The Kills

by Fairstein, Linda

  Nancy Taggart spoke up. “I’m moving to quash that subpoena.”

  Jesse Irizarry was connected to her at the hip. “I join in that application.”

  “Why do you want the boy so badly, Al-sorry, Ms. Cooper?” Moffett asked. “He a witness to this rape you got?”

  “Not exactly. Obviously, since I haven’t talked with him, I don’t know exactly what he saw and heard. But no, he was not in the room when the sexual assault occurred.”

  “So what do you need him for?”

  “He actually is part of the forcible compulsion, Judge. The treatment of the boy by his father that very evening is one of the reasons Ms. Vallis submitted to Mr. Tripping’s sexual demands.”

  Peter Robelon read the puzzled expression on Moffett’s face and took advantage of the judge’s skepticism to knock my position. “That one is really a stretch for the prosecution.”

  Moffett decided this was the moment to give me some paternal advice. “I know you like to be creative, dear, but this is a novel application of the law, isn’t it?”

  “Ms. Vallis had never met Dulles Tripping before the point in the evening when she entered the defendant’s apartment. The boy was invited into the living room. His father directed him to sit on a chair in the corner and be drilled on a series of questions. There was a discussion about a pistol, a reference to the pistol actually being in the apartment. And there was talk of what the punishment would be if Dulles answered incorrectly. One of his eyes was swollen shut and badly discolored. There were bruises on the child’s forearm and-”

  Robelon was on his feet. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here, aren’t we?”

  “Ms. Vallis was not going to leave,” I continued, “unless or until she could take the boy with her and find out what had happened to him.”

  “So why didn’t she just stay up and watch TV all night? Who said she had to go to bed with my client? If that’s all Ms. Cooper has to-”

  “I’ve got more than that, as you’re well aware.” Not a lot more, but Paige Vallis was a good witness, with a harrowing story to tell.

  Moffett scratched his head. “What’s this kid gonna say?”

  “Quite honestly, I don’t know what he’s going to say at this point, Judge. That’s why I want the opportunity to speak with him. We’ve been at a terrible disadvantage in this matter.”

  “Ms. Taggart,” the judge asked, “are you familiar with what caused the remand of the child to your facility back in March?”

  “After Mr. Tripping’s arrest and incarceration, sir, there were no living relatives to care for Dulles. There was a complete physical and psychological workup ordered, and the findings made it clear to the family court judge that even when the father was released, no one would authorize an immediate return to his custody.”

  “There was an Article Ten proceeding,” I explained, “on neglect and abuse. Every eighteen months there’s to be a hearing held about the continued care of the child.”

  “Have you got all the institutional records, Ms. Cooper?” Moffett shifted his attention to me.

  “No, sir. Only the meds from Bellevue, the morning Ms. Vallis reported the crime.”

  “You two,” he said, waving at Taggart and Irizarry. “Why can’t you give the district attorney all your reports? She’s got a job to do.”

  Taggart pursed her lips. “We’ve got serious concerns about the confidentiality of the material here. The foster parents don’t want to be identified, nor do we want to reveal the location of the child, for his own security.”

  “So we redact the papers. Take out specific names and locations.” Taggart and Irizarry huddled with each other to think of a response to the court’s suggestion.

  Tripping was agitated now. He was writing furiously on a legal pad, sticking his notes under Robelon’s nose.

  “Are you at least prepared to discuss the psychological findings, so I can make a decision here?”

  Taggart nodded to Moffett as she answered. “I’ll let Dr. Huang do that.”

  I rose to my feet. “Your Honor, I’d like the witness to take the stand so that we might do this under oath. I’d like to question Dr. Huang myself.”

  “Sit down, Ms. Cooper. I can handle this.”

  “Most respectfully, Judge Moffett, I’m more familiar with some of the history here and might be better able to direct the cross-”

  He glared at me and I took my seat. “Don’t test me, Ms. Cooper. I still got some tricks up the big black sleeves of this robe. I didn’t get here just on my good looks.”

