I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate by Gay Courter

Author:Gay Courter [Courter, Gay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780595168392
Amazon: 0595168396
Publisher: Egret E-book Editions
Published: 2001-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

4

Shampooman and Lollipop

The Stevenson Trial

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.

—CARSON MCCULLERS

WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN?” RUTH LEVY had asked me as we looked over the clothes she had bought for Alicia to wear in court.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never attended a criminal trial before, but Grace Chandler thinks she has a strong case. However, she warned me that the only thing that is predictable is that everything is unpredictable.”

“What worries her the most?” Ruth wondered.

“She isn’t certain how the children will react during testimony and cross-examination, whether Red Stevenson will take the stand in his own defense, and especially how the jury will perceive a teenage girl accusing her father of incest.”

“She doesn’t think Alicia will be credible?”

“She’s mainly concerned about the first time Alicia had intercourse with her father in the bathroom of the marine shop.”

“That worries me too,” Ruth said.

“Grace has a different concern. She thinks that bathroom sounds like one in a home, not a mechanic’s shop. She’s afraid Walt Hilliard is going to make it seem as if Alicia were confusing the location of the rape, or worse, that she has made up the whole incident.”

“Do you agree with her, Gay?”

“Every time Alicia’s told that story all the details have been consistent,” I said, but I was worried because Grace and Ruth were not persuaded.

Then there was a curious coincidence.

One of my son’s friends, Shane, needed a ride home from an after-school activity. I was going in that direction and volunteered. I phoned his mother, who asked if I could drop him at his stepfather’s upholstery shop, which specialized in boat cushions, canvas awnings, and sails. As Shane gave me directions, I felt as though I had heard them before. “It’s behind North Main. After you cross the railroad bridge, you make the first left turn before the underpass.”

When I saw the building with garage doors on both ends and a boat on a trailer in the yard, I asked,” How long has your father had this shop?”

“About a year.”

I pulled into the parking lot. “What occupied it before?”

“Red’s Marine was here before they moved behind the shrimp docks.”

I braked hard. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

I closed the door and faced the beige toilet. The walls in the large room were apple green. Above the toilet were shelves holding cleaning supplies and a floral deodorizing spray. Feeling dizzy, I sat on the toilet and looked around. There was a bathtub with a shower. Across from it was a woodstove with a bouquet of dried flowers in a teapot.

I stood up, turned around, and faced the walls and placed my hands on top of the toilet tank. My legs had to straddle the widest part of the toilet bowl. To keep my balance I had to stretch my back. A child of nine would have been at least four inches shorter, but if she were supple, she could have done it.

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