“Why would they take my things?”
“I’m not sure, yet. You don’t need to worry about it now.”
“You never did answer me,” I say. “Where have you been? Why’d it take you so long to get here?”
“I’ve been trying to arrange a bail hearing. But it looks like you’re going to be a guest of the county tonight. Your hearing is at ten o’clock in the morning.”
“So I’ve got to spend the night in jail?”
“I’m afraid so, buddy.”
“Jim, I haven’t used my phone call. Will they let me call home?”
“Not necessary,” Jim says. He reaches inside his suit coat pocket and removes his cell phone. It’s one of those new small models. When folded, it’s hardly bigger than a credit card. He pulls out the antenna, unfolds the mouthpiece, and hands it to me.
I punch in our number, and hit SND. It rings twice and Suzanne answers. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey.”
“Glen! Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“How do you think I’m doing, Glen? Why didn’t you come to me with this? Did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”
“I don’t know what I thought, Suzanne. I was trying to tell you about it at dinner, remember? I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. I hope you will forgive me. How are the boys?”
“I finally got Benjamin to sleep. He’s terrified, Glen. He thinks you’re never coming back. He kept asking me if the police were going to take me away next.”
“What about Peter?”
“He’s in bed, too. If you could have seen the way he stood up to that awful Mr. Moultrie tonight, you would have been so proud of him.”
The reality of how much this is going to affect my family lays bare my soul. I fight to control my voice as the tears well up in my eyes. I clear my throat. “Listen, honey, I won’t be home tonight. My bail hearing is not until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.”
I can tell she is crying.
“Suzanne?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I hand the phone back to Jim. He folds it up and replaces it in his pocket. He takes off his suit coat and throws it over the chair in the corner. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar.
“Top or bottom?” he asks.
“What?”
“Top or bottom? You want the top bunk or the bottom?” He’s rolling up his shirt sleeves.
I just look at him.
“You’re dense sometimes, Erskine. I’ll take the top.” And he climbs up and stretches out on the top bunk. It squeaks as he gets himself situated. “This isn’t too bad. Nice view.”
I stand and look at him. “You’re staying here tonight? With me? In jail?”
“Maybe you aren’t so dense after all.”
I smile. I had barely admitted to myself how much I was dreading being in this cell alone all night. I almost want to hug Jim. I can’t believe he’s willing to spend the night in here with me.
Would that everyone could have at least one friend like Jim Aiken.
Chapter 8
Messing Around
My picture is on the front page of the paper this morning. It’s a good picture, a publicity shot done for New Horizons a few years back.
Jim and I have just left the courthouse. I am free on my own recognizance even though Moultrie asked for $100,000 bail. Jim argued that I had no prior criminal record, was established in the community, and did not represent a flight risk. He then called the magistrate by name—I noticed that really got to Moultrie—and said that he would personally vouch for me. And that settled it. My arraignment is scheduled for Friday morning at nine o’clock with the same judge.
Jim is driving me home in his Bentley. The newspaper is on my lap. I haven’t read the article yet. The headline is bad enough.
LOCAL CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST ARRESTED ON SEX ABUSE CHARGES
Dr. Glen Erskine, director of the New Horizons Boys Home and Counseling Center in North Charleston was arrested last evening at his home in Mount Pleasant, police sources said. Erskine is charged with six counts of criminal sexual conduct in the second degree, and two counts of committing a lewd act upon a child under fourteen. The alleged incidents occurred on three different occasions and involve a resident of the group home. Sources close to the investigation said that Erskine was arrested in the company of five nude boys in the backyard of his secluded Ravens Run home. Charleston County solicitor Nathan Moultrie was unavailable for comment but released a statement (Turn to page 3A, SEX ABUSE)
I do not turn to page 3A. I am not interested in Moultrie’s statement. I just want to get home, get out of these clothes, and take a hot shower.
“Well?” Jim asks.
“Well, what?”
“Did you read it?”
“Just the first page. I don’t give a damn what that bastard Moultrie has to say.”
“You should. Read it.”
I turn to page 3A.
(SEX ABUSE) saying that Erskine was not committing any crime at the time of his arrest. “Apparently,” the solicitor said, “Dr. Erskine’s teenage son had a few friends over and they decided to go skinny-dipping in the family’s heated pool. That’s all it was.” Moultrie added that Erskine was fully clothed and not in the pool with the boys at the time of his arrest. Erskine is also on the board of advisors for the Children and Youth Services of Charleston County DSS. When contacted by phone, a spokesperson for DSS had no comment. The investigation into the allegations continues according to a spokesperson for the Charleston County Sheriff’s Department.
“Wasn’t that nice of him?” I say. “How many people will quit reading at page one where it looks like I was caught with my pants down, literally?”
“Yeah,” Jim says. “Listen, Glen, I’ve been thinking about whatever it is you don’t want to tell me. I need to know everything if I’m going to defend you. Who molested Tommy Jackson?”
“If I tell you, you can’t repeat it? Attorney-client privilege, or whatever it’s called, right?”
“I can only tell if you say it’s okay.”
