“How long have you considered your wife an unfit mother?” D.T. asked.
Stone hesitated. “For several years.”
“How many?”
“Three. At least.”
“Was there a specific incident that caused you to come to that belief?”
“There were many incidents.”
“No one more troubling to you than the others?”
“Well, yes. There was one.”
“What was it?”
“The night I came home and found my wife passed out in the living room while the children were upstairs sleeping.”
“Passed out?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
“From liquor.”
“She was drunk?”
“Exceedingly.”
“Are you saying she has a drinking problem?”
“I most certainly am.”
“Then and now?”
“Then and now.”
“Were there other incidents of drunkenness on her part?”
“Many.”
“Such as?”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Jones. After the incident I just mentioned I began checking on my wife on a regular basis. I found where she kept her secret store of liquor and I monitored it. Over the past three years she has drunk an average of a pint of bourbon a day. Sometimes more. Many times more.”
“And sometimes less?”
“Not often. Believe me.”
“Oh, I’m not the one who has to believe you, Mr. Stone; I’m the one who has to find out if you’re a liar. Tell me, this drinking, how did you quantify the amounts consumed?”
“By marking the bottles and the levels in them. Unobtrusively, of course.”
“Did anyone else check these levels of consumption with you?”
“Of course not.”
“And you never disclosed to your wife what you were doing?”
“No.”
“Do you drink yourself, Mr. Stone?”
“No. I believe it is both wrong and foolish.”
“And measuring the bottles is the only data you have on the extent of your wife’s drinking?”
“Not at all.” Stone’s expression approximated a vigilante’s. “In addition, I followed her for a period of time. She …”
“Excuse me. When was this?”
“Back when I found her passed out. Shortly after that.”
“You followed her yourself? In secret?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever hire a private investigator to follow her?”
Stone hesitated. “Not at that time. Not with regard to her drinking.”
“With regard to what, then?”
Stone’s lips stiffened under further injection of rectitude. “Her sexual misbehavior.” Stone unwrapped his hands and wrapped them again.
D.T. nodded. “I see. We’ll get to that in a minute. Now back to the booze. What did Mrs. Stone do on the days when you followed her?”
“The usual things. Grocery, hardware, other kinds of shopping. That’s the way it always began. But every time she left the house she would always stop at a certain tavern on her way home. And remain for a considerable period of time.”
“What tavern?”
“The Stinger. A neighborhood bar. An open sore, more accurately. I can’t believe Mareth darkened its door.”
“Did you? Ever go in?”
“Once. When Mareth wasn’t there. It was a filthy, smelly dungeon. The patrons looked like they hadn’t seen the sun for years. Or drawn a sober breath.”
“Did you talk to anyone there about your wife?”
“No.”
“But you assume she drank on these visits.”
“I certainly do.”
“How many times did you see her go into The Stinger?”
“About five.”
“And you stopped following her at some point after that?”
“Yes. I knew all I needed to know.”
“Any other incidents of her drinking?”
“At parties, of course,” Stone said, no longer trying to conceal the pleasure he took in cataloguing his wife’s misfeasance. “She drank heavily at parties in recent years. To my acute embarrassment.”
“What parties were these?”
“Just parties with our friends. The Bensons. Weavers. Culbertsons. People like that.”
“Are there any particular incidents that stand out?”
“Oh, she sang a stupid song one night, standing on a coffee table. Something vulgar about a whale. And she began to use foul language in mixed company.”
“Language like what?”
Stone raised his brows and glanced at Dick Gardner. Gardner shrugged. “Do you really want to know?” Stone asked.
“I really do.”
“Fuck. She said fuck a lot. And shit. Those were the main ones. And not only at parties. She used those words around the children, too. And other words like them.”
“What about the children, Mr. Stone? Did you wife’s alleged drinking problem have any effect on them?”
Stone stiffened. “It’s far more than alleged, Mr. Jones. And yes. Yes, it did.”
“How so?”
“Well, Mareth stopped getting up in the mornings, for one thing. She would stay in bed till after we had all left the house. I have to be at the office when the exchanges open in the East, so the children had to fend for themselves, make their own breakfasts, everything.”
“How about in the evening?”
“Well, she’d usually start out being extravagantly nice to them. Questions about their day, compliments on their achievements. But then she would quickly wind down. Frequently she would fall asleep on the couch hours before the children went to bed. Often she went out in the evenings. To so-called consciousness-raising groups and elsewhere. She seemed desperate to get away from us.”
“How often during a week would she go out at night?”
“Twice. Maybe three times.”
“What else was wrong with her, Mr. Stone?”
“Well, she began to fly off the handle all the time. Sudden rages, for no reason. Scream and yell and send the children to their rooms over some little thing that made no difference at all. Once she threw a shoe at David.”
“Did she beat them?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Her hand.”
“Spanking, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Several.”
