The Rolls was supposed to be Catherine’s car. We ordered it the year before she died.”

  “Oh,” I say. Catherine was Jim’s wife, who was murdered. Joyce is Jim’s second wife and they’ve been married since January.

  “That Impala SS is new, isn’t it?” Jim says, jerking a thumb back at my car.

  “Yeah, I got it last month. Remember Billy Tipton’s Chevelle SS back at Chadwick?”

  “Remember? He had the only car that could whip my Road Runner!”

  We both laugh. I didn’t have a car in school. It was all my family could do to pay the tuition at Chadwick Academy until I finally earned a scholarship my junior year. Now that I think about it, that’s how Jim and I met. I hitched a ride with him to the beach one Saturday. Jim used to be pretty wild with that Plymouth Road Runner.

  “Smoking or non-smoking?” the hostess asks.

  “Non,” Jim says.

  We follow her to a secluded booth near the back. A waitress comes up before I can speak.

  “Lunch?” she says.

  “No, I’ll just have something to drink,” I say.

  “Something from the bar?”

  “Just ice tea.”

  “And you, sir?” She looks at Jim.

  “Tea will be fine,” Jim says.

  The waitress leaves and I find myself playing with the napkin, picking at a chip in the deep varnish on the oak table, anything but looking at Jim. The silence is awkward.

  “What has happened, Glen?”

  “Uh...” I look at Jim and then glance away. How do you look someone in the eye who has known you for most of your adult life and tell him something like this?

  You just do it.

  “I have been accused of sexually molesting one of the boys at New Horizons.”

  Jim has missed his calling. He could be a world class poker player. Not a twitch. Not a blink. His expression doesn’t change at all. He doesn’t even look away. He studies my face. I want to look away but I force myself to hold his gaze. I will not act as if I have something to be ashamed of.

  But that is exactly how I feel.

  “Have you been formally charged?” Jim asks with no sign of emotion in his voice.

  “No. I’m supposed to be at Children and Youth Services right now giving a statement. They said I could bring counsel if I wanted. That’s when I thought of you.”

  “Who have you talked with about this?”

  “John Brantley.”

  “He’s the administrator out there at the group home, right?”

  “Yes.” It’s strange, but the first question I expected Jim to ask was, ‘Did you do it?’

  “Hey, Dad,” the voice says. I look up. Jim’s stepson, Nicholas Brandeis, is standing at our table with a big smile on his face. I haven’t seen him since the wedding. He is a handsome boy. Bluest eyes I think I’ve ever seen. He sure doesn’t look old enough to be a sophomore at Chadwick, though.

  “Hey, Nick, you out for lunch?” Jim says.

  “Yeah. I saw your car out front. Why didn’t you tell me you were having lunch here?”

  “I didn’t know I would be, son. You remember Dr. Erskine?” Jim gestures to me.

  Nick smiles. “Hi, Dr. Erskine.” He offers his hand and I shake it. “Hello, Nick.”

  Nick looks at Jim. “Well, can I sit down?”

  Jim looks at me. I try to remain expressionless. Jim needs to call this shot.

  “I’m afraid not, buddy. Glen and I are in the middle of some business. We’ll be leaving shortly, anyway. Did you come down h
ere by yourself?”

  “No, Gill and Justin and I were going to try that new sub place over by Adolph’s when I saw your car. I told them to go on without me. I’ll go catch up with them.”

  “Go ahead and do that, Nick. We can meet here tomorrow for lunch if you want.”

  The waitress brings our glasses of ice tea.

  “Lunch tomorrow sounds good,” Nick says. He turns to me. “It was nice seeing you again, Dr. Erskine.”

  “You too, Nick.”

  “See you later,” he says to Jim.

  Jim and I wave as Nick walks away.

  “So...how is married life and being a dad?” I say.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Jim says. He takes a sip of tea.

  “Nick thinks of you as his dad, doesn’t he?”

