Date: Mon, 22 Nov 2010 17:19:23 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Ultimate Good Samaritan III

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on
real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship
between the names used and that of any real person. Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com


The Trial

Chapter 17

	Tom Garretson and Walter Stuyvesant met at eight PM on December
26th again at the main door of The Cloisters.

	"My captain called me into his office again to tell me not to get
involved in your case. Walter, they're stacking the deck against you. Look
at your trial date. There's no way you should be getting a date before
April without someone high up in the court system sticking your case in way
ahead of the line. And Judge Paulson? He's just about a worse case scenario
for you. He's usually fair but he owes the politicians in power, the ones
want your ass in the slammer. He'll be very sympathetic to the prosecution
and, if you lose and he'll throw the book at you."

	"My lawyer is recommending against a jury trial. Sounds like that
would be a mistake."

	Garretson sat on a low wall. "I don't know what to tell you there.
A jury might be better. You just need a couple of people to believe you and
maybe sway the rest. What's the story on Steve? He gonna be called?"

	"So far, no. I think he should be. Katz says I'm better off with a
paper victim, someone they don't get to know personally. He says it's
harder to feel sorry for someone they don't know. That sort of makes sense
but if Steve denies anything was going on except that one thing back when
he was seven that I told you about, that should be it."

	"Does anyone else know you're talking to him? Your lawyer?"

	"No, I agree with you that he mustn't know so there's only us."

	"Christ, I don't know about what to say about jury or no. If the
prosecution comes up empty or just hot air, Paulson will throw the case out
but I don't think it would take much for him to convict you. A jury,
Christ, I just don't know. That's gotta be your call, my friend but, all in
all, you might have a better chance in front of twelve people instead of
just one."

			----------------------------------------------------


	Byron Katz wanted to try the case in front of the judge but Walter
had thought about it and decided that Tom was right, twelve minds instead
of just one made for better odds.

	Monday, January fifth at nine AM sharp, the court was called to
order and Judge Paulson entered. He was a medium sized man with a close cut
fringe of dark brown hair around a bald pate. He wore the frown of a man
who wished he was somewhere else.

	Jury selection began. There were twenty-four initial prospective
jurors. The judge outlined the case broadly as one involving child sexual
abuse by a foster father and swore the prospects to answer questions
truthfully. Each was given a questionnaire prepared by the court. Karen
Savage, the prosecutor and her staff and Byron Katz went over the
answers. The judge excused three persons. Questioning began. When his turn
came, Walter's attorney bore down on opinions of accused child abuse
defendants, concentrating on how likely each felt a person so accused was
guilty based on just the accusation and the prosecution's willingness to go
to trial?  All but one answered that the evidence had to be heard before
they could judge. The one, a woman in her fifties found it difficult to
believe a New York City prosecutor would bring such a heinous charge
against someone if they were not very sure the person had done what they
were accused of doing. Walter guessed that others felt the same way but
were not about to admit it.

	The jury selection procedure took three grueling, boring days
mostly spent sitting and waiting as lawyers went over answers and presented
challenges then outright requests that one person or another eventual
forty-two wasn't to their liking. But, by Wednesday afternoon at three
thirty, twelve jurors and two alternates, seven women and seven men, had
been selected and sworn in.

	The judge opened proceeding Thursday at 9AM with a more detailed
briefing on what the case was about. To Walter, he seemed to be stating
everything fairly, admonishing the jury to listen carefully and `separate
the wheat from the chaff'. One juror had to have the meaning of chaff
explained to him.

	There were several individuals wearing press passes on cords around
their necks. One had a sketch pad on which he was drawing. Walter guessed
his likeness would be on television and in one or more newspapers that
evening and the next morning.

	The prosecutor laid out a strong case to the jury claiming they
would be hearing conclusive testimony that would prove beyond any
reasonable doubt that Walter Stuyvesant had been sexually abusing Steven
Mulrooney from age four to twelve, eight years of hell and destruction for
a child who had already been through a traumatic first four years. She
promised witnesses, professionals who'd examined the boy psychologically
and physically, those who had worked with the child in the school system
and finally words of accusation from the boy himself. Katherine Mulrooney
wasn't mentioned. Had they found her too unreliable?

	Walter's defense lawyer merely said that the jury would soon see
that the promises of the prosecution would not be met because the witnesses
were of questionable motivation, the professionals had only come up with
often senseless findings and the words of the boy could have multiple
meanings. Mr. Stuyvesant not only didn't do what he was accused of, he was
psychologically incapable of the acts he was accused of.

	Walter felt the prosecutor sounded more sure of herself and her
case and was certainly more convincing. He began to doubt the ability of
his lawyer to protect him.

	Prosecutor Karen Savage's first witness was the Bureau of Child
Welfare, as it was known in 1994, supervisor who had met with Walter and
Sergeant Tom Garretson and approved Walter as Stevie's temporary foster
father.

	Standing empty handed at the far end of the jury box, Miss Savage
asked him to "Please tell us the history of Mr. Stuyvesant's relationship
with Steven Mulrooney as based on your experience and Bureau of Child
Welfare records beginning with your first contact with Mr. Stuyvesant."

	Mr. James Flowers opened a thick folder and put his finger on a
page inside. "I first met Mr. Stuyvesant in 1993 when a police sergeant I
knew, Tom Garretson, brought him to me." Flowers related the story of Steve
Mulrooney's murder and encounter with Walter, the trip to the hospital then
Walter's request to meet the mother and help her child. That was followed
by the baby sitting he'd done and Katherine's disappearance for the better
part of a year.

	"According to Mr. Stuyvesant, Katherine Mulrooney unexpectedly
called him approximately a year later. He claims that she asked him to take
care of Steven, then four years of age, overnight but left him with an
overnight bag containing his birth certificate and a phone number which
proved not to be Mrs. Mulrooney's but someone else's. It was shortly after
that that Sergeant Garretson brought Mr. Stuyvesant to me. The foster care
was supposed to be temporary but for some reason, probably the huge case
load our workers were carrying at the time, it was allowed to continue for
some time, years. One worker has in her notes here that she tried to get
Mr. Stuyvesant in to discuss how things were going but he claimed to have
been very busy and never made his requested appointments. Again, with the
overload and the fact that there didn't seem to be any problems at the
time, no negative school reports or anything, the case was unfortunately
not followed up on our end."

	Walter leaned to his attorney and said, "No one ever contacted
me. Never. Not even when Steve was kidnapped."

	Katz made a note on his yellow legal pad.

	James Flowers went on about learning of the kidnapping and
attempted murder of Walter. "The police took over things at that point
claiming that the boy was involved in an investigation and in danger. They
would protect him until further notice. We were basically told to back off
and, under the circumstances, did just that."

	Byron Katz, standing at the defendant's table on cross examination,
went after Flower's statement about a worker asking Walter in for a
discussion of Steve's situation. "What exactly was the case worker's name?"

	The social worker searched back through his file. "Miss Virginia
Walters."

	"Thanks you. Is she still with the Bureau?"

	"I don't really know. I'd have to check."

	"Then you haven't spoken with her about this?"

	"No."

	"So you can't say for certain that she actually spoke to
Mr. Stuyvesant."

	"What I have are her notes in the boy's file. I can't believe she'd
make that up."

	Katz addressed the judge. "I think it would be proper for Miss
Walters to be asked to appear before this court and tell us directly what
is an accusation of a lack of cooperation by Mr. Stuyvesant."

	The judge asked, "Can you arrange that, Mr. Flowers?"

	"I can try, your honor but she may no longer be with the Bureau."

	"Please try, Mr. Flowers."

	"Yes, sir."

	"Mr. Katz," said the judge with a short wave of his hand.

	"Mr. Flowers," asked the attorney, "a number of times you said
Mr. Stuyvesant claimed to have done something. That sounds a bit
accusatory, as though you or your people at the Bureau of Child Services
didn't believe him. Is that the case?"

	"It was not meant to sound accusatory. Without some form of
verification by our personnel, that's how client statements are phrased in
the file. It merely means the statement hasn't been verified."

	"Some of those statements were important, had a direct bearing on
the welfare of a child under your protection. Why weren't they verified?"

	"As I said, we were greatly overloaded with cases at the time, it
was difficult..."

	Right hand up and head shaking as he walked quickly from behind the
defense table, Katz cut Flowers off. "Let me make this easier, sir. If you
had doubted something Mr. Stuyvesant had said, wouldn't that have been
important enough considering you were dealing with a very young child in
the care of a single man for whom you have very little information?"

	Flowers shook his head but showed no signs of being annoyed by the
question or Katz coming up beside the witness box and looking into the
folder open on his lap. "I don't think that's very accurate. We had the
word of a police sergeant as to Mr. Stuyvesant's character."

	Katz back up a step. "A police sergeant who admitted to you he only
knew Mr. Stuyvesant from a single incident in 1993?"

	The social worker, remaining composed, kept to his claim that all
seemed well, the police sergeant had vouched for Walter, they hadn't heard
of any problems and the agency had limited personnel for a near unlimited
caseload.

	Walter felt Katz had made the Bureau of Child Welfare seem
irresponsible but hadn't done much to make him seem a fit foster father.

	The next witness was Ida Franklin, Steve's school counselor during
Steve's fifth and sixth grades. Karen Savage, with several typewritten
pages laid out on the prosecution table, led her through how suspicions
were aroused and what she did.

      Miss Franklin told of watching Walter bring Steve to school and pick
him up each day, seeing Steve kiss the man on the cheek then walk away with
Walter holding his hand. When asked if she found that unusual, she
answered, "Of course. Even mothers stop doing that after second
grade. Steven was ten and eleven years old, nearly twelve. I found it
highly unusual. It seemed a kind of control thing to me, part of the
pattern that had me looking into Steven's situation even before I knew he
was a foster child."

	"Go on."

	"Steven's teacher had mentioned his high grades and better than
usual homework to me at lunch one day. Out of curiosity, I pulled his file
and saw he was a foster child. Foster children don't normally do that well,
especially as well as Steven's nineties and hundreds. His report cards
rarely had grades below ninety-five. To accomplish that, a child has to
spend a great amount of time studying. Add to that the high quality of the
homework he was turning in and it seemed he had to be spending four or five
hours a day on schoolwork, far more than he should.

	"His teacher also told me of Steven's being brought to school and
picked up each day so I made it a point to get upstairs and watch a few
times. Mr. Stuyvesant would come straight up to the gate and take Steven's
hand. Steven would give him a kiss on the cheek and off they'd go. It
looked like heavy handed control to me so I took pictures with my digital
camera and planned to ask Mr. Stuyvesant to come in and explain
himself. About that time, I also learned the Mr. Stuyvesant was taking
Steven to a gym several times a week to do body building, hardly something
for a twelve year old. And, he'd been doing it for at least a couple of
years. Unfortunately, I was pregnant and about to give birth. Then, after a
few months, I decided that my child needed me full time. I didn't want her
to end up in foster care."

	Katz stood up. The judge waved him down. "Miss Franklin, please
keep your remarks to those directly regarding this situation." To the jury,
he said, "The jury will disregard Miss Franklin's statement about why she
decided to leave the school system."

	Katz on cross asked, "If a boy was very bright, isn't it possible
he could accomplish all Steve Mulrooney did in a couple of hours a night,
especially if he had help from his foster father?"

	"Not in my experience."

	"How many other students have you known whose grades were as high
as Steve Mulrooney's? Please think carefully before answering."

	She took a breath and looked at the ceiling. "Oh, perhaps two or
three."

	"Were they in any way abused or forced to do excessive amounts of
school work? To your knowledge?"

	"I don't really know. Their parents didn't bring them to school
everyday."

	"That's not a very good answer, Miss, sorry, Mrs. Franklin."

	"Mrs. King. Franklin's my maiden name."

	"Would you please answer the question, Mrs. King?"

	The prosecutor stood. "Your honor, please ask Mr. Katz..."

	The judge, with a bored expression, looked over his glasses at the
defense counsel.

	"Yes, sir. Mrs. King, did you find in your years as a school
counselor that students with grades as high as Steven Mulrooney's were
overworked by their parents?"

	"I don't know. Steven Mulrooney was the only one I ever looked
into."

	"Because his foster father liked to take his son to and from
school?"

	"That and the hand holding and kissing. The kissing seemed to
be..."

	"Seemed to be? Did you have any way of knowing if the kiss was
required or perhaps one of genuine affection?"

	"Of course not but how many boys eleven years old kiss their
fathers?"

	"I still do, Mrs. King and so do many of my friends."

	He turned to the business about gym attendance. "Mrs. King, do you
have any idea how many children under twelve go to gyms in this city?"

	"I don't know of any."

	Holding up a paper with a letterhead and typewritten wording, Byron
Katz said, "According to the New York Chamber of Commerce upwards of ten
thousand making Steve Mulrooney one of a very large group of normal kids
working out in gyms. Does that make you change your mind about the reasons
behind Steve's gym attendance?"

	"Not under the circumstances."

	"What circumstances are those, Mrs. King?"

	"Well, all the rest. The hand holding, kissing, high grades,
excessive hours doing homework."

	"You know for a fact that Steve spent excessive hours doing his
homework?"

	"As I said before. No child could do that kind of work in less than
four or five hours a night."

	Arms out, Katz asked with some sarcasm, "So no other child in the
school's history as you know it ever turned in homework of an equal
caliber?"

	"Well, I wouldn't say that, but it is certainly rare."

	"And those rare children were over controlled, over worked by their
parents?" he asked with a smile.

	"Probably."

	"I think the jury knows much better than that." He glanced their
way.

	Walter felt better about his attorney.

	Sandra Tyler Jones, the seventh grade school counselor who
initiated the current state of affairs began her testimony with much the
same information and suspicions of her predecessor. "When I spoke to
Steven, there was no doubt in my mind that he was hiding something. Every
answer he gave was evasive. His attitude indicated he was very
uncomfortable with any question regarding his foster father. He kept trying
to leave the room."

	She told the jurors about Steve's initial refusal to take any
psychological testing which to her was a further clear indicator that "he
worried the tests would uncover something he was desperately trying to
hide."

	The prosecutor went over every detail again and again seeking out
additional tidbits of information.

	Since when the prosecutor completed his questioning of Tyler Jones
it was a few minutes before four in the afternoon, the judge put off Katz's
cross examination until Friday morning.

	Walter went home unsure what to think of the day's events. Katz did
seem to negate the value of much of the testimony against him but he had no
doubt a bad image had been created. Everyone had managed to mention that he
was single and always had been. Tyler Jones had slipped in that there
didn't seem to be a woman in his life. He toyed with the idea of admitting
he was gay. After all, gays were interested in other men, not
children. Gays were allowed to adopt children and had proven to be very
good parents.

	Walter avoided the television sure he'd be depressed by the slanted
statements of what he saw as scandal mongering newscasters. He debated
calling up Tom Garretson but instead went to work on a project for a
customer hoping to complete and bill it before that customer dumped him, as
he expected all would shortly.

	In the morning, on the subway, he saw headlines that made him face
away from the other strap hangers. `Foster Dad Sex Abuse Trial Begins' read
one. Steve called him `Dad'.

	Katz' cross of Tyler Jones was more aggressive than that of
Mrs. King. Arms folded across his chest and a stern expression, he began
with, "Is it possible Steven was merely uncomfortable discussing sex with a
strange woman, just as would be about any twelve year old in the school,
any twelve year old anywhere?"

	"That's not what I saw. I saw a child afraid something he was
ashamed of would come to light."

	Katz walked out from behind his table and stood in front of the
jurors. "Do you have children, Ms. Tyler?"

	"Yes, three. And I know what you are going to ask. Yes, I have
discussed sex with my children but one of my sons already knew too much due
to a man like Mr. Stuyvesant who had been abusing him. So, you see, I do
know a lot about these situations."

	"Really, so you had already decided Mr. Stuyvesant was sexually
abusing Steven before you even spoke to the boy."

	The prosecutor stood. "Your honor..."

	"Sorry, Miss Savage," said the judge with a hand motion to sit
down. "Mrs. Tyler brought it up. However, Mr. Katz, please re-phrase."

	Katz repeated what he said as a question.

	Tyler Jones answered, "Of course not. It's just that I knew what to
look for. My son had been evasive just as Steven was. He was ashamed of
what the man had done to him, afraid I'd think less of him for it. And,
I've been a school counselor for thirteen years. I'm professional enough to
divorce my personal feelings from my job. Steven's actions and attitude
were what made me believe Mr. Stuyvesant was abusing him. It had nothing to
do with my son."

	"We'll probably get back to that in the future but let me ask you
now in exactly what way was Steven acting evasive?"