“Were the children ever treated by a doctor after these spankings?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“What else?”
“Mareth cried a lot. For no reason. More and more frequently. She seemed to be … drowning, is as close as I can come.”
“She do this in front of the kids?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“What else? About the children?”
“Well, she started sending them to a babysitter after school, instead of allowing them to come home.”
“A child care center?”
“No, a private babysitter.”
“Did you object to the quality of the facility?”
Stone shrugged. “It was all right, I suppose, if one had no choice. But it was not a home, and the woman in charge was not the mother of my children.”
“Did the children object?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they couldn’t play with their friends as often.”
“Any other reason?”
“Not that I can think of. I might add, however, that I have learned recently that Mareth has entered the university. As a student. Which means she will have even less time available for the children.”
“Almost as little as you have, right, Mr. Stone?”
“Objection,” Dick Gardner said. “Argumentative. Come on, D.T.” He turned to Phyllis. “That last is off the record.”
D.T. smiled and tu
rned back to Chas Stone. “Did you talk to your wife about the child care situation?”
“I objected. Yes.”
“Did you talk to her about her drinking?”
“Yes.”
“In the same way? Objecting?”
“Yes.”
“Did you urge her to seek therapy of some kind?”
“No. I … no.”
“What were you going to say, Mr. Stone? That it wouldn’t have been good for business if it became known that your wife had a booze problem?”
“Objection,” Dick Gardner said again. “You’re instructed not to answer, Mr. Stone.”
“Okay,” D.T. continued. “Let’s get to the sex. What’s that all about, Mr. Stone?”
Stone’s face grew positively graven. “My wife had an extramarital affair.”
“When?”
“Approximately a year ago.”
“How did you first learn of the alleged affair?”
“Alleged? You need not apply that word to anything I tell you, Mr. Jones. I first learned of it when the wife of Mareth’s partner in sin told me of it. She learned of it from her husband, who confessed all last Christmas eve, after they’d been to midnight mass.”
“Who are these people?”
“Richard Weaver and his wife, Kathleen.”
“Have you ever discussed your suspicions with Mr. Weaver?”
“No.”
“Or with your wife?”
“No.”
“You have only Mrs. Weaver’s word for it, then?”
“And my wife’s behavior, which was consistent with her participation in a tryst.”
“What kind of behavior?”
“She no longer desired a physical interface with me. I had to practically force her to give me gratification. Frequently it was only manual, I might add.” Stone became appropriately uneasy.
“Any other facts that led you to believe Mrs. Stone was fooling around?”
“The detective, of course.”
“Ah, yes. After you learned of the affair you hired a private detective to investigate your wife?”
“Yes.”
“His name?”
“Edward Fellows.”
“Did you receive a written report from him?”
“Yes.”
D.T. looked at Dick Gardner. “Will you produce it?”
“Privileged,” Gardner said. “Work product.”
“The hell it is. I’ll fight you over it, Dick. I’ll be in court tomorrow to postpone the trial till I get it.”
“Give us a minute.”
Gardner and his client huddled head to head. D.T. went to the outer office to get some coffee. “How’s it going?” Bobby E. Lee asked quietly.
D.T. shrugged. “Can’t tell. His wife says he’s stupid, and luckily he hasn’t said anything to disprove it. I think I may just touch the high points and leave the rest for trial. With the dumb ones it’s best to wing it in front of the judge instead of tipping your hand ahead of time, so they can’t practice their answers. He claims she’s a boozer, though. That one could be trouble. But so far I can’t tell if she’s a lush or just likes to ease the pain once in a while.”
“I hear he’s a real prig,” Bobby E. Lee said.
“That’s putting it mildly. Did Gardner’s people bring over the documents for inspection?”
Bobby E. Lee gestured toward a large box in the corner by the coffee table. D.T. went over and pawed through the papers it contained. Business records, mostly. Ledgers, balance sheets, income statements, tax returns, check stubs, bank books. He had asked for detailed records of Chas Stone’s business income during their first year of marriage, to get a lock on the financial status at the commencement of the marriage so he could claim half the subsequent accumulation. Gardner seemed to have made a good-faith compliance with the subpoena. D.T. looked back at Bobby E. Lee. “I guess we’ll have to copy it all,” he said. “You want to do it?”
“No.”
“Okay. Take it down to Swifty. Talk to Ralph. Tell him we need it Wednesday.”
“Will do.”
D.T. went back to the private office.
Gardner was chatting amiably with Phyllis, who in turn was glancing at Chas Stone at every opportunity. Stone seemed impervious. D.T. sat down and asked if they were ready. Three heads nodded and he asked about the detective’s report. Gardner shook his head. “We won’t release it without a court order, D.T.”
D.T. only smiled. “Was her alleged affair with Richard Weaver the only one your wife had, Mr. Stone?”
“I doubt it very much.”
“Well, do you have the names of other men she slept with?”
