Mel had been the duty social worker on Bobby’s case.
“The referral came from a schoolteacher,” she explains. “The mother didn’t want to say anything at first. When she saw the medical evidence she broke down and told us she suspected her husband.”
“Can you get me the file?”
I can see she wants to ask me why. At the same time she realizes it is probably safer to remain ignorant. Closed child-care files are stored at Hatton Gardens, the head office of the Liverpool Department of Social Services. Files are held for eighty years and can only be viewed by an appropriate member of staff, an authorized agency or a court officer. All access becomes part of the record.
Mel stares at her reflection in her teaspoon. She has to make a decision. Does she help me or say no? She glances at her watch. “I’ll make a few phone calls. Come to my office at one thirty.”
She kisses me on the cheek as she leaves. Another coffee is ordered for the wait. Down times are the worst. They give me too much time to think. That’s when random thoughts bounce through my head like a ping-pong ball in a jar. Julianne is pregnant. We’ll need a child gate at the bottom of the stairs. Charlie wants to go camping this summer. What’s the connection between Bobby and Catherine?
Another van— but it’s not white. The driver tosses a bundle of papers onto the pavement in front of the café. The front-page headline reads: REWARD OFFERED IN MCBRIDE MURDER HUNT.
Mel has a clean desk with two piles of paperwork on either side in haphazard columns. Her computer is decorated with stickers, headlines and cartoons. One of them shows an armed robber pointing a gun and saying, “Your money or your life!” The victim replies, “I have no money and no life. I’m a social worker.”
We’re on the third floor of the Department of Social Services. Most of the offices are empty for the weekend. The view from Mel’s window is of a half-built prefabricated warehouse. She has managed to get me three files, each held together by a loop of red tape. I have an hour before she gets back from shopping.
I know what to expect. The first rule of intelligent tinkering is to save all the parts. That’s what the social services do. When they mess about with people’s lives they make a careful note of every decision. There will be interviews, family assessments, psych reports and medical notes. There will be minutes of every case conference and strategy meeting as well as copies of police statements and court rulings.
If Bobby spent time in a children’s home or psych ward, this will have been recorded. There will be names, dates and places. With any luck I can cross-reference these with Catherine McBride’s file and discover a link.
The first page of the file is a record of a telephone call from St. Mary’s School. I recognize Mel’s handwriting. Bobby had “displayed a number of recent behavioral changes.” Apart from wetting himself and soiling his pants, he had “displayed inappropriate sexual behavior.” He had removed his underpants and simulated sex with a seven-year-old girl.
Mel faxed through the information to the area manager. At the same time she phoned the clerk in the area office and organized a check through the index files to see if Bobby, his parents or any siblings had ever come up on file. When this drew a blank, she started a new file. The injuries worried her most. She consulted with Lucas Dutton, the assistant director (children), who made the decision to launch an investigation.
The “red edge” is easy to find because of the border. It records Bobby’s name, date of birth, address and details of his parents, school, GP and known health problems. There are also details about the deputy headmistress of St. Mary’s, the original referrer.
Mel had organized a full medical examination dated Monday, 12 September 1988. Dr. Richard Legende found “two or three marks about six inches long across both his buttocks.” He described the injuries as being consistent with “two or three successive blows with a hard item such as a studded belt.”
Bobby had been distressed throughout the examination and refused to answer any questions. Dr. Legende noted what appeared to be old scar tissue around the anus. “Whether the injury was caused accidentally or by deliberate penetration is not clear,” he wrote. In a later report he hardened his resolve and described the scarring as being “consistent with abuse.”
Bridget Morgan was interviewed. Hostile at first, she accused social services of being busybodies. When told of Bobby’s injuries and behavior, she began to qualify her answers. Eventually, she began making excuses for her husband.
“He’s a good man, but he can’t help himself. He gets angry and loses his rag.”
“Does he ever hit you?”
“Yeah.”
“What about Bobby?”
“He gets the worst of it.”
“When he beats Bobby, what does he use?”
“A dog collar… He’ll kill me if he knows I’m here… You don’t know what he’s like…”
When asked about any inappropriate sexual behavior, Bridget categorically denied her husband could have done such a thing. Her protests became more strident as the interview went on. She became tearful and asked to see Bobby.
All allegations of sexual abuse have to be reported to the police. After being told this, Bridget Morgan grew even more anxious. Clearly distressed, she admitted to having concerns about her husband’s relationship with Bobby. She wouldn’t or couldn’t elaborate.
Bobby and his mother were taken to Marsh Lane police station to be formally interviewed. A strategy meeting was held at the station. Those present were Mel Cossimo, her immediate boss Lucas Dutton, Detective Sergeant Helena Bronte and Bridget Morgan. Having spent a few minutes alone with Bobby, Mrs. Morgan accepted the need for an investigation.
Leafing through her police statement, I try to pick out the crux of her allegations. Two years earlier she claimed to have seen Bobby sitting on her husband’s lap, not wearing any underwear. Her husband had had only a towel around his waist and he appeared to be pushing Bobby’s hand between his legs.