“Chris Manning did it.”
“The guy that got killed in the wreck?”
“Yes.” I explain the reason for my promise to Chris on his death bed.
“So this is to protect Chris’ wife?” Jim asks, sounding a little incredulous.
“I suppose it is…in a way,” I say. “But I also promised Tommy I wouldn’t report this.” I look at the clock on the console. It’s five minutes past twelve. My watch, wallet, keys, and change are all in the manila envelope in my lap.
“You may want to re-think that, buddy. I can understand why you made that promise to Tommy. But that was before Manning was killed. And it was before the kid turned this all around on you.”
Jim pulls up behind my Impala parked in front of the garage. I start to open the door and then I notice that Jim hasn’t put the car in park or turned off the engine. He is just staring forward.
“Jim? Aren’t you coming in?”
Silence.
And then I realize this is the first time he’s been back to this house since he found his wife dead in this very driveway. “Jim, you haven’t been here since Catherine was murdered, have you?”
“No, not since that night.” He shakes his head and slides the gear shift forward into park. He switches off the engine. He reaches for the door handle and hesitates.
“Jim, if this is too much for you, don’t do it.”
“No, it’s okay. That was another life. It’s behind me now.” He opens the door and gets out.
I get out and walk over to where Jim is now standing beside the car.
“It’s still there,” he says.
“What?” I look down at the concrete where Jim is staring. How many times have I noticed that slight discoloration? I’ve never thought about what caused it. It’s oblong, about two by three feet.
Jim rubs his hand over his mouth. “This is where I found her, Glen. The blood was everywhere.”
I step to his side and put my arm around his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
When we got inside I was pleased to see that Peter had gone to school. It was worry over him that kept me awake most of the night in my jail cell. What must he be thinking about his father?
Benjamin did not go to preschool. Suzanne said he had nightmares all night. When he saw me come through the door he ran and jumped into my arms. I didn’t know his little body had the strength to hug me so hard. He has not left my side since.
Jim left about an hour ago. I still haven’t taken a shower. Suzanne insisted that I eat something. So I am sitting at the kitchen table with a cheese sandwich and a bowl of chicken soup in front of me. Benjamin is sitting here with me. I look at him. He smiles.
“Did they hurt you in jail, Daddy?” he asks.
I’m taken aback by the question. But I guess Suzanne told him where his daddy spent the night. We don’t hide things from our children.
“No, honey, everyone was real nice to me.”
“Why did they arrest you? Did you kill somebody?”
“No, son, they think I broke the law. See, when the police think you’ve broken a law they have to arrest you. Then you get a chance to explain that they have made a mistake. And then everything’s okay.”
A nice explanation for a five-year-old. I wish it were that simple. I look up and see Suzanne standing in the doorway. I don’t know how long she has been listening. She comes over and sits beside me.
“You haven’t touched your lunch,” she says.
“I know. I’m not hungry. But thanks for fixing it for me.”
Benjamin yawns. Suzanne looks at him. “Vaak kry?” she says.
Benjamin shakes his head.
“Yes you are.”
Benjamin shakes his head again. “I’m not sleepy.”
Our boys are bilingual. From birth, Suzanne has spoken both Afrikaans and English to them. I understand some of her native tongue, a distant cousin of modern Dutch, because I learned a little Afrikaans when I did my Ph.D in South Africa.
South Africa. We are supposed to spend Christmas there with her parents. It will be our first trip back since Peter was born there in ’83. He is looking forward to being able to play with his cousins and speak their language. But now I wonder if this mess I am in will prevent us from going. I doubt if I will be allowed to leave the country.
“Glen? What are you thinking about?” Suzanne asks.
“Nothing.” I suddenly realize just how exhausted I am. I turn to my little boy. “Benjamin, Daddy needs a nap. You wanna take a nap?”
“Yeah,” Benjamin nods, “I’m sleepy now.”
“I thought so,” I say.
“I’ll wrap your sandwich so you can eat it later,” Suzanne says.
“Thanks, honey.” I get up. “Come on, little man.” I take my son by the hand and we head up the back stairs.
The slamming door wakes me. The room is dark. Evidently, Suzanne came in and pulled down the shades and drew the drapes after I went to sleep. It takes a few seconds for me to focus. Benjamin is still asleep and cuddled up against me.
I yawn and rub my eyes with my free hand. Benjamin has my right hand pinned under him. The bedroom door opens and catches my eye.
“Are you awake?” Suzanne asks me.
“Yeah. How long have I been out?” I yawn again.
“About three hours. I just got home with Peter. Something has happened at school, Glen. He’s really upset. He would not talk to me on the way home. He just came in and ran to his room.”
“He slammed the door?”
“Yes, I thought that probably waked you.”
I gently slip my arm from under Benjamin and get up. “I’ll go talk to him,” I say to Suzanne. I walk down the hall to Peter’s room. I knock. “Peter?” I knock again and turn the knob. It’s locked. “Peter, let me in.”
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”
“PETER ERSKINE! YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!”
I wait. I hear the click of the lock. I open the door. Peter is walking over to his bed. He falls on it face down. He is crying. I don’t even want to imagine what sort of day he’s had at school.