  The heavy old door creaked open behind me and I turned to see who had entered. Two men, suited like bookends, walked in shoulder to shoulder and sat in the last row of benches on the bride’s side, behind me. If Saturday Night Live was doing a spoof of spooks, they would have cast this pair. Dark glasses in a dim courtroom on an overcast day, government-issue suits with drab patterned ties, and haircuts from the local PX.

  I focused back on the witness. Huang stated her credentials and gave the background of Dulles’s history, from his mother’s death shortly after he was born, to his grandmother’s care, to his placement with his father after her loss.

  “It was my recommendation that there be no visits, no contact, between Mr. Tripping and his son. There is a strong bond between them, but it is a pathological one. Dulles is worried about losing his relationship with his father”-she stopped speaking and glanced over at the defendant-“but he is even more fearful of retribution.”

  Tripping was talking in Peter Robelon’s ear, while Frith tried to ease him away so Robelon could follow the proceedings. Tripping had no use for Emily Frith, aware that she was just seated at the defense table for decoration.

  Robelon interrupted Huang’s narrative, fumbling through his notes. “And your colleague, I think it’s a Ms. Plass, her view was entirely opposed to yours. Her opinion was that it would be good to arrange visitation between the two because this child adores his father and will eventually be given trial visitation opportunities with him at the conclusion of these proceedings.”

  “You’ll get your chance, Mr. Robelon,” Moffett said. “I want to hear what Dr. Huang has to say. Has there been any regular contact at all?”

  “By telephone, sir. That was the compromise we reached.”

  “Monitored?”

  “No, sir. But there were rules. Mr. Tripping was forbidden to discuss the allegations before this court, or anything to do with the criminal proceedings. And brief meetings. There were two meetings which I conducted at the hospital.”

  Now I was as agitated as the defendant.

  “What?When did this occur? There has been an order of protection in place since Mr. Tripping’s arraignment. There was to be no contact with the child. I’m not even blaming the defendant for the violation-I have to find out here in court that it’s two professional agencies that are responsible? Your Honor, it would appear that everyone except for me has had the opportunity to talk with this child. What more do you need to hear?”

  Huang was nervous, biting her lower lip as she ran her fingers across the top page of her records, looking for dates.

  “Were you aware of the order of protection?”

  “Yes, sir. The family court judge said she was overriding it. In the best interests of the boy.” Huang gestured toward Ms. Taggart. “The lawyers told me to arrange the meetings.”

  Put that in the category of “nice to know.”

  “When were they held?” Moffett asked.

  “I’m trying to find you an exact time. The first one was early on, when the defendant was still incarcerated. I remember that clearly. The second one was midsummer, before I left for my vacation in August.”

  There must be one enormous stretch of beach on the Atlantic coast where every psychiatrist and psychologist in New York disappear for the month of August, hoping the city’s supply of anti-depressants and mood elevators will hold all the patients at bay.

  “How’d they go, these meetings?” Moffett asked.r />
  “Perhaps you can understand my reluctance to respond to you, Judge. My conversations with the child are privileged in nature. If I betray that confidence to the court, especially in the presence of the father, I’m not certain I’ll be able to get Dulles to speak with me again.”

  “Well, was there any discussion of these criminal charges in your presence?”

  “No, sir. Not these charges.” She spoke with hesitation. “But others. That’s why I terminated the conversation.”

  “What did Mr. Tripping talk about?”

  “Not him, sir. Dulles.” Huang spoke softly and stared at a spot on the floor in front of her. “The boy asked his father whether it was true that Mr. Tripping had been involved in a plot to assassinate the president of the United States seven or eight years ago. The child had brought a news clipping with him. Something he had taken off the Internet.”