  “Yep. He doesn’t remember his old man. Nick’s father was actually a client of mine back when I used to practice law.” Jim smiles and takes another sip of tea. “Let’s get back to your problem,” he says.

  “Jim, I don’t know what’s going to happen over this accusation. I’d like you to go with me to DSS. Will you do that for me?”

  “Of course, Glen. In fact, if you are supposed to be there now, I think we should go.” Jim takes a long sip of tea. I do not touch mine. As we get up he drops a five dollar bill on the table.

  “My treat,” he says.

  Jim drove us to Children and Youth Services in North Charleston in his Bentley. During the ride I told him of last night’s events that led up to my meeting with John Brantley this morning and the accusation. As we pull into the parking lot, Jim asks his first question.

  “So you were actually in the boy’s room last night?”

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  “Did anyone see you go in the room?”

  “No.”

  “What about the boy’s roommate? You said he has a roommate. Was he asleep?”

  Good question. I don’t know if Curt was awake or not. He didn’t move or say anything.

  “Glen, what about the roommate?”

  “I don’t know, Jim. I thought he was asleep. But if he was awake then he can tell them that nothing happened.”

  “Maybe,” Jim says, “may-be.” He hesitates. “How old is Tommy?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Oh,” Jim says with a frown.

  “Why?”

  “He’s old enough to be pretty convincing. Any idea why he would make this up?”

  “None,” I say.

  “You mentioned something that you didn’t want to tell John Brantley. What is it?”

  “I can’t say right now, Jim. Not until I know how far this is going to go.”

  Jim studies my face. “Glen, anything you tell me is privileged. I couldn’t tell anyone even if I wanted to.”

  “I know that, Jim.

  “Then...?” Jim lets his question go. I know what he wants to ask me.

  Jim pulls this magnificent car into a parking space right in front of the building. He slides the gear shift into park and switches off the engine. He turns to me. “Alright, Glen, for right now, I’m your attorney. For a case like this, I’ll need to get a fifty-thousand dollar retainer against four-hundred and fifty dollars an hour. I’ll take a check if you don’t have the cash on you.”

  I am dumbfounded. Where am I going to get that kind of money? That’s almost as much as I make in a year.

  “Jim, I can’t—”

  Jim starts laughing. “I’m just kidding, Glen. You need to loosen up, buddy.” He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

  I try to smile. “So you will take my case? I mean, can you do it and still teach?”

  “I’m on sabbatical this semester. But let’s see if you even have a case to take. Before we go in there, I need to ask you something. Do you plan to answer truthfully every question they ask you?” He points to the building.

  “Yes.”

  “Even if your answers tend to make you look guilty?”

  I hesitate. “Shouldn’t I tell the truth?”

  “Absolutely. If you’d told me you intend to lie, I’d have told you to get another lawyer. Just keep in mind that sometimes the truth taken out of context can be, let us say, damaging. That’s where I come in. If they ask something that I don’t think you should answer, I’ll tell you. You can go ahead and answer if you like, but at least you will know what I think. Agreed?”

  I nod.

  “Okay,” Jim says and opens his door. “Let’s go see what they’ve got.”

  As we walk to the building I notice a bounce in Jim’s step. He is actually enjoying this. He’s been away from the law too long. I’m sorry it’s my predicament that is bringing him back.

  As we step into the lobby at Children and Youth Services, Lucille Drake is there waiting. She looks at her watch. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Glen,” she says.

  Her tone is friendly, cordial. She’s a different person from this morning in John Brantley’s office. Perhaps she is about to tell me that this has all been a terrible mistake. Instead she offers her hand to Jim.

  “I’m Lucille Drake, director of Children and Youth Services. And you are?”

  “Jim Aiken, Ms. Drake. I’m Dr. Erskine’s attorney.”

  “I see,” Lucille says.

  Do I look even more guilty because I brought a lawyer?

  Lucille turns to me and smiles. “Glen, you know how this is done. We are set up in interview room three, just down the hall.” She turns and motions for us to follow.