	She frowned at him then replied, "For every question I asked,
whether it involved anything to do with Mr. Stuyvesant or not, his answers
were what he seemed to think I wanted to hear."

	"For instance?" again with arms folded.

	She had to look at her notes. "Well, for instance, when I asked him
about masturbation, he told me it was none of my business, then when I
convinced him it was, he denied doing it at all."

	"You think a boy's private sexual experimentation is the business
of a school counselor?"

	"Of course. We like to know out children are progressing normally."

	Katz took a deep breath and spoke like an angry
parent. "Mrs. Tyler, I've two children. I better not hear of any adult at
their school asking them such a question. No, I think the jurors understand
how grossly intrusive that is."

	Walter found himself enjoying Katz' pillorying of the school
counselor. But the school principal wasn't as easy a target.

	Fred Bailey told the jury how Walter Stuyvesant had been
uncooperative, even disrespectful of him when they'd met in his office.
Byron Katz asked what he might expect from someone he was accusing of
something as heinous as child sexual abuse for which he had no proof, worse
doing so through his twelve year old foster son.

	"No one had accused anyone of anything."

	"Really?"

	The prosecution called Dr. Perlman next. He was the psychologist
who had performed the examinations at the school and visited Steve
unsuccessfully at Trimble. Miss Savage introduced him as a man with
extensive experience within the school system rescuing a great number of
children from sexually abusive situations. During his two hour seventeen
minute testimony, he claimed his test results showed "a boy deeply worried
about something for which he felt great guilt', then, "Steven was deeply
conflicted about his feelings for his foster father", and, "Steven was
concerned about his sexual identity". The words `sex' and `control' came up
thirty-eight times.

	The part of his testimony the prosecutor stuck with the longest had
to do with his claim that Steven's "reticence to say anything against this
man is almost certainly due to what has come to be known as the Stockholm
Syndrome in which prisoners become attached and sometimes very loyal to
their captors. You've seen a number of such situations here in the United
States such as the Patty Hearst affair and, of course, the Steven Stayner
kidnapping in which a man took a boy at age seven and held on to him for
seven years. That boy was sexually abused right from the start as was
Steven Mulrooney. He was told to never tell and given reasons not to do
so."

	They spent half an hour on the Stockholm business.

	Once again, Katz had to wait until the next session on Monday to
cross examine the witness. "That's fine. It's giving me plenty of time to
work up the questions I want to ask this quack."

	There were a number of messages on Walter's answering machine when
he got to his apartment, none friendly. The customer for whom he was
working at the time wanted to know how far he was from finishing the
project. Walter called back and was told to submit what he had at that
point and he'd be paid in full for the job. There were no apologies.

	The rest of the messages were hate mail. He called the phone
company about installing another line with an unpublished number. They
could do it but not until some time the following week. Walter wasn't sure
he'd still be free for another seven days.

	Steve called Saturday around noon. What Walter couldn't see was
that Steve was sitting on Flemming's hard on. The leader wanted to enjoy a
longer session than the minute or so it took to climax inside the
boy. Steve agreed if he could make his call while they waited for
Flemming's penis to regain the necessary potency.

	"What happened in court?"

	"Nothing good. Your school counselors and principal testified and a
couple of social workers you've never met."

	"What'd they say?"

	Walter gave a synopsis including what his lawyer had done.

	"Why don't we just run away? I think they are going to put you in
jail and I'm never going to see you again."

	"It's not that easy, son. Like I told you before, even if we did,
they'd catch us eventually. You have to go to school. I have to work. And,
we wouldn't just be hiding from the police. My bail was a hundred thousand
dollars. A bondsman put up ninety percent. He'd probably catch us first."

	Steve was silent as tears began to flow. "I don't wanna live if I
can't be with you."

	"Don't even talk like that, son. You're all that's important to
me. I need you to become something. You're smart, a great student. You can
go to college and make something of yourself. I can handle whatever they do
to me as long as I know you're okay and in school. I know it's hard to
think of it like that but, like I said, just keep telling yourself this
can't go on forever. It will end one day. For you, that might mean
completing your education. If that means staying where you are to get into
college, then just do it. We'll find a way to stay in touch. There's mail
in prison. We can find a way to communicate where they don't know it's
us. You can do this."

	Steve did all he could not to cry but the sobbing came on
anyway. Flemming frowned and closed his eyes. Steve felt the cock inside
him shrivel.

	When the call was over, the leader asked him what his foster father
had said.

	"He thinks he's going to prison. Bastards! Bastards!" he cried out.

	Flemming sat up, pulling himself out of Steve, and embraced the
boy. "You've got friends here. We can take care of you."

	Steve shook his head and dripped on his bare thighs.






Chapter 18


	Monday's court drama got underway with Byron Katz going after the
psychologist's diagnoses. "Could you please tell the jury exactly what
tests, all of them please, you gave to Steven Mulrooney."

	Among his answers was the Rorschach, an answer expected by the
lawyer based on a phone call to a colleague who had been involved in
another case where Perlman had testified. When asked why he was using a
test long debunked by the majority of the psychiatric community, Perlman
answered, "I use it only as an indicator. There are number of tests, I can
name, the Luscher Color Test for one, that do not provide very reliable
results but are used by a number of psychologists and psychiatrists. First,
they must be seen as a small part of an overall whole, a mere
indicator. One must understand the mood, attitude, mental milieu of the
patient and take that into consideration.

	"The Luscher, for instance, if the patient is mentally and
emotionally relaxed, is an excellent indicator of some important
personality traits, indicator, not definer. The Rorschach is similar."

	Katz interrupted, "Would you say that Steven Mulrooney was relaxed,
emotionally relaxed when you gave him the tests?"

	"Not entirely, he was a bit agitated, perhaps but not enough that
the tests couldn't be helpful."

	"Now, Doctor, according to Mrs. Tyler and the school principal,
Fred Bailey, Steven was very agitated, so much so that he had to be forced
by his Children's Service worker to take the tests. Were they wrong?"

	"Now, look, Mr. Katz. I've been doing this for a long time. I know
how to relax a young patient like Steven. By the time we got to the
Rorschach, he was fine. Anyhow, that was just one of a battery of
tests. I'd certainly never rely on it alone in such a serious matter."

	"But, doctor, you do rely on it. You use it all the time and this
type of case is your specialty, isn't it?"

	"Ah, Mr. Katz, you obviously don't know very much about my
profession,"

	Katz, standing in front of defense table, leaned back against
it. "Profession, yes. You are being well paid to do this and the other
testimonies you give, aren't you?"

	"Of course, but it is part of the overall package which includes
the testing and evaluation."

	"And this is basically what you do for a living, testify in sexual
abuse cases for the prosecution."

	"Not always for the prosecution. I've done a number of testimonies
for the defendant."

	"How many in the past, let's say, five years?"

	The doctor closed his eyes. "Oh, perhaps, oh, three or four."

	Katz stood up and held up his right index finger. "Or one? I've
done my homework, doctor."

	"I don't really know."

	"Now, regarding your claim that Steven Mulrooney could be compared
to the Steven Stayner, there are a great many problems. First, of course,
is that our Steven was not kidnapped nor had to be fed lies to stay with
Mr. Stuyvesant. Am I on track so far, doctor?"

	"Not really. You are ignoring the fact that Mr. Stuyvesant had the
advantage of being the only person Steven Mulrooney knew as a care
giver. His mother had basically abandoned him and the government had given
him erroneously to Mr. Stuyvesant. Steven had no choice in the matter."

	"We can come back to that. Let's continue with your comparison. I
read about the Stayner case over the weekend. That boy was bounced around
from house to house, town to town, school to school by a man who, by his
behavior, was a grown juvenile delinquent. He lost jobs more often than I
change toothpaste tubes. And, in the end, he kidnapped another boy with the
help of a teen he had befriended.

	"Walter Stuyvesant, on the other hand, has only changed apartments
once and that at the behest of the police department for his own and
Steven's protection. He has operated his own business the entire time
servicing the same group of customers. He has never been involved in any
illicit or even questionable behavior in his entire adult life even though
his youth was filled with terrible situations which have turned many a
youngster to crime. Hardly comparable to Mr. Parnell, Stayner's kidnapper,
wouldn't you agree?"

	Perlman wouldn't give up but Katz' assault did seem to work with
the jury.

	The problem, as Walter saw it, was that Byron Katz never attacked
the basic premise of Perlman's testimony, that Steve was having sex with
him and was worried others would find out, that Walter was a control freak
with Steve under his thumb, afraid to reach out for help.

	Sergeant O'Malley, in a pressed dress uniform with a number of
service ribbons on display, buttons barely holding it closed across his
amble belly, was the first witness Tuesday morning. His testimony included
two interviews of Steve's mother. "She told me that, on at least two
occasions, she had seen Mr. Stuyvesant sexually abusing her son and that
Steven told her Mr. Stuyvesant had been touching his privates at others
times as well."

	It was during O'Malley's time on the stand that they played the
recording he'd made at Trimble State when the policeman tricked Steve into
making his statement that Walter would `never tell' It began with the door
opening and Dr. Townsend greeting him and ended with the sergeant shutting
it off after saying he had all he needed. No one heard O'Malley' final
words to Steve about his hope that he'd be put into "some shitty group home
with the nastiest fag hating niggers in the city". After discussing the
tactic used and describing it as standard procedure with defendants, they
played it again, repeating the part with Steve's `admission' twice for
jurors who requested it.

	At one point during his cross, the defense attorney asked the
sergeant if he felt Mrs. Mulrooney was being truthful.

	"I had no reason not to believe her. She's the kid's mother. Why
would she lie?"

	"So you believed every word?"

	He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?"

	"We'll look into that later, sergeant. Now, you testified that
during the search of Mr. Stuyvesant's apartment, a tube of KY lubricant was
found and you have described it as something that, outside a doctor's
office, it is used strictly for sexual purposes, primarily anal
penetration. Is that correct?"

	"Yes, it is."

	"Was it the only tube of KY you found in the apartment?"

      "Yes."

      "Was the tube opened?

	"Don't know. Didn't wanna touch it."

	"I assume it has been fingerprinted."

	"Of course."

	"And Mr. Stuyvesant's prints were on it?"

	The policeman smiled. "No, just the boy's."

	"May I see it?"

	The judge told the bailiff to give the evidence bag containing the
KY to the attorney.

	"Looks full to me. May I take it out of the bag and see, your
honor?"

	"Go ahead."

	While O'Malley frowned, Katz opened the Ziplock bag and took out
the tube. He screwed off the cap. There was a blue plastic seal on the
opening. "Hmm. Obviously never used. My sister's kid bought some for his
hair, made it stand up in spikes. Ticked off my sister no end. Wouldn't be
that Steve bought it with the same idea, would it?"

	The sergeant shrugged his shoulders again but without the smile.

      "Perhaps it's unopened because Mr. Stuyvesant found out ahead of time
and prohibited it?"

      The sergeant held up his hands and grinned.

      "Sergeant, at the hospital, did you tell Steve that Walter Stuyvesant
had confessed to having sex with him or just everything?"

      "You know the answer to that, counselor. Gotta follow the
rules. Gotta be ambiguous." He pronounced each syllable of ambiguous
separately.

      "Which means?"

      "I didn't mention sex."

      "So, you could have been talking about stealing cookies?"

      "I can't imagine the kid thinking I meant anything else but sex,
counselor. Under the circumstances, what else could I have been talking
about?"

      "I don't know. Perhaps Steven didn't either."

	"Let's go back to Steve's arrest.

	"We never arrested him."

	"Really? Then, when you took him in? What did he tell you at that
time."

	"He denied everything but later..."

	"One thing at a time, sergeant. At the police station, he denied
any sexual activity had been going on between him and Mr. Stuyvesant. Is
that correct?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Then, when you secretly were taping him and lied to him about his
father confessing, what did he say?"

	"You heard the tape, counselor. He said his father had promised not
to tell about the sex."

	"That's not what I heard. I heard him say was `He'd never tell'. I
can think of a lot of things that could mean like he'd never tell a lie,
who knows. The word sex isn't there anywhere."

	"But you and I know what he meant."

	"Speak for yourself sergeant. But you did lie to him, didn't you?"

	"Like I explained before, it's a normal interrogation tactic."

 	"Including telling Steve it was all his fault?"

	"Not exactly."

	Walter again was unsure what his attorney had accomplished with the
detective.  When he spoke to Tom Garretson, the policeman asked him if the
defense attorney had asked why Steve had been locked up like a
delinquent. Walter put the same question to Katz before they entered the
courtroom for the afternoon session.

	"Don't worry. I'll get to that."

	With O'Malley finished as a witness, Walter wondered who his
attorney planned to ask.

	The prosecutor called Dr. Townsend of Trimble State Psychiatric
Hospital. He repeated much of what Perlman had said though he didn't admit
to using any questionable tests. He too thought Steve was hiding something
and that it likely involved sex with his foster father. Toward the end of
the two hours of testimony regarding the tests and Steve's behavior during
the tests and at the hospital in general, Karen Savage asked about Sergeant
O'Malley's visit.

	"Did Steven Mulrooney make any statements at that time regarding
sexual activity?"

	"Yes, the sergeant wanted to use an old police tactic on the boy. I
honestly didn't know what he had in mind. The sergeant told Steven that
Mr. Stuyvesant had confessed everything. Steven became very emotional. and
blurted out that Mr. Stuyvesant had promised never to tell what they'd
done. Actually, he said it twice. But, I think it took an enormous weight
off his mind because he seemed to be much more relaxed the next few days,
more than since he'd come to us weeks before."

	They again played the recording the policeman had made at the
hospital that day.

	Later, after disputing much of the doctor's assertions regarding
what the tests had indicated, Byron Katz asked, "Did Steven speak to you
after his so called admission about what he had done sexually with
Mr. Stuyvesant?"

	"No, I thought it best to leave the matter alone, let him deal with
it at his own pace. Rushing these things can do more harm than good."

	"So, the sergeant's words were that Mr. Stuyvesant admitted
everything, correct? Nothing more?"

	"I don't remember exactly but you heard the tape recording."

	"True but nowhere did I hear anyone speak to what the word
everything was referring to."

	"What else could it have meant, Mr. Katz. The boy was there because
of the sexual situation between him and Mr. Stuyvesant, nothing else."

	"Yes, the alleged victim was incarcerated while the alleged
perpetrator was out on bail but we'll discuss that later. Now, help me on
this. Did Steven ever say anything to you or anyone else admitting in any
way any sexual activity with Mr. Stuyvesant?"

	"Not in so many words."

	"In any words?"

	"No."

	"Thank you, Doctor. No further questions at this time."

	The judge called it a day.

	Walter called Tom Garretson again when he got home. They met in a
pizza parlor on upper Broadway.

	"I think Katz is beginning to score some points. I saw some jurors
shake their head several times today as though they agreed that the
witnesses had lost their confidence. And he finally did say something about
Steve being locked up even though he was supposed to be the victim."

	"Don't get overconfident. I've been reading the reports and
watching the news. I suppose you haven't."

	"No. I couldn't handle that after being in court all day listening
to those self serving bastards spout all that crap."

	."Well, they think the prosecution is the one scoring points and
Katherine Mulrooney hasn't testified yet. And that tape today was worse
than you realize. There's not much else Steve could have been talking about
except sex with you. Tell me the truth, Walter, what was going on? It's not
going to hurt our friendship."

	"Nothing wrong was going on, Tom."

	"That's not my question. All right, honesty time. And this is
between us. There's a lot you don't know about me. I was raised in a foster
home too. It probably wasn't as bad as the places they stuck you in but it
wasn't all that great either. By the time I was eleven, I was headed in a
very bad direction. I was on my second go `round in fourth grade and not
doing well. I had already been involved in some petty theft and was looking
to get into something bigger. I was on a one way street to Spofford."
Spofford was an infamous Bronx juvenile detention center.

	"Then, this man offered me some pizza and brought me here, right
here. That's why I brought us here, to get up the nerve to tell you about
this. He talked to me about my life. He didn't know anything at that point,
just that I was cute and loose on the street. You see where I'm
going. Well, we became friends. It took some money to get me in bed those
first times but after a while, it wasn't necessary. He helped me with my
schoolwork, bought me stuff, talked to me a lot. Most importantly, he made
me feel good about myself.

	"I passed fourth grade and never failed again. He got me through
high school and into college. We're still friends, sort of father and
son. You've met him a couple of times, briefly. You get through this, I'll
introduce you formally.

	"So, I'm not against you being physical with Steve. Christ, look
what you've done for him. He's going to be something special one day. Hell,
he's special right now.