During the previous year she had often found that Bobby had no underwear on when he undressed to have a bath. When asked why, he’d said, “Daddy doesn’t like me wearing underpants.”
The mother also claimed that her husband would only take a bath when Bobby was awake and would leave the bathroom door open. He would often invite Bobby to join him, but the boy made excuses.
Although not a strong statement, in the hands of a good prosecutor it could be damning enough. The next statement I expect to find is Bobby’s. It isn’t here. I turn several pages and find that no mention is made of a formal statement, which could explain why Lenny Morgan was never charged. Instead there is a videotape and a sheaf of handwritten notes.
A child’s evidence is crucial. Unless he or she admits to being molested the chances of success are slim. The abuser would have to admit the crime or the medical evidence would have to be incontrovertible.
Mel has a videotape recorder and TV in her office. I slide the tape out of the cardboard sleeve. The label has Bobby’s full name, as well as the date and place of the interview. As the first images flash onto the screen, the time is stamped in the bottom left-hand corner.
A child protection evaluation is very different from a normal patient consultation because of the time constraints. It can often take weeks to establish the sort of trust that allows a child to slowly reveal his or her inner world. Evaluations have to be done quickly and the questions are therefore more direct.
The child-friendly interview room has toys on the floor and brightly colored walls. Drawing paper and crayons have been left on the table. A small boy sits nervously on a plastic chair, looking at the blank piece of paper. He is wearing a school uniform with baggy shorts and scuffed shoes. He glances at the camera and I see his face clearly. He has changed a lot in fourteen years, but I still recognize him. He sits impassively, as if resigned to his fate.
There is something else. Something more. The details return like surrendered soldiers. I have seen this boy before. Rupert Erskine a
sked me to review a case. A young boy who wasn’t responding to any of his questions. A new approach was needed. Perhaps a new face.
The video is still running. I hear my voice. “Do you prefer to be called Robert, Rob or Bobby?”
“Bobby.”
“Do you know why you’re here, Bobby?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I have to ask you a few questions. Is that OK?”
“I want to go home.”
“Not just yet. Tell me, Bobby, you understand the difference between the truth and a lie, don’t you?”
He nods. “If I said that I had a carrot instead of a nose, what would that be?”
“A lie.”
“That’s right.”
The tape continues. I ask nonspecific questions about school and home. Bobby talks about his favorite TV shows and toys. He relaxes and begins doodling on a sheet of paper as he talks.
If he had three magic wishes what would they be? After two false starts and shuffling his choices, he came up with owning a chocolate factory, going camping and building a machine that would make everybody happy. Who would he most like to be? Sonic the Hedgehog because “he runs really fast and saves his friends.”
Watching the video I can recognize some of the mannerisms and body language of the adult Bobby. He rarely smiled or laughed. He maintained eye contact only briefly.
I ask him about his father. At first Bobby is animated and open. He wants to go home and see him. “We’re making an invention. It’s going to stop shopping bags from spilling in the trunk of the car.”
Bobby draws a picture of himself and I get him to name the different body parts. He mumbles when he talks about his “private parts.”
“Do you like it when you have a bath with your dad?”
“Yes.”
“What do you like about it?”
“He tickles me.”
“Where does he tickle you?”
“All over.”
“Does he ever touch you in a way that you don’t like?”
Bobby’s brow furrows. “No.”
“Does he ever touch your private parts?”
“No.”
“What about when he washes you?”
“I suppose.” He mumbles something else that I can’t make out.
“What about your mum? Does she ever touch your private parts?”
He shakes his head and asks to go home. He screws up the piece of paper and refuses to answer any more questions. He isn’t upset or scared. It is another example of the “distancing” that is common in sexually abused children who try to make themselves smaller and less of a target.
The interview ends, the outcome clearly inconclusive. Body language and mannerisms weren’t enough to formulate an opinion.
Turning back to the files, I piece together the history of what happened next. Mel recommended that Bobby be placed on the Child Protection Register— a list of all children in the area who were considered to be at risk. She applied for an interim custody order— getting a magistrate out of bed at 2:00 a.m.
Police arrested Lenny Morgan. His house was searched, along with his bus depot locker and a neighboring garage he rented as a workshop. He maintained his innocence throughout. He described himself as a loving father who had never done anything wrong or been in trouble with the police. He claimed to have no knowledge of Bobby’s injuries, but admitted to “giving him a whack” when he dismantled and broke a perfectly good alarm clock.
I knew none of this. My involvement ended after a single interview. It was Erskine’s case.
A child protection case conference was held on Monday, August 15. The conference was chaired by Lucas Dutton and included the duty social worker, consultant psychologist Rupert Erskine, Bobby’s GP, the deputy headmistress of his school and Detective Sergeant Helena Bronte.
The minutes of the meeting indicate that Lucas Dutton ran the proceedings. I remember him. At my first case conference he shot me down in flames when I offered an alternative suggestion to his own. Directors are rarely questioned— especially by junior psychologists whose diplomas are fresh enough to smudge.