“Peter, we need to talk, son.”
“I don’t wanna talk,” he says between sobs.
“I’m sorry, Peter. Normally I would respect your wishes. But not this time. There’s too much at stake, son. We have to talk about this.”
I walk over and pull my son’s desk chair out and move it to the foot of his bed. I sit.
Peter rolls over on his back and looks at the ceiling. “So you did it?”
I get up and go over to the bed. I get down on my knees in front of my son. “Peter, look at me.” He still stares at the ceiling. “Look at me, son.”
He sits up and looks me in the eyes.
“I did not molest Tommy Jackson.”
Peter doesn’t blink. He holds my gaze. I will hold his as long as it takes. Until he sees the truth in me.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” He leans forward and hugs me. He cries loudly in my arms. “I’m sorry.”
I kiss the top of his head. “It’s alright, honey. You had to ask. I understand.”
Peter cries for a while and I hold him. Finally he releases me. He gets down off the bed and we sit beside each other on the floor.
“Daddy, I can’t go back to school,” Peter says and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.
“What happened?”
“I don’t have any friends anymore.” He starts to cry again. “They made jokes about me and you all day.” He sobs.
There are tears in my eyes now.
“Everyone knows about last night. How the police came up when I was sitting in your lap with nothing on. They said you and me are gay for each other. They made me feel so dirty.” Peter whines and then breaks again. He is sobbing uncontrollably.
I put my arm around him and we cry together.
I finally got Peter calmed down and told him to take a nap. I stayed with him until he went to sleep. I then went to my study and phoned the Right Reverend Patrick Marshall, the rector at St. Mark’s. His son was in our pool last night when I was arrested.
I explained to the good reverend what my son’s day had been like—a school day from hell. I told him I thought the Cathedral School was supposed to be a Christian school. What kind of school lets its students harass an innocent twelve-year-old boy like this? I told him I was taking Peter out of the Cathedral School.
Pat apologized. He asked me not to remove Peter from school. He promised that there would not be a repeat performance of today’s disgraceful behavior. I don’t know what he plans to do, but I will give him a chance. Peter will be in school tomorrow.
Pat Marshall also told me some of what Moultrie put our boys through here at my home last night. I’d heard it all from Suzanne, but I was curious to get Pat’s perspective. The four boys’ parents were called and came. Moultrie spent an hour trying to get them to say what I had been doing to them. Of course, they all steadfastly maintained that I had done nothing. The skinny-dipping was their idea. They even tried to get me to join them and I wouldn’t. Finally, Pat said, Moultrie saw the light. He was barking up the wrong tree.
I have to admit that I felt better after talking with our pastor. There was absolutely nothing in his voice to indicate that he thought I was guilty of this thing. He simply told me that anytime I needed to talk, to call him, day or night.
Suzanne and I have yet to speak of my, what should I call it? My predicament? I am uncertain where she is in respect to my guilt or innocence. I am still sitting in my study. It’s almost six o’clock. I’ve got to face her. I get up and head downstairs.
My wife is lying on the sofa in the den. She has her arm covering her eyes. Is she asleep? No, she moves her arm as I sit in my recliner.
“I guess it’s our turn now,” I tell her.
&
nbsp; “Hmm?”
“To talk,” I say.
“I know you didn’t do it, Glen.”
“But you wondered, didn’t you?”
“Honestly?” she asks with raised eyebrows.
“Honestly.”
“Yes, I wondered.”
Thank you, God.
If my wife had said no, I would have known she was lying.
“Thank you, Suzanne.”
“For what?”
“For being honest with me.”
“Glen, you know I’ve never been anything but honest with you. Why weren’t you honest with me about this? Why did you keep it to yourself?”
“Because I knew it was a mistake. I never expected it to get this far. I didn’t know why Tommy was saying I did this to him and I couldn’t believe anyone would believe him. I thought it would be over and you would never have to know about it. And I was wrong.”
“Surely they won’t be able to make a case of this, will they? I mean, if Tommy is just making this up, it will be his word against yours. There is no proof, right?”
I push back in the recliner and look up at the beams of the cathedral ceiling. The slowly turning blades of the Hunter fans are almost hypnotic. I know now that I must tell Suzanne the truth. I will have to trust her to keep Chris’ secret just as I plan to. I am still convinced that to blame Chris at this juncture would be fruitless. If I had the tape of Chris and me talking that morning it would be different. Without that tape, as long as Tommy is accusing me, to blame Chris would only cause Mary Manning unnecessary grief without doing a thing to exonerate me.
Yes, I am still nagged by my promise to Chris. Already I have broken that oath by telling Jim. And I am about to break it again. But as long as Mary never finds out, have I really broken it?
“Suzanne,” I am still watching the blades on the fan, “think back to last night when we broached this topic at the dinner table. Do you remember what I said before we got sidetracked with Benjamin?”
“Yes, you said...you said, ‘Tommy Jackson has been molested.’” She stops and thinks about what she has just said. “You mean Tommy has actually been molested, Glen?”
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