	"I'm ready to quit my job over this, be a carpenter, whatever. Fuck
the captain. I'm going to testify for you. I haven't told Katz yet because
I don't trust him but I will once your side gets to call witnesses. You
have my word on that."

	Walter sighed. "But I have to say certain things to you."

	"Shit. No, of course not. It wasn't right of me to ask. Just know
that I understand, that I am one hundred percent on your side. But I'm
gonna stay on the sidelines a bit longer. I think there are more people
involved in this than you realize."

	"City councilmen?"

	"Among others."

	"Jesus."

				--------------------------------------


	About the same time Walter and Tom were sitting in the pizza
parlor, Michael Santoni was speaking to Rafael Franco, an attorney with
whom he'd done considerable business over the years. "So, what do you
think?"

	"Katz is nitpicking, scoring here and there but not trying to win
the game. For instance, he should have been all over O'Malley today about
why he had the kid locked up. Hardly mentioned it. And O'Malley's a
bastard. Any good lawyer would have had the jury hating his guts. It
would've colored everyone's take on what the kid said on that tape. But,
let's let him go on for a while longer. I saw some jurors who weren't
convinced by today's witnesses.

	"But, can Katz win this thing or not?"

	"The state's case is full of holes. I'm surprised Paulson let it
come to trial. He must be under some tremendous pressure."

	"You didn't answer my question."

	"I don't know. We'll see how the kid's mother fares. She's either
their strongest batter or an easy out. I think we should wait."

	"Just let's not wait until the guy's convicted. I want that
fuckened book. She ain't gonna give it up unless Turtan's people blow it
and Stuyvesant walks."


				------------------------------------------


	Leader Flemming found what he was looking for on the internet. He'd
had to call on a nerd friend in St. Louis to get a name for the phone
number. From there, it was easy. There was plenty on the news sites about
Walter Stuyvesant, and none of it good. He thought about telling Steve some
of what he'd learned but worried the boy would be angered by him breaking
his promise not to use the telephone number for any reason.

	Flemming by then had fallen completely, irrationally in love with
Steve. However, he was frustrated that Steve wasn't showing any real
feelings for him. Steve was totally in love with the man on trial, a man
apparently well on his way to being convicted and spending much of the rest
of his life in prison. Flemming had no doubt the charges were true. Steve's
knowledge of sex with a man proved that. The leader's thoughts were on how
he could take Walter's place in Steve's life. In Idaho, some gay's were
being allowed to adopt but none his age. And age would be the same problem
with foster parenthood.

	There'd been a girl in high school who'd had a thing for
him. Perhaps she could be convinced to marry but Flemming wasn't sure he
could perform in bed. Maybe the Lesbian girl in his graduating class would
go for a marriage that would give them both social legitimacy. That was
worth looking into but would probably take a long time. The trial of
Steve's foster father would be over soon.

	On the phone with Stuyvesant, Steve had broached the subject of
running away. Perhaps that was a means of having the boy as a son. They
were both young. They could be brothers. Flemming had a thirteen year old
brother. Getting hold of his birth certificate, even his school papers
would be a cinch. They could live together in some far away state like
Illinois or Georgia.

	Then, there was the problem of money. He had very little at the
time. Livingston paid less than minimum wage claiming lodging and food as
the difference. His job was designed for college students like him. He'd
need traveling money then more to rent a room and get through to his first
paycheck. There were jobs like McDonald's or construction that paid little
but it would be enough to get started.

      Another problem popped into his head. If he and the boy were to
disappear at the same time, suspicions might be raised. After all, they'd
been seen together in the gym. Steve would need to go first, but where?
Perhaps a shelter up in the mountains. No, it was much too cold for
that. He'd need to wait for warmer weather unless he could go first and
arrange with Steve to meet him someplace later.

	It was complicated but the more he thought about it, the more
determined he was to pull it off. Beautiful, sexy Steve Mulrooney sleeping
by his side every night was far too great a dream to let slip away.


			----------------------------------------------


      Dr. Francis X. Goodman took the stand. He identified himself as a
forensic pathologist.

      Karen Savage asked, "Did you conduct a forensic examination of Steven
Goodman?"

      "Yes, I did, on October 9, 2003."

      "And what did you find?"

      "On examination of his penis, I found a certain amount of swelling
indicating either considerable masturbation or oral contact,
fellatio. There was considerable evidence of anal penetration at the anus
in the form of a certain amount of redness and swelling along with numerous
small lacerations and scarring."

      "Could anything else have caused any of those injuries?"

      "Perhaps one but not all."

      He also mentioned that Steve seemed very resistant to permitting the
rectal exam. "The guard had to hold him down."

      When Katz took over, he went straight to, "Can normal or oversized
feces cause what you observed in Steven's anus?"

      "Possibly, but..."

      "Aren't the same types of scarring and minor lacerations found in
most kids with large feces?"

      "I'll answer that but I ask that you allow me to complete my answer."

      "Doctor, what I want is a yes or no. Is that possible?"

	"Not really."

	"You can't answer yes or no about a normal condition found on
humans with large feces?"

	"Not without misleading the jury."

	"You honor?"

	"I think Mr. Katz's question is a fair one, doctor," commented the
judge.

	With a frown, Goodman answered, "Yes, sometimes."

	Regarding his resistance to an anal exam, doctor, how many
patients, well, these aren't patients, are they. How many male inmates
you've examined, particularly children, have accepted the anal exam without
some consternation?"

	"Some."

	"Now we get the simple answer," smiled Katz. "How many, a
percentage, are some? Fifty, thirty, ten, two?"

	"I never thought..."

	"Just an educated guess."

	"Oh, twenty..."

	"Or less?"

	"Perhaps."

	Walter noticed with some consternation of his own that no one
mentioned that the examination had taken place inside a juvenile detention
center.

	The next prosecution witness was a psychiatrist, Dr. Charles
Goodman. Miss Savage asked him to introduce himself to the jury and explain
his qualifications for being called in this situation.

	"My name is Dr. Charles Goodman. I am a pediatric psychiatrist. My
medical degree is from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. I've a
Ph.D. in psychology from Stanford where I also did my studies in
psychiatry. I've written three books on the subject of sexual child abuse,
one of which was on the New York Times bestseller list. I have published
twelve studies on the subject of sexual child abuse and its effects on
children."

	"You have gone over all the reports regarding Steve Mulrooney and
Walter Stuyvesant?"

	"Yes, I have. This is a classic case where a vulnerable child has
been put under the aegis of a pedophile for a long period of time, eight
years in this case. Mr. Stuyvesant is obviously a man who likes to control
all around him. He is a computer programmer, a field of endeavor which
requires that all be in perfect order. His apartment, according to the
police report, was very clean and orderly, including Steven's bedroom. He
took Steven by the hand to and from school each day and expected the kiss
whenever they met. The child had to produce near perfect grades in
school. He did, as a matter of fact, in sixth grade. Everything was as he
wished it.

	"A child in such an environment will eventually become acclimatized
to it and fulfill the requirements expected, including sexual
expectations. He will have been apprised of the necessity of secrecy
regarding the sexual activity time after time until it is well engrained
into his mind. We have seen that in his repeated denials and then the
emotional collapse when he was informed that the man who had insisted on it
had not held up his end and told what the boy had so stridently resisted
revealing.

	"You have to understand that Steven was so brainwashed with the
idea that he should deny the sexual activity that it wasn't, isn't hard for
him to deny it even to himself, believe that it never happened. Again, that
is why being told that Mr. Stuyvesant had told the police of the sexual
activity was so traumatic for him. That which had perhaps not been
happening actually had. I am sure he is a very conflicted boy at this
moment."

	Savage went over each report individually connecting Dr. Goodman's
opening diagnosis to every part of each.

	Walter shook his head at the idea of him controlling Steve as the
doctor described. He wrote, "Quack!" on the attorney's yellow pad.

	The defense attorney's cross examination centered on the control
aspect of Goodman's testimony. "Can such a boy under such stressful
conditions maintain genuine, open friendships with other children?"

	"I'm sure they were strained, probably artificial to a degree. You
will note that Steve never walked home with friends, was not very much into
sports, never misbehaved in class."

	"So boys who don't get involved in sports or misbehave have some
sort of problem?"

	Goodman smiled. "Of course not, but when it is part of such an all
encompassing situation like Steven's, yes, it is."

	Katz touched his cheek as though remembering something. "Doctor, a
brief aside. What value do you put on the results of a Rorschach test in
situations like this?"

	 "Realistically, not much, but that's my opinion. There are some
who think that under the right conditions it can be helpful."

	"But you don't use it."

	"No."

	"Doctor, let me describe a hypothetical situation. Let's say Steve
Mulrooney actually had a lot of friends with whom he played, oh, stickball,
basketball, went to their houses regularly, occasionally spending the
night, had them over to his house. Would that change your opinion of
Steve's situation?"

	"I assume you are saying that is the case, Mr. Katz but I have
doubts it is. Were it to be the case, it would alter my diagnosis somewhat
but not entirely, not very much, really. There were many factors taken into
account like the exceptionally high school grades, Mr. Stuyvesant taking
him to and from school right into seventh grade."

	"Well, let me expand on my hypothetical. What if there was a reason
for the foster father's concern about his boy? For instance, the
possibility of foul play based on an actual threat. You are aware the Steve
was kidnapped when he was four and for years they had to worry about the
same individuals returning to take him again. Add to that that the two
learned to greatly enjoy that time walking together."

	"The kidnapping was seven years ago. His mother and her boyfriend
are in prison for many years to come. That's not a very good hypothetical,
Mr. Katz."

	"You're only addressing the first part of that hypothetical. For
years they walked together due to the threat then learned to enjoy the time
together."

	"I find that unlikely, Mr. Katz. Boys in areas such as Steven's
generally go to and from school in pairs and groups. I doubt any other
fathers take their children to school, especially not by the hand."

	Katz tried a few more tactics but Goodman had the experience to
foresee what he'd be asked and the answers to go with each
question. Eventually, the defense attorney gave up with a `Thank you,
doctor."

	They broke for lunch. Walter went to a restaurant four blocks away
in an attempt to avoid anyone who might have been at the trial. He sat at a
corner table with his back to the rest of the patrons and ordered a grilled
cheese and tomato sandwich and milk. His stomach wasn't going to handle
anything else. Dr. Goodman had done very well. Katz had been completely
unable to faze him. The control freak picture that the psych crowd had
painted of him was probably sticking with the jury. His lawyer told him
that convincing the judge to allow Steve to testify would be very
difficult. He called Tom Garretson.

	"Like I told you before, the judge is the final authority on a
minor testifying. It sounds like the doctors and the prosecutor have
convinced him Steve is too fragile to handle a court appearance. The best
you can probably hope for questioning in front of a video camera. You
lawyer can and should be asking for that. Insist."

	In the hallway before returning to the court room, Walter did just
that.

	Katz replied, "I've filed a formal request with the judge. I'll ask
him how it's coming before the jury is brought back in."

	Judge Paulson called both Katz and Savage to the bench to discuss
it when the defense attorney asked about his request that Steve be brought
in to testify. When Katz came back he told Walter that, for the time being,
the judge was respecting the judgment of both psychologists and Dr. Goodman
and would not be calling on Steve. "At least he didn't close the door on
it."









































Chapter 19


	Karen Savage called for "Katherine Mulrooney".

	Steve's mother, looking haggard but reasonably healthy walked in
from a side door wearing a white blouse and a long skirt. Her hair was
fashionably pulled back. She wore light makeup on her lips and eyes.

	"Mrs. Mulrooney, you are in prison for homicide, is that correct?"

	"Yes, ma'am."

	"And attempted homicide on Mr. Stuyvesant?"

	"Yes."

	"Would you please tell us the history of your and Steven's
relationships with Mr. Stuyvesant as you know them?"

	"Well, it all started when they killed my husband..."

	"Please let's be open and honest, Mrs. Mulrooney. When your
boyfriend with your knowledge and consent killed your husband."

	"I didn't know `til just after but, okay, it was Willy who done
it."

	"Go on."

	"Well, when the cops come over that day, they brung that man over
there an' he wanted to see my baby."

	Walter leaned into his attorney and said, "That's not true. I
didn't see him until the next day when she called me to baby sit him."

	Katherine went on. "the cops was askin' all kinds a questions an'
this guy says he wants to help me and be a baby sitter."

	Again Walter began to whisper but Katz held up his hand and pushed
the legal pad and a pen in front of him. Walter scribbled on it.

	"I thought he was crazy or somethin' `cause I thought he was a cop
like the others just in plain clothes. He give me a card with his name and
phone on it. The cops took me to the station and had me there `til late."

	She took a breath and looked at her fingers. "You know I was on
drugs back then an' I needed to go out an' get what I needed but without
Stevie, you know, I didn't wanna take little Stevie where I had to go so I
figured call this guy an' see if he really was gonna baby sit. It was just
gonna be for a little while while I went where I hadda go and got back so I
called him an' he says okay an' he got there fast so I went out and got my
drugs an' come back an' when I come in he was pullin' Stevie's pants up. I
didn't think it was nothin' but him fixin' his clothes but he looked like,
you know, like he was hidin' somethin' but I din't say nothin' `til he was
gone. Stevie tole me he was looking at his wee wee. That's what we called
it back then.

	"Well, then I hadda go an' get the funeral all arranged an' there
wasn't nobody to watch Stevie so I called him," she pointed at Walter,
"again `cause, you know, like I said, I was on drugs an' not thinkin' right
but I tole `im that he shouldn't be takin' off Steve's clothes and I was
gonna be back real soon. I knew I wasn't but I figured he wasn't gonna do
nothin' if he figured I might be comin' in the door any time but when I
asked him that night, Stevie said the man was touchin' him down there but
he din't act like he was hurt or nothin' so I didn't say nothin'."

	Savage stepped into Katherine Mulrooney's extended pause and said,
"And what about when you left him next with Mr. Stuyvesant?"

	"Oh, yeah. That's right. Well, I hadda go to the police station
`cause they wanted to talk to me so I let him take Stevie again. There
wasn't nobody else and I couldn't go leavin' him alone for who knows how
long the cops were gonna keep me and Stevie kinda liked him so I did but it
was a couple days, I think, two nights then we moved to Queens and took
Stevie with us to live there. An, well, you know what happened there."

	"It would be better if you told us, Mrs. Mulrooney."

	Katherine told them about getting involved in drugs and `a little
bit of prostitution' but claimed to have taken good care of Stevie, keeping
away from all the criminal activity.

	"But, Mrs. Mulrooney, you're in prison for three murders. What
about them?"

	"Well, you know, I didn't do none a the killin'. That was Willy but
I sorta knew about it but what was I gonna do? If I'd a said somethin' he
mighta killed me too an', well, you know."

	"No, Mrs. Mulrooney. I don't know what you mean."

	"Okay, I kinda loved him and we were good together. He took good
care a me an' Stevie."

	"And the beatings? Your beatings made Stevie epilectic."

	"Now, wait, that wasn't me. I never beat my child. That was
Willy. He don't have much patience with children."

	"According to the doctor's report, Stevie said it was both of you."

	"Oh, that's not right. He musta been mixed up or that man tole him
to say I did." She pointed at Walter. "How'm I gonna beat my own child like
that?"

	"All right. I'm sure the defense will want to know more about
that. Let's move on to when you again took Stevie to stay with
Mr. Stuyvesant in March of 1994."

	"Well, that was `cause Willy didn't want Stevie around no more. I
tole `im he had to stop hittin' on Stevie or I was gonna leave `im. Well,
he tole me that I should put Stevie with someone or he was gonna leave me
an' I wouldn't have nobody to buy my drugs no more `cause that's what he
done, buy me drugs an' things an' I didn't have nobody else to get my drugs
and he was doin' the business so what was I gonna do?

	"Well, nobody else wanted little Stevie so I thought a him again,
Walter over there." She pointed again toward the defense table. "I knew
he'd put him in school an' I told Stevie not to let him touch his privates
no more an' he said he wasn't gonna let him do it no more so I called `im
up and he said okay so I took Stevie over an' signed some paper he had so
he could take Stevie to a hospital if he had to. That was all."

	"But then," said the prosecutor, "when you were being looked for by
the police, you took him back and tried to kill Mr. Stuyvesant."

	"Well, like I said, that kinda thing was Willy but he tole me,
well, I tole him first what Walter was doin' with Stevie's privates and he
tole me that it was gonna make Stevie into a fag so I got pissed an' said
it was okay to hurt the guy and do it good but I didn't say nothin' about
killing `im. That was all Willy. I got all pissed at Willy when he said he
killed the guy `cause I didn't know he wasn't dead, just hurt `im bad. I
didn't understand how bad that kinda thing, you know, playin' aroun' with
Stevie's privates, was an' that it could turn him into a fag."