Stone started to answer but Dick Gardner put a hand on his arm and whispered something in his ear. Stone frowned and nodded and spoke resignedly. “I have no names. Not of men she saw prior to the time I filed for divorce.”
“Are you suggesting she’s had sexual experiences since you moved out of the house?”
“I am.”
“What information do you base that on?”
“A further report by Mr. Fellows.”
“You hired him again to watch your wife?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“The day I left home.”
“How long did he do this?”
“He’s still doing it, Mr. Jones.”
Stone’s smile was diabolical. D.T. was cheered. Finally he could hate the man. D.T. looked at Dick Gardner. “Will you produce these reports from Fellows?”
“I have urged Mr. Stone not to make them available without a court order, because of the adverse precedent such conduct might create. He reluctantly concurs with my advice.”
“Very well. We’ll do it this way. What are the essentials, Mr. Stone? What did the detective think he learned about your wife and Mr. Weaver?”
“Objection. Hearsay,” Gardner said.
Stone frowned again and whispered to Gardner. Gardner shrugged. “Oh, go ahead,” he said.
Stone cleared his throat. “Fellows learned nothing about Richard and my wife. The affair had apparently ceased by the time he began his investigation.”
“Did Fellows uncover any other impropriety?”
“I … no.”
“How about since you left home?”
“Mr. Fellows has advised me that my wife has been seeing a variety of men, on an indiscriminate basis, at all hours of the day and night, in her house and elsewhere. On some occasions the children have been there when a man has visited, late at night, for purposes which are all too obvious.”
“Do these men have names?”
“Too many for me to recount from memory. None of them were previously familiar to me.”
“They are listed in the report?”
“Yes. Of course, your own client could tell you. That is, if she bothered to learn them.”
“Move to strike as nonresponsive.” D.T. leaned toward his adversary. “Did the good Mr. Fellows provide you with pictures, Mr. Stone? Or tape recordings? Any other evidence of the activities of Mrs. Stone?”
“No. Only the report.”
“Have you contacted any of the men yourself?”
“No.”
“Have you yourself spied on your wife at any time since you filed this action, or did you confine yourself to mercenaries?”
“I have done no spying.”
“Have you received reports on her conduct from anyone other than Mr. Fellows? From friends or anyone?”
“No.”
“Have you yourself engaged in sexual intercourse with any woman other than your wife since the day you moved out of the house?”
“Objection,” Dick Gardner blurted. “Instruct you not to answer.”
“No,” Stone countered loudly. “I wish to answer. My answer is no, I have not had sexual intercourse with a woman other than my wife since the day I left home. I am still a married man.”
D.T. smiled and leaned back in his chair. There was so much more to be
done with Chas Stone, questions of his work schedule, his time spent with the children, his own private behavior, the judgmental swath he cut through his marriage, that sort of thing. But this was not the time to go into it. If he quit now, Stone would leave the deposition confident that his story was unshakeable, that his version of the marriage was etched in stone. Not a bad position for him to be in, all things considered. D.T. decided to wrap it up.
“We’ve discussed your wife’s drinking habits, Mr. Stone, and her contacts, of whatever nature, with other men. Are these the primary reasons you feel she is unfit to have custody of the children?”
“The primary ones. Yes.”
“Are there any other reasons? Any at all?”
“Many. Mareth is far too permissive. The children stay up till all hours. They lack discipline. They never clean their rooms; their table manners are atrocious. The boy never lifts the toilet seat when he urinates, or flushes afterward. Many things of that nature I find highly objectionable, though thankfully curable once they are living with me.”
“What else?”
“Mareth’s own habits are quite slovenly. The house is covered with dust. The bathrooms reek of urine. The dishes are frequently encrusted with food even though she has the finest dishwasher on the market. Meals are frequently some frozen thing she has purchased for the sake of convenience. That type of thing I find highly objectionable.”
“Have you discussed these matters with your wife in the past?”
“Of course, but nothing ever seemed to change. I’m sure the situation is far worse now that I’m not there to supervise, to insist on certain standards. That’s why I want an immediate trial. The children must be rescued from that environment, which, incidentally, includes no religious training whatsoever.”
D.T. sighed as Stone’s fists clenched in front of him and his eyes gleamed like a redeemer’s. “You may be sure we will do all we can to accommodate your desire for an early trial, Mr. Stone,” D.T. said. “Now, is there anything else about her that is a basis for your claim she is an unfit mother?”
“As I said, there are a great many items. Her reading material, for example. Feminist tracts, with a distinctly anti-male bias. Her attendance at women’s meetings, where I’m sure she was urged to have an extramarital affair, to give ‘meaning’ to her life.” D.T. waited for Stone to begin to froth. “Naturally she no longer wears a bra. Naturally she no longer does her duties around the home. In sum, she is no longer the woman I married. Her faithlessness alone is unforgiveable.”
The Ditto List Page 21