The police didn’t have enough evidence to charge Lenny Morgan, but the criminal investigation continued. Based on the physical evidence and Bridget Morgan’s statement the conference recommended that Bobby be removed from his family and placed in foster care unless his father agreed to voluntarily stay away. Daily contact would be arranged but father and son were never to be left alone.
Bobby spent five days in foster care before Lenny agreed to leave the family home and live separately until the allegations were fully investigated.
The second case file begins with a contents page. I scan the list and continue reading. For three months the Morgan family was shadowed by social workers and psychologists, who tried to discover exactly how it functioned. Bobby’s behavior was monitored and reviewed, particularly during the contact visits with his father. At the same time Erskine interviewed Bridget, Lenny and Bobby separately, taking detailed histories. He also spoke to the maternal grandmother, Pauline Aherne, and Bridget’s younger sister.
Both seemed to confirm Bridget’s suspicions about Lenny. In particular Pauline Aherne claimed to have witnessed an example of inappropriate behavior when father and son were wrestling at bedtime and she saw Lenny’s hand inside Bobby’s pajamas.
When I compared her statement to Bridget’s, I noticed how they used many of the same phrases and descriptions. This would have concerned me if it had been my case. Blood is thicker than water— never more so than in child custody cases.
Lenny Morgan’s first wife had died in a car accident. A son from the first marriage, Dafyyd Morgan, had left home at eighteen without coming to the attention of Social Services.
Several attempts were made to find him. Child-care workers traced his teachers and a swimming coach, who reported no cause for concern in his behavior. Dafyyd had left school at fifteen and been apprenticed to a local building firm. He dropped out and his last known address was a backpacker’s hostel in western Australia.
The file contains Erskine’s conclusions, but not his session notes. He described Bobby as “anxious, fidgety and temperamentally fragile” and also displaying “symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“When questioned about any sexual abuse, Bobby became increasingly defensive and agitated,” Erskine wrote. “He also seems defensive if anyone suggests his family is not ideal. It is as if he is working hard to hide something.”
Of Bridget Morgan he wrote: “Her first concern is always for her son. She is particularly reluctant to allow any further interviews with Bobby because of the anxiety these create. Bobby has apparently been wetting the bed and has had problems sleeping.”
Her concern was understandable. At a rough count, I estimated Bobby was interviewed more than a dozen times by therapists, psychologists and social workers. Questions were repeated and rephrased.
During free play sessions he was observed undressing dolls and naming body parts. None of these sessions were recorded, but a therapist reported that Bobby placed one doll on top of the other and made grunting noises.
Erskine included two of Bobby’s drawings in the file. I hold them at arm’s length. They’re rather good in an abstract sort of way— a cross between Picasso and the Flintstones. The figures are robotlike, with skewed faces. Adults are drawn excessively large and children very small.
Erskine concluded:
There are several significant pieces of evidence which, in my opinion, strongly support the possibility of sexual contact between Mr. Morgan and his son.
First, there is the evidence of Bridget Morgan as well as that of the maternal grandmother, Mrs. Pauline Aherne. Neither woman appears to have any reason to be biased or embellish their accounts. Both witnessed occasions when Mr. Morgan exposed himself to his son and removed his son’s underwear.
Secondly, there is the evidence of Dr. Richard Legende who found “two or three strap marks about six inches
long across both of the child’s buttocks.” More perturbing was the evidence of scar tissue around the anus.
Added to this we have the behavioral changes in Bobby. He has displayed an unhealthy interest in sex, as well as a working knowledge far beyond that of a normal eight-year-old.
Based on these facts, I believe there exists a strong likelihood that Bobby has been sexually abused, most probably by his father.
There must have been another case conference in mid-November. I can find no minutes. The police investigation was suspended, but the file left open.
The third file is full of legal documents— some of them bound in ribbon. I recognize the paperwork. Satisfied that Bobby was at risk, Social Services had applied for a permanent care order. The lawyers were set loose.
“What are you mumbling about?” Mel is back from her shopping, balancing two cups of coffee on a ledger. “Sorry I can’t offer you anything stronger. Remember when we used to smuggle boxes of wine in here at Christmas?”
“I remember Boyd getting drunk and watering the plastic plants in the foyer.”
We both laugh.
“Bring back any memories?” She motions to the files.
“Sadly.” My left hand is trembling. I push it into my lap. “What did you make of Lenny Morgan?”
She sits down and kicks off her shoes. “I thought he was a pig. He was abusive and violent.”
“What did he do?”
“He confronted me outside the court. I went to use a phone in the foyer. He asked me why I was doing this— as if it was personal. When I tried to get past him, he pushed me against the wall and put his hand around my throat. He had this look in his eyes…” She shudders.
“You didn’t press charges?”
“No.”
“He was upset?”
“Yes.”
“What about the wife?”
“Bridget. She was all fur coat and no knickers. A real social climber.”
The Suspect jo-1 Page 24