	"And what did you do then?"

	"Well, we went to California `cause Willy knew some people out
there an' Stevie stayed with us until Willy said we couldn't have him
`cause he was gonna get us caught so I took him to Salt Lake City and told
him to find a cop. An' he did but I never figured they'd give him back to a
pervert like that man. I don't know why they did it. All they had to do was
ask Stevie and he'd a told `em the man was perverted and playin' around
with his privates. I know that all them years with that man hurt my poor
son real bad."

	She pulled a handkerchief out of her blouse pocket and put it to
her eyes. "You might not believe it an' I understan' if you don't but I do
love my Stevie a lot. I been a real bad mother for `im especially lettin'
him go with a man like him." She pointed to Walter without looking at
him. "But you gotta understan' what drugs can do to you. It's terrible an'
I hope you don't let none a your kids use drugs so they don't get mixed up
with a pervert like that man." She sniffed a few times.

	The prosecutor asked her if, when they were in California, she'd
asked Stevie whether Walter had `molested' him again.

	"Oh yeah. He said he done it a lot, all the time. Stevie tole `im
he shouldn't but he done it anyways. My poor boy." She put the hankie back
to her eyes and sniffed some more.

	Karen Savage kept Katherine on the stand another few minutes going
over what she'd said, confirming that she had, as a matter of fact, seen
Walter pulling up Stevie's pants with a `guilty look on his face' and that
Stevie repeated told her of being touched between the legs.

	Then she yielded the floor to Byron Katz.

	"Mrs. Mulrooney, may I see that handkerchief you've been using to
dry your eyes?"

	"What for?"

	"I object!" insisted Karen Savage.

	"Your honor, this goes to Mrs. Mulrooney's credibility. I
believe..."

	"Mrs. Mulrooney, please give Mr. Katz your handkerchief," ordered
the judge.

	Katherine looked at the judge for a moment. He nodded for her to
obey. Without looking at him, she held out the handkerchief to Mr. Katz. He
opened it and felt the fabric then walked to the jury box.

	"I think you can clearly see this handkerchief is completely
dry. There were no tears to wipe." He turned around and asked the witness,
"You don't really care what happens to your son, Steve, do you?"

	"Now that's a downright lie. He's my son. Of course I care about
him."

	Katz held the handkerchief over his head and walked back to the
witness box.

	"Mrs. Mulrooney, you said you saw my client pulling up the pants of
your son. When was that?"

	"When I came home one night, you know, after I had to go out an'
Walter come and was baby sittin'. I come back early so he didn't know I was
comin' back so soon."

	"But Mrs. Mulrooney, if I'm not mistaken, the only time you came
back when Mr. Stuyvesant was there with Stevie was late one night, not an
afternoon or evening, and they were both asleep. They'd fallen asleep where
Mr. Stuyvesant had been reading a book to Stevie. Isn't that the truth?"

	"Oh, no. What I said is the truth. I seen him pullin' up Stevie's
pants. That's the truth, an' it wasn't all that late."

	"Really? You told the court that this incident occurred the first
time you asked Walter to baby sit and it was so you could go out and buy
drugs. Is that correct?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Wasn't the first time you called on Walter Stuyvesant to baby sit
the morning of the day you were to make funeral arrangements for your
husband?"

	Katherine appeared to think that over. "Maybe it was. Like I said I
was high a lot and I can confuse things. Maybe that was the first time and
the drugs was the second time."

	"And you went out early after telling Mr. Stuyvesant you'd be back
at five but didn't get back until quite late, so late that they'd fallen
asleep waiting for you?"

	"Just a minute. Let me think." She thought with her lips pinched
inward. "You know, you might be right. The drugs was the second time."

	"So, on the second time, you asked him to come over and got back
quickly and he was still there with Stevie's pants down. Is that right?"

	"That's right."

	"And then there was the time they took you to the police station
for questioning."

	"Unh huh. I asked him to watch Stevie `til I got back an' when I
got back Stevie told me that Walter was playing with his privates again."

	"Thank you, Mrs. Mulrooney.

	"Your honor, I reserve the right to call Mrs. Mulrooney to the
stand again."

	"Why?" asked the judge.

	"There will be other witnesses who might refute what she has had to
say and she might want to explain the differences."

	"Miss Savage?"

	"The prosecution rests, your honor."

	The judge gave Karen a questioning look then turned to Byron Katz.

	"All right, unless you object, Mr. Katz, I suggest we wait until
tomorrow morning for the defense to present its witnesses."

	Byron Katz didn't object. Walter went home on a train. A woman gave
him a dirty look so he changed cars. The hat he wore wasn't sufficient to
hide his identity.

	All evening and a good portion of the night, Walter rehearsed what
he would say in the morning when he was called. That was part of Katz's
strategy, get Walter on the stand right away so they could prep any other
witnesses based on what came out of his mouth. They had an elaborate plan
to portray Walter as a victim of Trimble State who was incapable of sex
with anyone. It solved the lack of women in his life dilemma and made it
impossible for him to have had sex with Steve. And, though he hadn't told
his attorney of the contact and conversations with Steve, he had a story to
explain Steve's indirect statement of admission at the hospital.

	Katz didn't waste any time. "The defense calls Walter Stuyvesant."

	"Let's deal with this control issue first. Did Steve have any
friends and what did he do with them?"

	"Of course he had friends. Most days when we got home, he'd change
out of his school clothes and be off until dinner time. They had some sort
of basketball rivalry of late. Before that it was stickball. He had a
couple of special friends who had Nintendo or something and he'd go to
their apartments and play there or they'd come to our place. Occasionally,
he'd spend the night at Ronnie's house which his mother and I limited to
Fridays and Saturdays because the two of them would play Nintendo or some
of Ronnie's board games and not get their homework done and stay up late."

	"Then, why did you go to school with him each morning and pick him
up each afternoon?"

	"Years ago I did it because of concern about his mother reappearing
and bothering him or worse but eventually, we both found we liked it a
lot. We were out of the house together in the fresh air and we could talk
and just enjoy each other's company. Plenty of times I asked him if he was
embarrassed to have me come by the school every day when very few of the
others had anyone with them but he liked it as much as I did. It just
became a routine we both found very comfortable."

	"And the hand holding? The kisses?"

	"That's Steve. He's just a very affectionate, loving boy. We are
very close, have been since his mother dropped him on me back in
ninety-four. Every once in a while he'll climb onto my lap like he did when
he was four. It's just the way he is."

	"And you don't insist on any of that?"

	"Of course not. I hug him a lot, I suppose, but the rest is
him. Not that I'm protesting. I love him very much. He makes waking up each
day a pleasure. No one could ask for a better son."

	"And the high grades?"

	"His teachers know why he has good grades. He revels in knowing
things, being the one who can answer any question, get the top grades. But
he's got the brains to do it easily. He doesn't spend all that much time on
his homework, an hour and a half, two hours max. He's got his favorite TV
shows. He likes to read. We play board games or sit around and talk.

      "I don't know why his school counselors didn't ask his teachers about
that. Maybe none of this ever would have gotten so far out of hand."

      "What do you mean by that?"

      "The idea that I might be having any kind of sex with him, that I'm
forcing him to achieve, all that control nonsense. The counselor told him
that some of the kids in his class were claiming that he was unhappy about
something, that there was something bothering him. That's ridiculous. No
kid in his class ever would have said that. I'm sure his teachers never
did. They always said the same thing to me, that he got along fine with the
others, that there were no disputes or remarks.

      "Well, a few years ago, his raising his hand first and answering all
the questions did create some hard feelings but his teacher and I spoke to
him about it and he backed off and waited for others to raise their
hands. Then there was the time a couple of years ago when his grades went
down mostly because he felt bad being chosen among the last in
sports. Well, Steve isn't a great athlete but gradually he's learned. I
worked with him on sports. I took him to the gym with me and he built up
his body which impressed some of the kids. He began to be chosen earlier
and, as his teacher predicted, his grades went back up."

      "How many times a week did you take Steve to the gym?"

      "Well, I tried to go three times a week for myself but Steve usually,
for one reason or another, only went twice. Friends always came first."

      "Not several times a week as Miss Franklin claimed?"

      "Occasionally three times but rarely. Usually just two. Sometimes
just once. I'm sure a check with the gym would show that. They keep records
of when we come."

      Katz had him explain exactly what they did at the gym, and if there
were other children there.

      "Some afternoons there were a dozen or so other kids around Steve's
age, even younger, especially using the pool where Steve spent much of his
time."

      "Now, let's talk about your background, where you were born, lived,
and so on as a child."

	Walter told of being an orphan raised in foster homes as far back
as he could remember then being sent to a group home when his last foster
family stopped being one. He briefly described life in the home and the
misery he and most of the others felt being there.

	"Was there any sexual activity going on in the home?"

	"Yes, far more than the staff, particularly the nuns, realized,
even between boys and girls even though they were separated. One boy in our
group when we were eleven and twelve was seeing different girls several
times a week under the stairs behind a door the nuns didn't think we could
open into the girl's side. They finally caught him and beat him
mercilessly. We heard that some of the girls got the same punishment."

	"And boys with boys?"

	"Mr. Katz," interrupted the judge, "where is this going?"

	"Mr. Stuyvesant and I feel this will show that he is incapable of
any sexual activity with Steve Mulrooney."

	The judge looked toward Walter. "And you agree with this?"

	Walter hesitated then said, "Yes, I suppose so."

	The judge leaned forward, put his head in his hand for a moment
then turned back to the defense attorney. "Are you sure your client
understands where this can lead?"

	"We have discussed it, sir."

	The judge sighed and waved him on.

	"What other kinds of sexual activity was going on, between the
boys?"

	"The normal kid stuff, a lot of masturbation at night and in a
couple of places in the woods behind the home. And we had a couple of gay
kids in our group, well, one who was definitely gay and another who might
have been. There were things going on between them and some of the others,
even kids from the thirteen and fourteen year old group down the hall."

	"And you?"

	Walter sighed. "I masturbated with the others and let the gay boys
perform oral sex on me. I was one of three white boys in my group. Most
were Spanish. The two boys liked us better." Walter lowered his head. The
next part was difficult.

	"Go ahead," urged Byron Katz.

	"Well, one day, one of the two gay boys, the one that maybe wasn't,
was in the shower masturbating when I came in. We were the only ones there
so he wanted to do me but he said I had to do him first so I'd know how
neat it was. That's what he said. So I tried it and did it for a minute or
so. Then this other kid came in while I was doing it. He was new. He'd only
been in the home for about a week and didn't know how things were, about
not telling on anybody. He ran off and told a nun what he saw us doing. The
nuns sent me to the psychiatrist that worked at the home and next thing I
knew, they sent me to Trimble State Psychiatric Hospital"

	"How old were you then?"

	"Thirteen."

	"And the other boy?"

	"Eleven."

	"Weren't you a lot bigger than him?"

	"Not really. I didn't start growing until I was almost
fourteen. Puberty didn't start until then either so I was actually about
the same size as him."

	"So what happened at Trimble?"

	"That was the worst time of my life. Their idea of treatment was
what they called aversion therapy which meant they did things to me that
would make me feel terrible whenever I thought about sex. For instance,
they'd put me in this room with a slide projector and show pictures of
naked boys, sometimes having sex and make me take this terrible tasting
drink they called a medicine that made my stomach hurt really
bad. Sometimes they used electric shocks with the pictures. They also would
talk to me and tell me how terrible I was for wanting to have sex with
other boys and they'd do it over and over again."

	"And the plethysmograph?"

	"Oh God, that thing. It was a sleeve they'd put around my penis
that could sense if I was having even the slightest erection. They'd show
the pictures of the boys having sex and then they'd say I was enjoying it
and hit me with electric shocks and that was even after I learned how not
to see the pictures by looking at the cigarette smoke of this one man who
ran the projector instead of at the pictures."

	"Did you find the pictures exciting?"

	"The ones with sex I think did affect me some but I'd seen naked
boys all my life. Even in the foster homes, we saw each other at bath time
and in the group home we showered together. I'm sure what excitement I got
was from the sex, not anything else."

	"Do you like boys sexually, Mr. Stuyvesant?"

	"I don't think so."

	"Men? Are you gay?"

	"I don't really know what I am. When I came out of Trimble after
almost three years of their torture, I wanted nothing to do with my
genitals. I learned to flip myself out to pee and get it back in without
touching it. I bathed using a washcloth. I was terrified of touching myself
there. It's not as bad now but I haven't had any kind of sex since that day
in the shower. I've thought about it many, many times, asking myself what I
like sexually but I honestly cannot say for sure. I've tried a couple of
relationships with women but I was just too afraid of not knowing what to
do, worse, not being able to do anything so neither of them went very
far. I do wonder every once in a while if it is men I would be attracted to
if I were able to do anything but I don't think so but, I really don't
know.

      "The one thing I can absolutely guarantee you is that I've never had
sex with nor could I have sex with Steve. In the first place, he's like a
son to me, very much like a son. I can't imagine thinking of him in any way
sexual. He's, he's my son. I love him as that, a son. I love to watch him
grow, learn, develop into what he has become. I think only a father can
understand what I feel about him. I find it hard to believe a father who
really loves his son, even if his orientation is toward boys, could have
any sexual desires toward his son."

      Walter closed his eyes. It had come out as he'd rehearsed it. Even
though he had been having a sexual relationship with Steve, he believed
most of what he'd said.

      Katz asked, "So you have never had any sex with Steve Mulrooney?"

      "Never."

	"Let's go back to 1993. Tell us what happened from the beginning
with the death of Steve's father and why you became involved with his son."

	Walter related how Steve Mulroney had stumbled into the restaurant
and, as he was near death, begged him both there and in the ambulance to
protect his son. He told of going with the police to the Mulrooney
apartment and hearing what was said there then about returning the next day
to leave his business card with a promise to help if needed.

      "Mrs. Mulrooney claims that after leaving you to baby sit her son she
came back early and found you with Steve's pants down. Is that accurate?"

	"No. She called me early the day after the murder and asked if I'd
watch Steve while she went out to arrange her husband's funeral. I got
there around nine and she went out saying she was gonna be back by five. I
took Steve to a McDonald's for breakfast then to a children's park then to
Central Park and the Lake. We ate at some restaurant in the afternoon but
we were back at the house by five. I'd bought a bunch of groceries because
she didn't leave any food for Steve to eat. Eventually, Steve was hungry
again so I heated up a pizza. I remember telling him a story while we were
eating but it must have been boring because Steve fell asleep before he
could finish his pizza. We were sitting on the floor leaning against his
bed I think and he was leaning against me and I didn't want to wake him
up. We'd had a long probably exciting day for him. After a while, I fell
asleep too. I don't remember what time Katherine came back but we were
still asleep when she came in. The police had the house under surveillance
so they'll know what time she came in."

	"And the next time you saw Steve?"

      "I went out of town for a day and when I got back, I found Lieutenant
Garretson's card on the floor just inside my door. He's a lieutenant now
but he was a sergeant back then. On the card he said he needed to talk to
me. When I called him, he was busy or something and said he'd call
back. Then, Katherine called me and asked me to come take Steve out for a
while because he was sad from the funeral. I waited for Sergeant Garretson
to call and he told me to wait for him. A boy friend of Katherine had
turned up dead, killed the same way as her husband.

      "Wait, I forgot something. The day before, police came and asked me
to plant a bug in the Mulrooney apartment, in their telephone. They had an
authorization from a judge but I didn't really want to get that involved.

      "So, that was a Saturday, I think. The police went with me and they
told me to take Steve out for the day. Later, Katherine called from the
police station and asked me to keep Steve for the night.

      "The next day, the police came by the house and pressured me about
the bug they wanted to have planted in Katherine's telephone. I finally
agreed and went to Katherine's apartment. There was a man there with
her. They were on their way out. She said they were going to her mother's
and I could keep Steve another night if I wanted. Each time she said that,
I asked Steve what he wanted and he said he wanted to sleep at my place. He
had a nice bed in my guest room. Anyway, I stayed at Katherine's for a
while and when Steve took a nap, I put in the bug the police wanted.

      "Monday morning, I had an appointment with a customer so I had to
take Steve back to his mother. When I got to her apartment, she opened the
door looking all sleepy, Steve walked inside and that was that. It was the
last time I would see him until almost a year later.