  Robelon was on his feet, pounding his fist on the table. “I’m going to object to this line of questioning, Judge. That case was never brought by the government. There’s no need to add any mention of it to this record. I move to strike.”

  Moffett seemed to miss the point about the gravity and magnitude of the accusation, as well as the boy’s concern about his father’s possibly violent history. The judge seemed more interested in the level of the child’s intelligence.

  “Motion denied. The boy was able to find that news article by himself?”

  Huang was on firm territory here. “On-line, on his computer. Dulles is a very smart young man. Tests way beyond his age range. Although he’s only ten, he’s capable of reading at a college level.”

  “So I don’t have to worry about swearability?”

  A child of ten could not be presumed to understand the meaning of an oath. Moffett seemed relieved to know he would not have to grapple with that problem, too.

  “He has the intellectual capacity to have an oath administered. What I can’t guarantee is whether or not he will choose to give false testimony in your courtroom.”

  “That puts Ms. Cooper in a very difficult position, Ms. Taggart. Suppose I let her call the boy to the stand, and you haven’t allowed her to speak with him first. Suppose he testifies in an exculpatory fashion, denies that his father injured him. Let’s say-and I never know what Ms. Cooper has in her arsenal-but say she knows the boy’s statement is inconsistent with things he has said before.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Well, then Ms. Cooper’s stuck. She can’t cross-examine him. She can’t impeach her own witness.”

  Taggart glared at me. “She can have Dulles declared a hostile witness.”

  I was back on my feet. “I don’t know whether Ms. Taggart’s ever tried a case to a jury. I would guess not. If you think I’m about to put a ten-year-old child through that experience, emotionally or legally, you need a refresher course in trial advocacy.”

  “Judge Moffett,” she went on, “Dulles Tripping is at massive risk for the development of a mental disorder-”

  “Which I certainly have no intention of compounding,” I added.

  “I’ve already told you to sit down, Ms. Cooper. How so, Ms. Taggart?”

  “The risk factors start with the multiple loss of caretakers throughout his young life-mother, grandmother, and now father. Even a stepmother. You may not be aware, Your Honor, that Mr. Tripping remarried for a brief period, a few years back. Second, parental suicide increases the risk of his own suicidal ideation. Third, being abused-or witnessing abuse-by his father increases Dulles’s risk of disturbing conduct. And-” Taggart’s volume dropped as she made reference to Andrew Tripping.

  “What?” Moffett asked, cupping his hand to his ear.

  “I was talking about the paternal psychosis that’s been diagnosed. Mr. Tripping is a schizophrenic. It increases some tenfold the probability that Dulles will inherit that same condition.”

  The swinging doors creaked behind me again. Moffett had turned his chair toward the wall, tapping his fingertips together as he tried to settle on a Solomonic solution.

  I swiveled to see who had entered the room this time. The man who stood with his back to the door, getting his bearings, seemed out of place in the drab surrounds of the criminal courthouse. There was an air of elegance about him, with his charcoal gray bespoke suit, horn-rimmed glasses, barrel-cuffed shirt, and tasseled loafers. I guessed him to be in his early forties, and at five-eight, a bit shorter than I am.

  I watched as he sauntered down the aisle, Robelon and Tripping engaged in an animated discussion as they eyed him, too. There was in him none of the strident urgency that blanketed so many of the earnest young defense attorneys who walked these hallways every day.

  The judge pushed his chair around so that he faced us again. “This mention of schizophrenia by the doctors, Mr. Robelon, you’re not gonna spring any kind of psych defense on us in the middle of the trial, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Tripping looked over his shoulder at the man in the gray suit, now seated three rows behind him, who mouthed something-several words-to the defendant. I could not make out what he said.

  “Just a minute,” Moffett said, slamming his gavel on his desktop. “Mr. Tripping, you wanna pay attention to these proceedings or you wanna play charades with the people in the peanut gallery? You, you got business here?”