  When we get to the door of the interview room I know that whoever is on the other side will be an immediate indication of how seriously they are taking this. Lucille opens the door.

  “I believe you know Elizabeth Carbon,” she says.

  Beth smiles at me. She is Tommy’s DSS caseworker. “Hello, Glen,” she says.

  Lucille then points to the other person in the room. “This is detective Mark Carter. He is with the Criminal Investigation Division of the Charleston County Sheriff’s Department.” He nods in my direction. Lucille points to Jim. “And this is Mr. Jim Aiken, Dr. Erskine’s attorney.”

  I know now that Lucille’s demeanor is just a front. Standing in this room with me and my attorney are three of the four members that make up a Child Protection Team. The fourth member would be the prosecuting attorney from the solicitor’s office. The fact that the solicitor is not involved at this point gives me some hope that they aren’t taking this too seriously. Yet.

  “Shall we get started, gentlemen?” Lucille says.

  “Not just yet, Ms. Drake,” Jim says. He walks over to the wall of glass, a large two-way mirror. He looks at his reflection and straightens his tie. “Will this interview be taped?”

  “Yes,” Lucille says.

  “Were you planning to inform my client of that fact and get his permission?”

  I see that Lucille is struck by the question. “I, uh...Glen should know. It’s standard procedure.”

  “Video tape?” Jim asks, still speaking to his reflection in the mirror.

  “Yes.”

  Jim turns to Lucille. “I’d like to speak with my client for a moment, please. If you’ll excuse us.” He takes me by the arm and hustles me out into the hall. He closes the door behind us. “Did you know that this would be video taped?” he asks me.

  “Yes, Jim, it is standard procedure. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think about it. I was more concerned about who is behind the mirror.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve never been involved in a criminal case involving child sexual abuse, have you?”

  Jim shakes his head.

  “DSS puts together a group of professionals, called a Child Protection Team, or just ‘the Team’ for short. The Team works with the victim and his or her family from the time the allegation of abuse is deemed credible until the case is resolved. The Team is usually comprised of at least one social worker, someone from Children and Youth Services, a police investigator, and someone from the solicitor’s offic
e. Elizabeth Carbon in there is Tommy’s caseworker. Lucille Drake is the director here. And we’ve got the guy from the sheriff’s office.”

  “Okay, so what are you saying?”

  “Jim, they’ve already put together a Team. I’ll bet you anything someone from the solicitor’s office is behind the mirror.”

  “What about the boy, Tommy? Could he be back there, too?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “But it is possible?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Alright, Glen, here are your options: We can go back in there and tell them to forget it, which is what I am recommending. Or you can agree to answer their questions only if the interview is not taped.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they can use the tape as evidence against you if you are formally charged.”

  “They would have a transcript of my statement anyway.”

  “Wouldn’t have the same effect on a judge or the grand jury. You might fidget, look nervous, shifty, you name it. That doesn’t come through in a written transcript.”

  “I’m not going to back out now,” I protest. “I’ll look guilty. I’m going to answer their questions.”

  Jim frowns at me. “Will you at least let me tell them that you’ll only make a statement if it’s not video taped?”

  “You feel that strongly about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. But either way, I’m going to answer their questions.”

  “It’s your call, Glen. But give me some playing room when we get back in there. I’m going to shake ’em up a bit.” He winks at me and reaches for the door.

  We step back into the interview room and immediately Jim is talking. “Okay, here’s the way it is. My client isn’t answering any questions until we know who’s behind the glass.” He points to the mirror.

  “That’s really none of your concern,” the detective from the sheriff’s office says.

  “It’s not? Officer Carter, was it? Have you ever heard of the right to face your accuser? My client is not saying a word until we know if the boy is behind this glass.” Jim walks over and raps his knuckles on the mirror.

  Lucille looks as if someone has just stolen her thunder. She turns to me. “So John Brantley told you what this is about?”