      "Just before Holy Week, Katherine called and said Steve missed me and
wanted to come see me, spend the night. I'd pretty much figured Katherine
and her boy friend were taking care of Steve and never expected to see him
or her again so it was quite a surprise. Since I knew the police sergeant
had told me they were looking for her, I asked where she was living, so I
could come pick up Steve but she said no, she was in Brooklyn and would
bring him over.

      "When she did, he had an overnight bag. She was dressed in nice
clothes and looked a lot better than the last time I'd seen her. I figured
she was off drugs. I had her sign a letter I'd had a lawyer make up the
year before when I thought Steve would be coming over often. The letter
authorized Steve to be in my house overnight and gave me authorization to
sign at a hospital if it was necessary. She signed and left a phone number
and said she'd come by for Steve around nine the next day. Inside his
overnight bag were a couple sets of clothes and his birth certificate. I
called Sergeant Garretson so he'd know what happened and that Steve was
with me.

      The next day, Katherine didn't come. That afternoon, Steve had an
epileptic seizure. I called an ambulance. At the hospital, I called the
number Katherine wrote down but it wasn't hers so I called Sergeant
Garretson and he came over. We were sent to a neurologist there at the
hospital. He found bruises all over Steve, including a number on his
head. Steve told us that his mother and the man she was with, Willy
Pirelli, had beaten him repeatedly, a couple of times knocking him out. The
doctor made out a report which he gave to Sergeant Garretson,

      "A couple of weeks later, Sergeant Garretson took me to a man at the
Bureau of Child Welfare and he made me Steve's foster father and told me
that if Katherine Mulroney called, I was to have her call him and not allow
her near her son."

      When asked if a social worker had called him to arrange a meeting,
"Nobody ever called me, never, not even after Steve was kidnapped. When he
had an epilectic attack a couple of years later, I called them and reported
it. That was the only contact."

      Atty. Katz took Walter over the kinds of things he and Steve did
together and how he placed the boy in a day care center. They told about
the police investigation into Katherine and the others in Queens and how
that prevented charges being placed against Katherine and Willy Pirelli for
child abuse.

      Then, he told about the June second 1995 call from Katherine in which
he told her that she had to call the worker at the Bureau of Child Welfare
before seeing Steve. "She became very angry and accused me of telling the
child welfare worker things about her. Finally, she said she was coming for
her son and hung up.

      "I called Sergeant Garretson and he sent a car for the two of us." He
told of staying in a hotel, taking a trip then of moving with police help
to upper Manhattan where he currently lived. Shortly after Steve started
kindergarten in a nearby school, there were the raids and arrests in
Queens. A day later, Steve was kidnapped and Walter nearly killed by Willy
Pirelli. Then there was the reappearance of Steve in Utah and his return to
New York where he was instrumental in Walter's recovery over the next three
months. Walter knew nothing of why Katherine had given up her son.

      Katz had Walter tell the jury most of the history of his and Steve's
life together right up to his arrest including what had happened when
Steve's school counselor made her hardly veiled accusations and insisted on
the test Steve didn't want to take. Walter told of Steve's anguish over
what they had said and were demanding of him.

      It was approaching twelve o'clock so the judge put the rest off until
after lunch..
























      Chapter 20


      Walter walked to his regular lunch spot four blocks up from the
courthouse. He had no idea how he'd done since he'd spoken to his lawyer,
not to the jurors. He wondered if that had been a mistake. Worse, he
wondered if bringing up his childhood problems and their result would
backfire on him as the judge seemed to suspect.

      Moments after sitting down, a tall man in an expensive looking
overcoat approached and offered his business card. "Mr. Stuyvesant, my name
is Rafael Franco. I'm an attorney. I've been following your trial with some
interest. I'm afraid to say, I don't think your attorney is representing
you well. I'd like to help. It'll be pro bono, won't cost you a dime. Mind
if I sit down?"

      Walter was nonplussed. He'd never seen the man before nor heard of
him. Nonetheless, concerned the man was right, that his defense was not
being handled very well, he asked, "Why are you interested?"

      "In the first place, legally speaking, I'm convinced you are not
guilty. I don't think this case ever should have gone to trial. No good
attorney would have allowed you to mention in any way that business that
put you in Trimble State or that you ever were in Trimble State. Right now,
I guarantee you the prosecution has someone there digging up your records,
probably at the children's home too. I'll bet they'll try to find that kid
you were with in the shower. The Mulrooney woman was lying every time she
opened her mouth. She should have been destroyed as a witness. Steve's
completely illegal and immoral imprisonment has hardly been touched on. And
those counselors and psychologists, they went way overboard in what they
did. You win this case and you can sue the school system back to chalk
balls and tablets, the city too."

      Walter said, "Could you give me a minute, I've got to make call
before it's too late."

      Attorney Franco smiled.

      Walter called Tom Garretson. "You ever hear of a lawyer named Rafael
Franco?"

      "Of course. Haven't you?"

      "No but he's sitting at my table telling me my lawyer sucks and he'll
help."

      "Forget that, Walter. He's very big money. You can't..."

      "For free!"

      There was silence for a moment. "I'm on my way. Where are you?"

      He told him.

      Back at the table, Franco asked, "I check out okay?"

      Walter smiled. "Yes. So what do I do now?"

      "I'd suggest you fire Katz and ask the judge to let me represent
you?"

      Walter shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand why you want to
get involved."

      "Let's just say that there are those of us who are very angry about
what is happening to you. I can't go into it, but this is a lot bigger than
you realize. There are powerful people who want very much for you to be
convicted for reasons that have nothing to do with whether you did or did
not abuse Steve Mulrooney."

      "Like a City Councilman?"

      Franco grinned again. "No comment."

      "Is this a political vendetta you're on?"

      "Not really. My interest is that justice actually gets served in your
case. Outside of that, I'm not going to get involved nor do I think you
should either.

      "Now, I have to tell you, after that debacle this morning about
Trimble State, I'm not sure we can win this time but there is at least one
issue on which we can mount a successful appeal so a loss this time isn't
the end of the world. I don't know that the judge will allow you to be free
pending this appeal but he should. What do you say?"

      "A policeman friend is on the way. Let's wait for him and then
decide. He will be one of my witnesses."

      "Lieutenant Garretson?"

      Lieutenant Tom Garretson walked swiftly in twenty-five minutes
later. The lawyer knew him.

      "Well, Lieutenant. I believe I cross examined you rather brusquely a
few years back."

      "Yes, you did, counselor, but I've gotten over it."

      "But you'd still like to know why I'm here?"

      "Walter, do you mind if I speak to Mr. Franco alone for a few
minutes. There are things you would be much better off not knowing."

      Walter assumed, somewhat correctly, that it had to do with political
figures involved in his situation. He went to the bar and annoyed the
bartender with a request for a glass of water.

      Garretson asked, "What is Michael Santoni's interest in this case?"

      "I wouldn't know, Lieutenant. What is yours?"

      "Walter and I are friends. Look, we both know what's going on here. I
don't see why Santoni would want to be involved."

      "Michael Santoni is hardly my only customer. And, you're not giving
me any credit for wanting to see justice served when it is being so
completely disserved in this case. Your friend is being sacrificed to save
the butts of a bunch of corrupt government officials including a number of
high ranking police officers. That bothers me as much as you seeing your
friend get screwed. So, let's get past the past and work together on this."

      Garretson said, "Don't get me wrong, I am very happy you're here,
very happy. With all the questionable motives floating around, I don't give
a shit why you are here as long as it isn't going to hurt Walter. Do you
know if the judge is bought?"

      "Pressured is the word. Paulson is a political creature with
political debts but he does have his standards. Had there been no pressure,
I doubt he'd have allowed this case to go as far as it has. The mother is
lying. The boy is hidden away somewhere. Katz should have insisted on his
presence right from the start. I certainly will today. Paulson, under
normal circumstances, would have insisted on the boy himself.

      "Another thing, your friend has been very badly counseled. He needs
to keep his mouth shut and let me take it from here. You do agree with
that?"

      "Yes. All right. So how do we get rid of Katz?"

      "Let me handle that."

      Garretson smiled.

      Franco smiled back. "No, it won't be the East River. I'll talk to
him."


      Byron Katz was surprised when Rafael Franco approached him in the
hallway outside the courtroom.

      Franco didn't waste any time. "Mr. Katz, your services are no longer
needed or desired. I'm sure you can guess why so please bow out gracefully
so the bar association doesn't have to hear about this from me."

      Katz stared at him for a moment then, "You're out of your mind. I've
done ..."

      "Harold Turtan?"

      "You son of a ...Fuck you and Santoni. I want to talk to Stuyvesant."

      "He's right over there with Police Lieutenant Garretson. I believe he
knows your employer, very well."

      Katz turned. Garretson waved goodbye at him. Walter shook his head in
disgust.

      "I believe your client has fired you."

      Katz pushed past Franco and walked angrily away from them all.

      Inside the courtroom, Walter stood to speak to the judge who was
looking quizzically at Rafael Franco. "Your honor, I have fired Mr. Katz as
my attorney. I don't believe he was counseling or representing me
properly. I wish that Mr. Rafael Franco be my new defense attorney." It was
word for word as he'd been taught in the restaurant.

      The judge said, "I'm not surprised and I am surprised. Have you hired
Mr. Franco as in paying him his normal fee?"

      Franco answered. "No, your honor. This is pro bono. Since hearing
some stories about how the defense was being handled, I have kept up with
this proceeding and found myself appalled at the inadequacy of the defense
probably as much as you, sir. I offered my service to Mr. Stuyvesant and he
accepted them."

      "And Mr. Katz?"

      "He is still alive and well, just a bit put out with me."

      The judge chuckled. "At least it was handled bloodlessly. I assume
you'd like a recess to spend time with you new client?"

      "Of course, sir but I also have some other requests foremost of which
is the appearance to testify of Steve Mulrooney."

      "I see no problem with that. Miss Savage, do you have any
objections?"

      Karen Savage, who was already standing, said, "Yes, your honor, I
object to that and the sudden presence of Mr. Franco. May we discuss this
in chambers?"

      The judge opened his hands in acquiescence and left the bench.

      In the judge's office, Karen Savage addressed Rafael Franco
angrily. "What is going on here, Mr. Franco?"

      "Miss Savage, even I am capable of good deeds. You know very well
that Byron Katz was handing Mr. Stuyvesant over to you on a silver
platter. What competent attorney would have allowed that Trimble State
business to enter the court record? As a lawyer, I was embarrassed by what
his handling of this case and I hope you were too."

      "Fine and good but why you and not one of your associates? We all
know who your regular client is."

      The judge gave Franco a curious look.

      "Because, after the Trimble State business, Mr. Stuyvesant's
situation is sufficiently precarious that I decided to handle this
myself. I assume you will be bringing in additional witnesses, right?"

      "Of course. Unless you want to enter a plea. At this point, I'd be
open to a reduced sentence."

      "That is not what we are looking for. Mr. Stuyvesant is not guilty as
charged and you know it."

      "That's for the courtroom," interjected the judge. "What is your
objection to the appearance of the Mulroney boy, Miss Savage?"

      "Your honor, that child has been through enough and I admit some of
what he has suffered shouldn't have happened but enough is enough. We have
his taped statement. He can't deny making it so what is he going to
contribute?"

      Franco answered, "That his statement was misinterpreted? That he was
speaking of something different than Mr. Stuyvesant abusing him?"

      "Oh, come on. What else could it have meant. I assume you heard what
the policeman said. Steven was crushed by the supposed betrayal. He
fainted, for Pete's sake."

      "I still think we need to hear what the boy has to say. I could
be..."

      "Miss Savage," interrupted the judge, "Why don't you let me hear what
Steven has to say. When can you have him in my office?"

      Karen Savage took a breath. "It might take a few days, your
honor. He's in Idaho."

      "Idaho? Why in the world... Never mind." He tapped a pencil on his
knuckles. "All right. I want him here by nine on Friday."

      Miss Savage looked at the judge.

      "There are airplanes, Miss Savage. I assume he's in a privately run
institution and that someone here arranged everything. Have them arrange to
get him back, today."

      Franco requested that a few other witnesses including the social
worker James Flowers testified that Walter had refused to see.

      Walter and Tom Garretson spent over two hours that afternoon planning
strategy with Rafael Franco. Garretson had taken two days off but had to be
at work on Friday, a day he really wanted to be present in court in case
Steve testified. Walter's new attorney explained that the Lieutenant would
probably be putting his future in the police department at risk by being a
voluntary witness for Walter. So, he was going to subpoena him along with
the officer who was his partner back in 1993 as well as a former paramedic
named Martin Scialetti and Bill Farrington, the restaurant manager, both of
whom witnessed Steve's father's request that Walter protect his child. He
contacted a Columbia University psychiatrist to refute the testimony of the
prosecution's three mental health professionals. The doctor said he would
come but would only be available Thursday afternoon between two and four

      "One of my associates is writing up a request that Steve's fifth and
sixth grade teachers testify but I'm going to speak to them first to be
sure they will be helpful. Do you know of any parents of Steve's friends
who might be willing to testify as to their children's friendship with
Steve and how Steve behaved around them?"

      Walter said, "It might be better if your associates spoke to them
too. I doubt I'm very popular right now."

      Before parting, he again warned that much damage had been done to his
case so he could not promise a win, just that there were presently grounds
for appeal and he would do so immediately if the jury convicted him.


      		------------------------------------------


      State Senator Albright was both furious and worried. "Santoni knows
about that book," he said to Harold Albright again that night in Battery
Park. "He knows about Katherine's deal with us. Why else would he sick
Franco on us. How the hell did this happen?"

      "Maybe Willy found out and told his brother. I know as much as
you. Katz is an idiot. He was doing fine before that idiot move this
morning. Pizzazz my fucking ass. He's not getting a dime."

      "Forget Katz. What about the judge?"

      "He let Katz do it, didn't he? Don't worry about him."

      "And the two jurors? Is there any way Santoni could know about them?"

      "He's got to figure we have somebody in there but he'll play hell
finding out who they are. There is a connection back to us with one, but it
will be difficult to find. Anyway, if he finds one, he'll figure that's it
and the other one is the more persuasive. Christ, he used to sell used cars
and now sells insurance. Couldn't ask for more than that."

      "Now, about the kid. What are we doing to stall his arrival? We need
to keep him away long enough for the judge to legitimately say he has to
move on and get the case to the jury. I'd say if we can keep him away until
Wednesday, that'll do it."

      "Right now, best I know, it's tied up in Human Resources
somewhere. They haven't even contacted Livingston yet much less arranged
for transportation. Approval for the plane ticket payment can take a couple
of days. Then, someone has to buy it. Somebody has to be assigned to go get
the kid, then bring him back. I don't think we'll have any trouble holding
it up that long."


      		--------------------------------------------------


      Leader Flemming had a plan. According to the news, the trial of
Walter Stuyvesant was due to be over that week. He'd gone home the previous
Friday and Saturday and found the documents he needed to identify Steve as
his brother and get him into a school in Birmingham, Alabama, the city he'd
chosen for them to run to. Flemming had bought two sets of clothes for
Steve to use when he took off Sunday as was his plan. He'd informed the
director he would be resigning the following week due to a heavy academic
load. The next step was to convince Steve that going with him was his best
and happiest option.

      The Sunday before he'd made love to him, not just had sex. Steve
allowed some of the kissing and seemed to listen when Flemming said he
loved him. That afternoon in the gym, he'd received a smile back to his
that led him to believe Steve was genuinely beginning to like him.


      		-----------------------------------------


      Thursday morning after explaining the defense attorney change to the
jury, Rafael Franco asked to continue the defense examination of
Walter. The judge told him to go ahead.

      "Mr. Stuyvesant, a couple of things. You said were still physically
prepubescent at age thirteen. Is that correct?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "How much bigger were you than the other boy in the shower the day
the two of you had sex?"

      "I don't remember exactly but about the same size. I was one of the
smaller kids in my group."

	"And why did you fellate that boy?"

	"I wanted him to do me. He said he wouldn't unless I did him
first. So, since there wasn't anybody else around, I did it."

	"You were one horny boy, huh.?"

	"We all were."

	"Does that mean others would have done the same thing as you in
order to be, uh, serviced?"

	"Some. I know one kid who did it for money."

	"You guys had money in there?"

	"Sure, some parents gave their kids something to spend at school
and when there wasn't enough milk or something. Sometimes the nuns gave us
money to buy at school."

	"So other kids at the home fellated one another for money or to be
fellated themselves."

	"Yes."

	"Now, at Trimble State, you said they applied electric shock to
you. Would you please describe to the jury exactly how it was done."