  The man answered, “Yes, I do.” Moffett’s courtroom was more casual than most. The fact that the man did not rise to respond to the judge was not taken as a sign of disrespect by the court, but there seemed a touch of arrogance about it to me.

  “You a lawyer, too?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jesus. I’m choking to death on lawyers here. Get me an Indian chief. Doesn’t anybody go to medical school anymore? Who are you?”

  “Graham Hoyt.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small leather case, black alligator, and removed a business card from it, standing to pass it to the clerk to give over to the judge. Then he looked at me and nodded, passing another card.

  “I’m the guardian ad litem for Dulles Tripping. The family court appointed me to protect his interests during the pendency of this case.”

  “You’re late. Ad litem. Come latum. ” Moffett chuckled to himself.

  “No one informed me about this hearing. I just happened to call Mr. Robelon’s office this morning and his paralegal told me what was going on today.”

  Great. He’s obviously tight with the defendant. For every step forward I try to take, I get pushed back two or three.

  “You here to oppose the prosecution’s motion to interview Dulles?”

  “Actually, no, Your Honor. Maybe I can broker some kind of arrangement that would be satisfactory to everyone.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to reassess Hoyt. This was the first time in six months anyone had even suggested listening to me to see whether what I wanted was reasonable. He smiled at me and I reflexively returned the smile.

  “How about saving the court some time. You know what the kid’s gonna tell her?”

  “The truth, Your Honor. Dulles Tripping will simply tell Ms. Cooper the truth. He’s going to say he was playing lacrosse the afternoon before he met Ms. Vallis and got hit in the face by a stick. Happens on playgrounds across America every single day.”

  5

  “Be careful what you wish for,” I said to Mercer as I dropped an armload of case files onto my desk.

  “What now?” He vacated my chair and opened a paper bag with our sandwiches and two bottles of water.

  “I pushed and pushed to get the kid. Looks like it’s going to happen now, but he’s clearly been sanitized. You think I’m better off without trying to use him at trial?”

  Mercer’s judgment and insights were sound. “What’s to lose talking to him? Keep fighting for the interview. We always knew this case was a crapshoot. You’re good with kids. Maybe he’ll surprise you and respond to some warmth in his life.”

  “The judge wants us to go on with jury selection
this afternoon and do our opening statements tomorrow. How the hell do I open when I’m not sure what my witness list looks like?”

  He bit into the baguette full of roast beef and all the trimmings. “Nothing you haven’t done before, Ms. Cooper. Understate what you’re gonna give ‘em the first time you talk to them. Robelon gets up next and reinforces that you got zilch. Then out of the bag, you pull a surprise witness. He’s smart, sympathetic, sincere-puts you over the top. Bingo. Tripping’s dead meat.”

  “And best of all is that we can try to get Dulles into a better situation as soon as it’s over. Place him in a stable, loving foster home and keep him out of reach of his crazy father until he’s college age. That would be the real blessing of a conviction in this case.”

  “Slow down and eat something.”

  I sat at my desk and picked at the wilted greens from the deli on Broadway. “You should see the courtroom. Five lawyers in the mix, not counting me. Everybody’s got a piece of the pie and I’m sure we haven’t seen the end of it. Then there’s these two suits-came in and sat in the back today. Never saw them before and can’t quite figure out why they’re here, but they sure look like stereotypes of government agents.”

  “You want me to-?”

  “No, no. You can’t be the one to talk to them. You’re going to testify next week. I’ll get someone from the DA’s squad to sniff them out if they show up again.”

  “You think the CIA still has an interest in him?” Mercer asked.

  I had subpoenaed Tripping’s records from the Agency, but as I expected, those had been purged. It was clear he had worked there for several years, and had some Middle Eastern assignment that followed the 1993 car bombing of the World Trade Center. Then came the allegation that he had participated in conversations about some harebrained plot to kill the president that was exposed before any overt steps were taken, and the CIA seemed to have misplaced their files on the entire matter.