	"All right, well, first they strapped me down in this big wooden
chair, ankles, wrist, chest, and waist, and my head. I tried to fight them
a few times but there were always three of them. Then they put this strap
thing on my head. They connected wires to each side that went back to this
box with controls. They put a rubber thing between my teeth so I wouldn't
break them or bite my tongue off when they turned the thing on."

	Walter took a breath before continuing. "Then, they showed pictures
of boys usually having sex when they used the electric shock and talk about
what they were doing. After a few pictures, they'd turn on the electricity
for a few seconds. I never knew how long it really was. It felt like my
body was going to explode or something, stinging and hurting at the same
time. Sometimes I passed out. Afterward, I wasn't sure who I was or
where. Sometimes it took the rest of the day to get myself back
together. It was terrible."

	He had to calm himself down. "I was the only kid my age they were
doing that to. The only others I heard about were adults or older
teenagers. I found out years later that it was completely illegal but they
must have figured that since I didn't have a family, nobody would know. I
think I was a guinea pig."

	"How often did they do that to you?"

	"Oh, ten or twelve times that first year, then less, maybe half as
many times after and not always on my head, sometimes they'd hook up my
thighs or my arms."

	"Five or six times each of the two years after that?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Did they use the pleysmograph during those sessions?"

	"Not until I was almost fifteen because I was too small for the
sleeve."

	"You were still prepubescent and your penis was too small for them
to attach the device to it?"

	"Yes."

	"When they started using it, what then?"

	"It told them if I was becoming sexually excited by the pictures
but I knew from the other kids what it did so that's when I taught myself
to look at the smoke from the projectionist's cigarettes instead of the
pictures and to think of other things like the sound of the projector so I
wouldn't hear what they were saying but it didn't matter. They always
turned on the electricity anyhow."

	"What were they saying?"

	"They described what they boys were doing and how much they were
enjoying it."

	"Did they do that when you were thirteen too?"

	"Yes, whenever they showed the pictures."

	"And the stuff they called medicine?"

	"I don't know what that was. It was in a little cup. There was
always an orderly behind me who would pin me to the chair and pull my head
back. The other one would squeeze my cheeks until I opened up. I still have
scrapes on the inside of my cheeks from that. It had a bad flavor but you
forgot that quick when the pain hit your stomach and intestines. It was
really bad for a few hours until it passed and you could get rid of it in a
toilet. But the pain could last two or three days. It was worse if I ate
anything so I didn't eat much after they gave me that stuff."

	"Do you know what it was called?"

	`It was always in one of those little cups. I never saw what they
poured it out of."

	"And they did this to you when you were still a little boy even
though thirteen?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"How many times did they do this when you were thirteen?"

	"That's hard to say. Not that many times the first years, maybe
three or four, no, less. The second year they did more and the last even
more, maybe a dozen times."

	"And the pictures they showed you. They were of boys and girls,
women?"

      "No, just boys."

      "How old?"

      "Like me, a little younger."

      "Not older? Adolescents?"

      "No, sir, just prepubescent, little kids."

      "Did they ask you how you felt sexually about girls?"

      "Maybe, but if they did, it was only once or twice. They were always
talking about little boys. They always said it that way, little boys or
innocent little boys."

      "When you were in therapy, what did they talk about?"

      "Mostly about what a bad person I was, filthy, perverted. Very rarely
anything positive. I was supposed to always remember what a terrible person
I was and how I was a destroyer of little children and had to be kept away
from them or they'd lock me up forever to protect the innocent little
boys."

      "Do you remember the names of any of the doctors there?"

      "Sure. Dr. Baumgartner, Dr. Sires, and Dr. Martinez. He was the
worst."

      "Why do you say that?"

      "He was the one who was always saying I wasn't ready to be in public
and needed more treatment even after I already hated my penis and the very
thought of sex. I think he was the one who said when I was to get the
electric shock and the medicine."

      "How old would you say he was?"

      "I thought he was old when I was there but I'd guess he was in his
thirties."

      "And Dr. Baumgartner?"

      "He was a mean one to. He administered the electric shock. I think he
really enjoyed it."

      "Why do you say that?"

      "I suppose it was the look on his face. He'd always look at me just
before he hit the switch, you know, kind of curious, just that."

      "And Dr. Sires?"

      "I don't know. He was just sort of there most of the time. Some of
the kids liked him. He gave me the hate myself business a few times but it
was like he was reading it off a paper or something. At least he didn't
seem to enjoy it like the other two."

      "And why did they let you go?"

      "Because I was sixteen and their program was for up to sixteen year
olds."

      "All yours, Miss Savage."

      Walter waited nervously for the first question,

      "Good morning, Mr. Stuyvesant."

      "Good morning, Miss Savage."

      "Why do you think the group home where you were living at the time of
the shower incident sent you to Trimble and not anyone else?"

      "Because I was the one doing something at the time and not the other
boy."

      "You just told us that many others were doing the same sort of
thing. How come they picked you out of the rest to send to a mental
facility?"

      "They didn't know about the rest, or hadn't caught anybody yet,
except the boy who was doing the girls under the stairs."

      "But you said it was going on a lot. How was it that you were the
only one caught?"

      "I just told you. The boy who told the nuns was a new kid who hadn't
been involved in any of that yet and didn't know to keep quiet. He didn't
know yet others were doing it."

      "And then he never heard them talking about anyone else after that?"

      "I don't know. I wasn't there any more but I'd guess the kids learned
not to talk around him. Or he learned not to say anything."

      "But when they were talking about you, didn't they mention why you
fellated the other boy, because, according to you, so he'd fellate you?"

      "I have no idea. I wasn't there when they were talking."

      "But, Mr. Stuyvesant, it is hard for me to believe..."

      "Objection, your honor," interrupted Franco, "Miss Savage is just
repeating a question the Mr. Stuyvesant has already answered."

      "Withdrawn," said Miss Savage. "Mr. Stuyvesant, did you fellate other
boys there, for any reason?"

      "No, ma'am. The was the first and only time, in my life."

      "In your life?"

      "You never fellated another boy in another home?"

      "Objection!" injected Rafael Franco forcefully.

      "Miss Savage," said the judge, "you know the rules."

      "May I answer that, your honor?"

      "No, you may not, Mr. Stuyvesant. Pay attention to your lawyer."

      The prosecutor continued. "Mr. Stuyvesant, why did Steve Mulrooney
routinely kiss you on the cheek on meeting you after school?"

      "Usually. He's a very affectionate boy and he loves me, as I do him."

      "But didn't you find that strange. No other boys were kissing their
parents in front of the rest of the student body. In fact, no other parents
were picking up sixth graders after school or bringing them in the
morning."

      "Miss Savage. Steve didn't receive any guff from his classmates about
that or I'd have heard about it so he had no reason to think it was
inappropriate. Another thing, I was hardly the only parent picking up his
child after school. I was the only father because the rest probably had
jobs that didn't allow them that opportunity but there were plenty of
mothers including those of sixth graders. I got to know a several over the
years."

      "According to Mrs. Tyler Jones, you were the only one she saw and she
watched a number of times."

      "Mrs. Tyler was in seventh grade. The one who was doing the watching
was Mrs. King, the fifth and six grade counselor. She was mistaken. If you
go up there this afternoon, you will find parents picking up fifth and
sixth grade students."

      "Accepting that, which I don't, why did you continue doing so in the
seventh grade?"

      "Because we both enjoyed the walks. Sometimes, when Steve didn't have
something else to do like basketball, we didn't go straight home but went
off somewhere else for a while like the Cloisters or a museum, the
library."

      She hammered away on the control issue for over half an hour stopped
often by objections from Mr. Franco. Finally, she turned to a new topic."
Why do you think Steve's mother insists that he told her you were touching
his private parts?"

      "I have no idea but she is lying. The only time she came to apartment
when Steve and I were inside was the day she was supposed to be arranging
the funeral. That was late at night. The police have a surveillance record
to prove that."

      "And you didn't have his pants down when she came in?"

      "We were both asleep, completely clothed."

      "But, you did take his clothes off and bathe him the next time he was
with you?"

      "Yes, using a washcloth to avoid actually touching his middle that
time he spent two nights with me when he was three but that would have been
the extent of it. I know I did when he was four. You have no idea how
paranoid I was about that sort of thing."

      "Paranoid? Why paranoid?"

      "Miss Savage, people were being arrested for things that in the end
didn't happen in nursery schools and there I was alone in my apartment with
a nursery school age boy. Who wouldn't have been paranoid? And, remember, I
was already very hung up about anything sexual."

      "If you were so worried, why did you accept him into your home? Why
didn't you just tell his mother no?"

      "I made a promise to a dying man that I'd protect his child. That's
not something anyone can take lightly then the police asked me to do it. It
was very hard to say no."

      And so it went for another half hour as though she had allotted
thirty minute time slots to each issue. The next was: "What do you think
Steve was talking about, screaming about, when he said you promised not to
tell?"

      "That was probably something that I am not going to discuss. I think
I know what it is but it is something I promised him I would never mention
and I won't do it now."

      "Is it something sexual? Under the circumstances, it almost has to
be."

      "Your honor," said Rafael Franco.

      "I think that's a fair question, Mr. Franco." He looked toward
Walter.

      "It has nothing to do with the charges against me so I will not
answer that in any way."

      "Is that a Fifth Amendment..."

      "Your honor!" said Rafael Franco.

      "I think Mr. Stuyvesant needs to be more forthcoming than he's
being."

      Rafael Franco said, "Your honor, Steve Mulroney is due to be in your
office tomorrow. Why don't we give him his due respect and put this to him
first? The promise was made to him by his lawful guardian. That's a fairly
sacred thing."

      "Your honor," said Miss Savage, "this is a legitimate question to a
defendant under oath. The scenario under which the boy made his remarks
clearly indicates it has something to do with the matter in front of the
court."

      "I agree with Miss Savage but I will wait until tomorrow and discuss
it with Steven Mulrooney. Let's move onto something else for now, Miss
Savage."

      Walter said, "Your honor, his name is Steve, on his birth
certificate. He hates Steven."

      "So noted, Mr. Stuyvesant. Miss Savage?"

      "So your honor is saying that I will be allowed to put Mr. Stuyvesant
back on the stand after you've spoken to Steve Mulroney?"

      "Yes, that is correct. And, Miss Savage, how is the matter of
transport coming along?"

      "It's been handed over the Bureau of Child Services. I assume they
understand the urgency."

      "Please check on that, will you, and let me know?"

      "Yes, sir. Mr. Franco can call his next witness. I've nothing more
for Mr. Stuyvesant at this time."

















      Chapter 21


      Bill Farrington was called. He told of Steve, Sr.'s request that
Walter look after his son's welfare.

      The prosecutor had no questions of him or the former paramedic that
followed.

      They broke for lunch.

      Before the jury was brought back in, the judge asked Karen Savage
about Steve Mulroney's whereabouts.

      "A Miss Burnside told me they are processing the funds to buy the air
plane ticket. She didn't know if anyone had contacted the home. She said
that wasn't her department. Someone in my office is tracking down the
person whose job it is. I hope to have an answer for you by the end of the
day."

      "Please be sure you do.

      "Bailiff, the jury."

      Dr. Charles Kohlerman took the stand at two. Rafael Franco's first
goal was to refute the prosecutor's stand that taking one's foster son by
the hand and accepting a kiss from him was a sign of control.

      "It could be but I hardly think so in this case. These two apparently
love each other very much. Neither has any other family. Each of them is
all the other has. That's a very powerful bond all by itself."

      Regarding the Stockholm Syndrome statements by Dr. Perlman, Kohlerman
said, among other things, "One would expect those affected by something
like the Stockholm Syndrome to show some symptoms of the underlying
stress. The boy in question, from all that I've learned, was an excellent,
well behaved student. He had friends in and out of school, often left his
house to play with others, and generally seemed quite normal and well
adjusted. That hardly sounds like someone who has accepted the complete,
originally unwanted control of someone then bonded to them out of
desperation."

      The defense attorney asked him if Walter could have been so
traumatized by what happened at Trimble State that he wouldn't want to have
sex with anyone.

      "Absolutely. I've read the transcript of what he said and he
describes electric shock and chemical aversion treatments much too well not
to have experienced them. So, if, in fact, he did experience them, as I
suspect he did, then I can't imagine he wouldn't have had such a long term
reaction."

      "Could testing such as was done by the two psychologists who examined
Walter prove a person to be attracted sexually to children?"

      "Rubbish. There is no test yet devised by man that can accurately
determine what a person's sexual orientation is."

      He was on the stand for an hour and a half, showing nothing but
disdain, although occasionally apologetically, for the conclusions of the
psychologists. When asked on cross why the other psychiatrist felt the
reports were in fact accurate, he replied, "I can only say the majority of
us think otherwise."

      Lieutenant Garretson was up next but the judge called it a day. The
moment the jury was out of the room, he turned to the prosecutor, "I assume
Steven Mulrooney is on his way?"

      She answered sheepishly, "No sir, he unfortunately is not. BCS is
having difficulty finding the funds for the plane ticket. Mrs. Burnside
says there is no account for this sort of thing and..."

      "Miss Savage, they found the money to send him out there. They can
tap the same account to bring him back. I want him here tomorrow."

      "Your honor, please be a little more patient. We're dealing with a
huge bureaucracy and there are two branches that must come together to have
this happen."

      "Miss Savage, your office has a miscellaneous account of some
kind. Buy the ticket. Send one of your people. Get that boy back here
tomorrow."

      "Your honor, we don't have the jurisdiction to do that. The boy is
under the charge of BCS. They have to do this."

      The judge stared at the courtroom ceiling then back down. "All
right. When is it that they expect to have him here?"

      "They don't know, sir."

      "Chambers, Miss Savage. You can come along to if you'd like
Mr. Franco."

      They called the Bureau of Child Services. The judge spoke to five
different people. Everyone was working on their particular task. A
supervisor assured him the boy would be in New York by Tuesday, Wednesday
at the latest."

      "He is due to testify tomorrow," said the judge.

      "I'm sorry sir, that's not going to be possible. If we can free the
funds tomorrow, a check must be cut. That takes at least a day, sometimes
two. And someone has to be found who will make the trip. That requires
funds for their food and lodging, another check from a different account in
a different office, and, of course, overtime, but that can be done
later. Then we must buy the ticket and there's a process to that that can
take another day and don't forget the weekend."

      "What if the District Attorney's office supplies the tickets and
someone to go for the boy?"

      "I don't know, sir. I'll have to check with my superior to see if
that's allowable."

      And so it went. The judge was very angry by the time he hung up.



      In the morning, Tom Garretson was called to the stand. He told the
story of his meeting in the restaurant with Walter Stuyvesant and the dying
Steve Mulrooney, Walter's trip to the hospital in the ambulance, their
hearing that the stabbed man had died and the visit to the Mulrooney
apartment.

      "Mr. Stuyvesant thought Mulrooney had a baby. He was committed to do
what he could to keep his promise to a dying man. I was impressed. You
don't meet many genuine Good Samaritans in your life, particularly as a
cop. After seeing what the mother was like and his continued dedication to
help, I called him the Ultimate Good Samaritan and he's proven himself to
be that ever since."

      When asked how many times Walter had had Steve with him when the boy
was three, Walter answered, "Twice. The first time when his mother called
up and said she had to go arrange the funeral and came home late and the
time we asked him to take the Steve while we questioned his mother. He
ended up taking him for two days and nights mainly because we asked him to
so he could plant a bug we had a warrant for in the woman's telephone then
that last night because she went off with this guy she later had killed."

      "Just twice?"

      "Yes. She split a couple of days later. We didn't know for sure where
she was for almost a year. Then she called him up just before Holy Week and
asked Walter to take the boy overnight and disappeared again." With
Franco's guidance, Garretson described the events that led up to Steve's
kidnapping and Walter's near death at the hands of Willy Pirelli. He didn't
tell of his part in getting the boy back home but was emotional at how
Steve's presence was able to bring his foster father back from the
precipice of death.

      "The doctors really didn't believe he would live. His liver was all
but destroyed, a kidney and a lung were badly damaged and not working. He
was a mess. I'll never forget when Stevie lay beside him and all the
sudden, Walter's hand came up and touched him. I cried like a baby. Anybody
doesn't think those two love each other is crazy. I love my kids but I
don't think I could possibly love `em as much as Walter loves that boy, or
Steve loves him."

      The defense attorney led Garretson to tell how his relationship with
Walter developed over the years including the Christmases together and how
Steve got along well with his three kids.

      "Would you say that Walter Stuyvesant was over controlling Steve?"

      "Chr, sorry, no. If anyone was in charge a lot of the time, it was
Steve. He wanted something, Walter got it for him. To his credit, Steve
didn't ask for very much and with the schoolwork he was turning in, it was
hard to say no when he did."

      "Why do you think Steve did so well in school?"

      "That kid loves to be the smartest one around. I got a son two years
older than him. He does pretty good in school except math. When Steve is at
our house, he teaches him and loves it. He shows me every report card and
tries to make sure my kids see `em too."

      "Have you ever seen any indication that Steve is afraid of Walter?"

      Garretson chuckled. "Never."

      "Any signs that might indicate Steve had something to hide, like the
sexual abuse the prosecution is charging?"

      "Nah. Those two are much too happy together for there to be anything
straining their father son relationship. It's like that walking to and from
school business. That's just them. If you knew them as I do, you'd expect
that, not wonder about it. It's just the way those two are together."

      Ex-policeman Willy Williams testified next. He'd been part of the
surveillance team that had been watching the Mulrooney apartment after
Steve Mulrooney's murder. He testified about the two times that Walter had
taken Steve.

      "What time did Katherine Mulroney leave then come home the Friday
after the murder when Walter Stuyvesant was inside her apartment with
Steve?"

      "She left around nine in the AM. That's what the day team told me. I
saw her come back at ten forty that night?"

      "So she was away over thirteen and a half hours."

      "Yes, sir."

      Tom Garretson's former partner was to testify but on vacation and
unavailable. Rafael Franco didn't think he would be necessary.

      The judge called lunch after being informed by Attorney Franco that
he wanted to recall Katherine Mulrooney that afternoon.


      		--------------------------------------------------


      Shortly after his twelve to one lunch hour, Albert Wooten had a visit
by a co-worker in disbursements.

      "Al, you had that Mulroney boy before, didn't you?"

      Wooten had been Steve's worker and taken him from the juvenile
detention center to Trimble State and from there to Idaho. "Yes, why?"

      "We got this order to buy plane tickets for someone to go to Idaho
and bring the kid back to New York. They wanted him Wednesday or Thursday
but didn't say why. I didn't think much of it until I remembered you took a
boy out there last fall. So I looked into it and a judge wants him here to
testify. He's the boy's involved in that case that's been in the papers,
isn't he?"

      "That's right, and the trial might be over today."

      "So why they don't want him until next week?"

      "Thanks, Jim. Don't worry, nobody will know it was you who told me."

      He'd read about Rafael Franco taking over the case. He looked up the
lawyer's phone number and called his office. A secretary told him
Mr. Franco was in court and wouldn't be back until four if at all. It was
Friday.

      "This is very important. I'm sure you have his cell phone
number. Please contact him as soon as possible and ask him to call Albert
Wooten." He gave his cell phone number. "Tell him I'm with the Bureau of
Child Services and have information regarding his current case."

      From there, Albert Wooten went out of the building and took a train
downtown to the courthouse. He asked for and was directed to the courtroom
where Walter's case was being tried. He asked a policeman outside how he
could get an urgent message to the defense attorney. The cop peeked inside
then said, "He's examining a witness. I can take a note to him when he's
done."

      The social worker fished a McDonald's receipt out of his pocket and
wrote on the back, "I have information about hold up of plane tickets for
Steven Mulroney. Albert Wooten, Bureau of Child Services In the hall
outside courtroom."

      "Please, sir, this is very important. Mr. Franco needs to know this
as quickly as possible."

      The policeman put his ear near the crack between the double
doors. Wooten waited beside him.

      Then, the policeman held up his hand and said, "Wait here."

      Moments later, Franco came through the door. "Mr. Wooten?"

      The social worker told him what he'd learned.

      Franco asked the policeman to take him to the judge's chambers and
rushed back into the courtroom.

      "Your honor, approach?"

      At the bench, he told the judge what he'd just learned. "I've sent
the man around to your chambers, sir. I thought you might like to hear what
he has to say."

      Franco and Savage went with the judge to his office. The defense
attorney nudged Wooten in ahead of him.

      Wooten told the judge of his co-worker's report.

      "Do you handle this or do I, Miss Savage," said the judge sternly.

      "Sir, they don't seem to listen too well to me. Maybe your honor
should."

      Judge Paulson called the chief judge and told him what had
occurred. The chief judge called the mayor's office. His assistant called
the mayor who called the director of the Department of Human Resources.

      Before leaving the judge's cambers, Karen Savage said, "Your honor,
we have two rebuttal witnesses we'd like to have testify regarding
Mr. Stuyvesant's claims regarding what happened at his group home and at
Trimble State Hospital." She explained who they were and what they'd have
to say.

      Rafael Franco was asked if he had any objections. "None you'd accept,
your honor."

      Once back in the courtroom, the bailiff called for Katherine
Mulrooney.

      She wasn't in a good mood. When told she'd already been sworn in and
was still under oath, she said, "Whatever."

      Rafael Franco approached her and introduced himself and why he was
there in place of Byron Katz. He then asked her, "You understand what
perjury means, Mrs. Mulrooney?"

      "Of course, do you?"

      Franco looked at the judge. He told Katherine to just answer the
questions put to her.

      The defense attorney said, "You have testified that Walter took your
son three times when he was three. Is that correct?"

      "I suppose so."

      "And that on one occasion, the first, you were only gone briefly and
got home before Mr. Stuyvesant expected you and found him with Steve's
pants down. Is that correct?"

      "Sure."

      "Two policemen testified this morning that Steve was only with
Mr. Stuyvesant two times and that you were away thirteen and a half hours
the first time. What do you say to that?"

      "Look, I was either high or in need most of the time back in those
days. It's what I remember. Maybe it was two."

      "But you still insist you found Mr. Stuyvesant with your son's pants
down that first time?"

      "Yeah. I did."

      "But according to Mr. Stuyvesant, he and Steve were both asleep when
you got back. It was late, a lot later than anyone would expect a three
year old to be awake."

      "I don't know. Maybe Steve was asleep and that's how he got his pants
down but he had his pants down."

      The defense attorney asked about Steve's statement to the doctor that
she had been one of the ones who beat him including striking him in the
head and body with a wood pole.

      "That doctor was lying or he didn't listen good. Or maybe that Walter
over there told Stevie to say it. I never beat my son. Never. Didn't even
spank him. All that was Willy, like the killings and what he done to Walter
there."

      After a few more attempts to get her to change her story, Rafael
Franco turned her over to his counterpart.

      The prosecutor said, "I think she was clear enough. No questions at
this time."

      Alice Burtan, Steve's sixth grade teacher, was next. She hadn't
wanted to appear but did due to a subpoena. Franco's associate who had
interviewed her said she was obviously wary of reprisals by the school
principal.

      "Mrs. Burtan, Steve Mulrooney was in your sixth grade last school
year?"

      "Yes, he was."

      "How would you describe him as a student."

      "Very good. One of the best I've ever had."

      On being prompted, she described the near constant perfect scores on
his tests, his desire to learn and willingness to study.

      "How many hours a night to you think Steve put into his homework?"

      "At least two, a lot more than most."

      "We've been told that he'd have had to spend at least three to four
hours or more to do the work he was turning in. Could he have done it in
one and a half or two hours?"

      "Sure. First off, he knew the material. He paid very good attention
in class. He was one of only two or three kids who took notes all the
time. And he had his computer at home so he could do the work on it and
then print it out. Most of his homework was like that."

      When Franco asked how he got along with his classmates, she answered,
"Fine. I've never seen any problems."

      "Would you say he's a loner or plays with the others?"

      "He's always doing something with the rest during recess and
lunch. He and some others have this basketball team and play with the
children from other classes."

      "Has anyone ever told you or indicated in any way that Steve might
have pressing personal problems?"

      "Oh no, not him, but sixth graders don't ever talk about other
students' problems."

      "Did you ever notice anything about Steve that might indicate
personal problems, stress?"

      "No."

      Karen Savage tried to extend the two hours of homework to three but
Mrs. Burton said she doubted he'd have needed anywhere near that.

      "You said none of the students ever indicated to you that Steve had
any problems then you said that sixth graders don't tell you about such
things. Is it possible they told the counselor and not you?"

      "To the best of my knowledge, no one from my class spoke to the
counselor last year but maybe they did. I don't know."

      The defense attorney asked to approach the bench. He was joined by
Karen Savage.

      "Your honor, our only remaining witness is Steve Mulrooney."

      The judge asked, "Are your rebuttal witnesses here, Miss Savage?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Let's hear from them."

      From her table, she announced, "The prosecution calls Wallace Bird."

      Wallace Bird was a sallow faced man with eyes that darted everywhere
as he was led in from the prisoners area.

      Miss Savage confirmed his name and asked where he was currently
residing.

      He grinned and answered, "Riker's Island."

      "Why are you there?"

       "Couldn't raise the bail."

      "What are you charged with?"

      "Burglary and some other stuff."

      "Would you tell us where you lived when you were eleven?"

      "Immaculate Heart of Mary Home with him?" He pointed at Walter and
said, "Hi Walter."

      Walter gave half a wave back.

      "Would you tell us about an incident in the showers there with
Mr. Stuyvesant?"

      "Sure. He wanted ta give me a blow job an' I let him."

      "You didn't say you'd give him one in return?"

      "Hell, no. He's the fag, not me."

      She went into details about the incident and Walter's claims that
there was plenty of sex going on among the boys at the home.

      `Just beatin' off is all. Everybody did that. Just him and this other
kid give blow jobs an' all."

      "More than just oral sex?"

      "Sorry, Walter. Gotta tell the truth. Yeah, you know, backside
stuff."

      "Walter Stuyvesant was allowing anal sex on his person?"

      "Your honor." Said Rafael Franco.

      "We get the point, Miss Savage. Move on."

      She asked about Walter's size when the shower affair took place.

      "Hell, he was twice as big as me. Why you think I let him do that to
me?"

      Walter's lawyer had prepared for this by getting names and other
information from his client.

      On cross examination, his first question was, "Do you remember Billy
Rodriguez?"

      "Yeah, more `r' less."

      "And Juan Carlos Peņa?"

      "I suppose so."

      "How about Frankie Castillo"

      "So?"

      "What do you think they'd say about you if they were here on the
stand?"

      "They ain't, is they?"

      "They could be. I've got people locating them right now."

      "So go ahead, get `em. They're all liars anyway."

      "And you're not?"

      "No."

      "You know what perjury is?"

      "Lyin' in court but I ain't lied."

      "Maybe exaggerated a little?"

      Bird didn't answer.

      "Is that a yes?"

      The witness shrugged his narrow shoulders.

      "Let's go back to the showers. You did insist that Walter do you
before you'd do him, right?"

      Wallace Bird pursed his lips and said, "But I wasn't gonna do it. It
was just to get him to do me."

      "But you did Billy, Juan Carlos and Frankie. And, as a matter of
fact, you'd done Walter before."

      Wallace looked at the prosecutor. She dropped her eyes to her legal
pad.

      "Mr. Bird?"

      "I'm taking the Fifth Amendment! I got nothin' more ta say."

      "And I don't require any more, your honor."

      Karen Savage called Dr. Harris Baumgartner.

      The moment he saw him, Walter shuddered as horrific memories roared
through his brain. Franco noticed and put his hand on his client's
arm. "Take it easy."

      When asked to tell about himself, the psychiatrist explained that he
was a professor of psychiatry and psychology at Columbia and guest lecturer
at several other universities all of which he named, and the author of
numerous articles and one book, the subjects of which he related. Many
dealt with juvenile offenders and their rehabilitation.

      "Dr. Baumgartner, do you remember a patient at Trimble State
Psychiatric Hospital named Walter Stuyvesant?"

      "Not very well. It's been nearly thirty years but I do have his file
with my notes here."

      When asked to relate what he remembered and what were in his notes,
the doctor said Walter had been brought from his group home due to sexual
problems there with other boys. They had worked with him for most of three
years using psychotherapy as a primary tool.

      "What about aversion therapy?"

      "Let's see..." He paged through and read parts of a several of
papers. "Yes, as part of the psychotherapy but it didn't seem to have any
affect so we dropped it early on when he was still thirteen."

      "Electric shock?"

      "Electric shock? On a thirteen year old? God heavens, no. I hope he
didn't tell you that." He looked curiously at Walter who was ready to jump
over the table and assault the man.

      Rafael Franco held tightly to Walter's arm. Walter mouthed `lying
bastard'.

      The doctor shook his head as if in dismay. "No, Miss Savage. Walter's
therapy was strictly a talk therapy, the same as with all the other
children we had at that time. I never would have approved anything else."

      "Did you ever show him any photos of naked boys having sex?"

      The doctor laughed. "Oh, Miss Savage, child pornography? We didn't
have anything like that, ever. How could we have shown anyone something we
didn't have?"

      He denied any recollection of Walter's size when he entered saying
that might be in a medical folder somewhere.

      During his entire thirty-five minutes of prosecution questioning,
Dr. Baumgartner belied everything Walter had said about his stay at Trimble
State other than being discharged due to his age.

      When asked about Walter's prognosis when he was discharged, he
answered, "Unfortunately, it wasn't very good. He was rather uncooperative
with his therapists. We didn't get the feeling he was being honest with us
most of the time."

      Rafael Franco asked if he could see the file in the doctor's hands.

      "I'm sorry. These files are confidential."

      "But you just read from it so it can't be that confidential. Perhaps
you'd like to read the entire file to us?"

      Karen Savage objected.

      "Your honor, I suspect there are some items of great interest to this
proceeding such as the medical report."

      Judge Paulson said to the doctor, "I have to agree with
Mr. Franco. You can either read the entire report or let counsel go through
it."

      Karen Savage objected again but was overruled.

      The psychiatrist handed the folder to the judge who handed it down to
Rafael Franco. He took it to his table and began going over it page by
page. At one point, he looked up at the witness and said, "It seems there
are quite a few pages missing here. I see one two then five or two
six. Where are the other pages, doctor?"

      "It's a thirty year old file. I have no idea."

      Franco pulled out a page. "Here we are. Four feet one inch tall,
eighty pounds on entry." He ran his finger down the page. "Physically
immature, no testicular growth. Let's see."

      Karen Savage walked to the defense table and read over the defense
attorney's shoulder. Franco handed her the medical report he'd been
reading.

      After a while, he held up his hand, "'no indication from
pleysmograph' period at the top of this page. Could you explain that,
doctor?"

      "Hardly. There were several of us and I never used that instrument on
juveniles. Much too unreliable at that age."

      "But you do admit that Steve was still a little prepubescent boy when
he entered your hospital?"

      "If that's what the report says."

      The defense attorney hammered away at the missing pages. Could they
contain notes about electric shock or chemical aversion therapies? Was he
sure no one ever showed Walter photos of naked boys to see if it excited
him, cause his penis to expand which was the pleysmograph recorded?

      The psychiatrist never budged from his insistence that only talk
therapy was used with Walter.

      When he'd finished and had the entire folder entered into evidence
and out of the doctor's control, his lawyer told Walter, "I believe you
could sue that man for everything he's worth, and the hospital, the state."

      At a quarter to four, the judge was back in his chambers with both
counsel calling the chief judge to see if he had any news regarding Steve
Mulroney's transfer to New York. He promised to check and get back to
him. The three of them sat around and discussed disappointing witnesses.

      Rafael Franco mentioned Wallace Bird.

      "Please don't mention that idiot around me this month," remarked
Karen Savage.

      The call back came. The money had been signed for. Someone was
locating an airline and would buy the tickets no later than Saturday
midday. A worker had been arranged to go to Idaho and bring the boy back. A
home in Queens would house the boy while he was in the city. Steve Mulroney
was expected to be in the judge's office first thing Monday morning.

      What no one thought of at that moment, but another had, was
contacting the Livingston Boys Ranch director to let him know Steve was to
be picked up. The person at the Department of Human Resources who thought
of it made sure it was not done.


      		-----------------------------------------


      Saturday afternoon, a Miss Priscilla Pringle boarded a plane for
St. Louis then transferred to another for Boise. She had a letter from her
supervisor's supervisor and the subpoena issued by Judge Paulson along with
phone numbers and a hotel reservation in Boise.

      Her boss had suggested she convince the Boys Ranch personnel to bring
the boy to her thus saving several hours. She had an open return ticket
since no one knew how long it would take to get the boy from the ranch to
Boise.

      She arrived at her final stop at eight ten. A call to the home was
unanswered so she went to her hotel and watched some Saturday night
television shows.

      Sunday morning at nine, she called again from her room. What sounded
like a young man answered.

      Miss Pringle said, "Good morning. This is Miss Pringle from the
Bureau of Child Services in New York."

      "Just a minute, Miss, let me get Mr. Rogers."

      She waited for several minutes. She could hear distant voices and the
sound of people walking on a hard floor but no one came back on the line
for several minutes. She heard someone walk toward the telephone. "Hello?
Who's this?"

      "My name is Priscilla Pringle. I'm from the Bureau of Child Services
in New York. I'm here in Boise to pick up Steven Mulrooney."

      There was silence on the other end for a moment, then, "I'll have to
try and get hold of Mr.Brinkley. Can you call back later?"

      "Ten minutes, fifteen?"

      "Probably after one. He goes to church, I think and then he and his
wife go somewhere. Better two or three."

      "To whom am I speaking?"

      "This is Frank Rogers, ma'am. I'm just a youth leader here. You've
got to speak to Mr.Brinkley. He's the director. It's Sunday and nobody's in
the office.

      "I believe there's some kind of information that I was coming. Who's
in charge right now?"

      "Well, I am, sort of. Let me see if Mr. Warren is here. He might know
something."

      Again, the same sounds but for a longer period of time. Another voice
eventually came on. He sounded older, out of a Western movie. "Yes,
ma'am. I'm Fred Warren. How can I help you?"

      She explained who she was and her mission.

      "Oh, ma'am. You gonna have to talk to the director about that. Ain't
nobody here right now but us peons. We can't let nobody take a kid outta
here unless the director says so. Why don't you call back tomorrow, around
eight or nine?"

      "I'm supposed to take Steven back today. He's got to be in court
tomorrow."

      "Ma'am, I'll try ta get hold a the director but it ain't gonna be
easy on a Sunday. You don't know who your people talked to about this?"

      She didn't. In the end, she was to call back at two while the staff
tried to get hold of the director.


      		-------------------------------------------


      Steve had spent the week waiting for Sunday, his next appointment for
sex and a phone call to his foster dad. Saturday morning, he went to the
gym to work off some of his nervousness. Were his father's trial to have
ended the day before, he might be in jail, unable to receive his call the
next day. Or, he might be free and they could plan how to get back
together. It would be difficult, even dangerous, but he was determined to
try.

      Leader Flemming joined Steve and nine others in the exercise and body
building area. He greeted each by name giving Steve a pat on the shoulder
and a very friendly smile when he got to him. Steve had developed a
distrust of the man. He wasn't concerned the man might tell what they were
doing. He'd go to jail if he did that. Steve felt the man was becoming very
possessive and probably wanted more from their relationship than he was
willing to give. The week before, Flemming had said he loved him but Steve
suspected it was his body that excited the young man rather than Steve
himself. Flemming's hands had been all over his body. He'd insisted on
kissing mouth to mouth. Not wanting to jeopardize the phone call, Steve had
allowed it, participated. He expected the next day would be worse. But, it
had to be done. If Walter was freed, it would go on much longer. He thought
about looking around to see if anyone else might be interested but then
changed his mind. Another man could be worse, and might be just setting him
up to turn him in. No, it would have to be Flemming.

      Sunday morning, he was in the boiler room ready to be skewered again
for the fifteen minute use of a cell phone. Flemming was particularly
amorous. He hugged Steve. Steve hugged back but not as strongly. Flemming
kissed his head then leaned down and kissed his mouth.

      "Steve, I've got a plan to get you out of here."

      He sat down on the old blanket he kept stashed in another room
nearby. "We can get out of here together, go live in Alabama. I've got
papers for you, everything we need. You'll be my brother. We just need to
get you to a barn I found down the road about eleven miles. I've got a
place all set up for you with food and blankets. You just have to stay
there for one night."

      Steve thought the man had gone crazy. There was no way he was running
away with him, though, if his father was freed, it might be a way to get to
him.

      Flemming was going on and on about how they could live as brothers.

      Steve was finally able to say something. "Mr. Flemming, I still gotta
talk to Walter an' I can't leave here until I know what's happened to him."

      "Steve, he's gonna be convicted. I've been watching the news on the
internet. It's just going to be one or two days more and he's going to
prison. There's nothing you can do to help him."

      "I still gotta talk to him today and see so let's get started."

      "Steve, I love you. I'm not going to lie about anything. Walter's
going to prison. We have a chance tonight to get out of here."

      "I still gotta talk to Walter first." Steve was trying to pacify the
man.  There was probably the last time he'd be with him.

      Flemming handed him the cell phone.

      Steve wasn't sure what to think but took it anyway. Walter answered
before the second ring.

      "Steve, they're bringing you back to testify. They just have to buy
the tickets. You'll be here by Wednesday, maybe sooner. I'm so
excited. God, I miss you."

      Steve wasn't sure what to say in front of Flemming. "I love you too,
dad."

      "Is that man with you?"

      "Yes."

      "Okay, then, just listen. Remember that time when I caught you and
Ronald beating off in your room?"

      "Unh huh."

      "And I promised not to say anything to his dad because he was an
Evangelical and would be really hard on Ronald?"

      "Unh huh, I understand. That was your promise, right?"

      "Right. Just tell the truth on everything else. Oh, I've got a new
lawyer and he's much better than the last guy. He's one of the best in New
York and he's doing it pro bono. Know what that means?"

      "Of course, free."

      They spoke for the full fifteen minutes Flemming allowed. He'd said
it was all he could afford each week. When they were finished, Steve
couldn't hide his excitement.

      "So, what happened."

      "My dad has a new lawyer, a really good one. You still wanna do sex?"

      "But, Steve, they're still going to convict him. He did it and they
know. The jury knows. You know."

      "Mr. Flemming, I'm can't go anywhere until I know for sure what's
happened to my father."

      Flemming sat back, obviously upset.

      "Look, sir, I like you a lot and maybe I'll go with you but not until
I know what happens to my dad. You can print what happens off your computer
and show it to me and then we'll go. Okay?"

      "But, Steve, I gotta leave here tomorrow. I need you to go with
me. It'll be great. We'll be brothers and you'll be free."

      Steve shook his head. Flemming had tears in his eyes and a very
unhappy look on his face. It frightened Steve.

      "I better go back to my group."

      Flemming grabbed his arm. "No, you owe me!"

      "Just some sex, sir. I can't go with you today."

      "Take your clothes off then."

      Flemming began to undress. Steve considered running but knew he
wouldn't make it to the door. If Flemming made too much noise, they'd both
be caught and he'd ruin everything for Walter, and himself. He took off his
clothes sure what was to come would hurt.

      Flemming ordered Steve to suck him hard. He went down on the soft man
cock. It stayed soft. He played with the hairy balls and rubbed the man's
stomach. Little by little, the penis in his mouth grew. After several
minutes, though, it was still soft enough to fit completely inside his
mouth.

      He turned his body until his dick was over Flemming's mouth. The
leader sucked it in. Neither one got very hard. Steve fucked the man's lips
trying his best to raise an erection but soon, Flemming's grew. Steve
looked around for the Vaseline so he'd be ready the moment the cock was
hard enough to enter him. He saw Flemming's pants and looked for the pocket
with the lump. The leader's erection reached the state needed. Steve let go
and asked for the Vaseline.

      "I didn't bring any today. I didn't think, crap, you still gotta do
it. Put on a lot of spit. You got a big hole."

      Steve became frightened. "No, we gotta have something. You go get the
Vaseline and I'll wait here."

      "No, we do it with spit, got it?"

      "It'll hurt me. What if I bleed? Everybody will know."

      "You're not gonna bleed. Your hole's big enough. It'll just hurt some
until I'm inside. Then it won't hurt so bad. Anyhow, you gotta do it. That
was the deal. Put on a lot of spit then lay down."

      "No, I'll sit on you like always. I'll do it but I gotta sit on it."
Steve was close to panicking.

      "Okay, but hurry up."

      Steve dribbled all the saliva he could muster then, as he turned to
sit on the man cock, he used his fingers to transfer more to his anus. He
lowered himself until the head was pressing to get inside. It hurt
immediately. Steve realized he was tense and his hole tightly closed. He
breathed in and out, trying to relax himself. He pushed his anus out to
loosen it. The tip of Flemming's hard on slid in. It didn't hurt yet. Steve
let himself drift for downward. The pain hit.

      He put more saliva on his finger tips and lifted off. The additional
spit went onto the head of Flemming's cock. Steve dropped down again,
hoping to get there before the saliva dripped away. He closed his eyes and
prepared to accept the pain. Suddenly, Flemming pushed up, jamming his cock
inside. Steve's anus felt like it had been ripped apart. He groaned between
his teeth to keep from crying out. Tears formed and fell.

      Flemming sat up and grabbed Steve's hips to keep him from getting off
the rod inside him. He pushed the boy downward. "C'mon, get it all in."

      "You're hurting me. I think I'm bleeding."

      "No you aren't. C'mon. down." Flemming once again jerked his hips
upward, and shoved Steve's hips downward, forcing his cock deeper inside
the now crying boy. "Shut up. Someone's gonna hear you. Anyhow, I'm almost
all the way in. Lie back." He pulled Steve down onto his chest and rammed
the rest of his cock inside.

      Steve yelped.

      "Shut up, sissy. I'm in. Just hold still." Flemming began to fuck.

      Steve felt like his insides were on fire. He tried to slide up on the
man so less of the cock ravaging his insides would enter but Flemming's
grip was too strong. He couldn't stop himself from crying.

      Flemming rolled the two of them over until he was on top of Steve. He
slowed his thrusting. Steve knew why. The man was close to cumming and
wanted to extend his last time inside. There was nothing Steve could think
of to make things go any faster.

      Flemming stopped and readjusted himself, gripping Steve's shoulders
with both hands. He started in again. Steve tried to relax, make it easier
on himself. It helped but there was still a searing pain with each inward
thrust like he was ripping apart the flesh inside him. He knew that it
would be worse just before the man ejaculated.

      The fucking and torture went on. Flemming was having a hard time
getting off. He fucked harder, faster. Steve tried biting his own fingers
to deflect some of the pain but only made himself bleed. He was growing
desperate. He tried to turn his head and bite the man's hand. Failing that,
he tried to roll Flemming off him. The leader opened is legs to steady
himself and fucked harder again, ramming into Steve's damaged insides.

      The agony worsened. Flemming slammed in hard three times, then
stopped. Steve felt the pulsing. Flemming pulled out than jammed his
bloated cock back in again, then again. Steve was sure there had to be
blood dripping out of his hole onto the blanket.

      Flemming collapsed. Steve struggled to get loose but the man was too
heavy, too wrapped around him. With a great push to his left. He rolled
them over. Flemming's cock yanked out. The pain diminished but didn't
cease. Steve jumped up and kicked the man in the gut hurting his toes in
the process. "Motherfucking bastard!" he growled between his teeth."

      Steve felt between his cheeks. Has hand came back wet but without any
blood.

      "Told you so," said the youth leader.

      "Fuck you, you bastard!" Steve grabbed up his clothes and began to
get dressed. Flemming lay on the blanket and stared up at him.

      "What's wrong with you? Why don't you wanna go with me. Shit, I'm
sorry I hurt you but it was your fault. I did a lot a stuff so we could get
outta here. I even quit my job."

      Steve said "Good! Get the fuck away from me!" as he pulled up his
jeans.

      Flemming sat up and apologized again then pleaded with Steve to think
about the opportunity he was tossing away. "You're gonna be stuck here
until you're eighteen. You want that?"

      Steve stepped into his tenners and started for the door. Flemming
reached out to him. Steve knocked his hand away and left the leader naked
on the floor. Every step hurt.


			-------------------------------------------------


	At one thirty, Priscila Pringle called the Boys' Ranch. No one
answered. She called at two. Again, no one. Two calls later at four, Fred
Warren answered.

	"I did speak to the director. He says no one from New York has
spoken to him since they sent the boy out here. He says he'll have to call
the man who sent the Steve here to see what to do but he can't let a boy go
out of here without written permission from the person who sent him."

      "Mr. Warren, I have a letter from a senior supervisor at the Bureau
and a subpoena from the judge in the case where Steven is supposed to
testify. Can you please give me your director's number so I can speak to
him?"

      "What's your number where you're at, Miss? Let me have him call you
if you don't mind. I'm just a employee here and I don't cotton to losin' my
job."

      She gave him her hotel and room numbers then called her supervisor's
cell phone. She knew he wouldn't be happy to hear from her and he wasn't.

      "Christ," he complained, "I hate it when we have cross agency
things. They're always a pain in the butt!"

      The director's call came at a few minutes after eight that
evening. The answer was the same as Fred Warren had given, no release until
he spoke to the man who'd sent Steven to him.

      She called her supervisor again. He told her to enjoy Boise.


      -----------------------------------------


      Steve had gone straight back to his room from the gym. The pain was
excruciating. He was certain there was damage and tears inside him. Every
time he moved, something in there moved too and hurt doing so. He lay on
his bunk. After a while, only his anus hurt, burned. He decided to stay
like that for as long as he could get away with it. Anyway, eating was out
of the question. His greatest fear was the shit he'd eventually have to
take.

      At two, Calvin came in and cheerily greeted his roommate. "I didn't
see you at lunch. Where'd you sit?"

      "I didn't. My stomach hurts."

      Calvin sat on the side of Steve's bed. "You eat something bad at
breakfast? I just sucked off a high school kid in his bunkhouse
closet. God, he was big and all that sperm. I'll bet it was more'n the milk
I drank for lunch, and probly the same color." He laughed.

      "You better be careful. You get caught and they'll throw you out of
here."

      "Hmph, big deal. I don't like it here anyhow, except for you. You're
the best friend I ever had. Wanna blow job? Nobody's here but us. They're
all over at the gym for that karate show by some guy from town."

      "Not now, Calvin. I hurt too much. Lemme try to sleep."

	Calvin went up on his bunk and masturbated. Even that little
vibration hurt Steve's insides. "Calvin, do it on the floor. You're
bouncing my stomach around."

	Calvin dropped down to the floor. He was only wearing his shirt and
socks. His dick stuck out at a ninety degree angle. He lay on the carpet
and whacked away stopping only for a moment to repeat his offer of a blow
job. Steve turned it down again. Calvin closed his eyes and bounced his
hips up and down as he masturbated himself furiously. Steve turned
away. Sex was the last thing he wanted on his mind.


			--------------------------------------------

		After receiving a call early that evening from Congressman
Albright, Department of Human Resources Director Felix Hanson called Tom
Brinkley at his home in Idaho. "Tom, we've got a problem. Stuyvesant, the
guy who molested Steve Mulrooney, has suddenly got himself a hot shot
lawyer who's convinced the judge to bring the poor kid back to testify."

	"And I'll bet you want me to keep him here."

	"Of course, Tom. That boy's been through enough. We sent him out
there at great expense to protect him from this guy. Just stall them a few
days. The trial is pretty much over and this judge isn't going to wait very
long to give the case to the jury."

	"Count on me, Felix. Boy's going nowhere. This is Idaho. New York
judges don't have any jurisdiction out here."


				-----------------------------------------


	The only thing on the judge's mind the next morning was the
whereabouts of Steve Mulrooney. Karen Savage gave him and the defense
attorney the bad news. The judge asked his secretary to get him the phone
number of the Boys' Ranch. When she gave it, she reminded him of the two
hour time difference.

      He made his first call at eleven. The director didn't come in until
late on Monday's he was told.

      Two hours later, the message was the same.


      			----------------------------------------


	After successfully skipping Sunday lunch and dinner, Steve took a
hot shower. There was no one else in there so he checked his rear end. It
was too tender to touch. The pain inside him had subsided a bit but he
hadn't tried the stairs. The hot water did help overall. He stayed under
the warm spray until two other boys entered.

	Sleep didn't come for a while but he'd slept a few hours over the
course of the afternoon.

	In the morning, there was no choice but to get up. Calvin noticed
his discomfort.

	"Your stomach still hurting? Why don't you go to the infirmary. You
can get out of school."

	Steve leaned on the bed. He wanted to tell someone how much he
hurt. Calvin always told him everything and supposedly only him. Flemming
would be gone that day. "It's not my stomach."

	"Then what?"

	"One of the leaders raped me yesterday."

	"Oh, Steve! Oh God! What happened?"

	He told him the basics, his need for the cellphone, Flemming's
apparent interest, then their deal. "The son of a bitch wanted me to run
away with him."

	"But who is this man in New York?"

	"I can't tell you any more but he's a good guy, the best. You can't
say anything about this ever. I need you to look at my ass and tell me what
it's like."

	"Hurry, Mr. Thurman might come in."

	Steve lowered his briefs and bent over.

	"I can't see anything. You gotta open it up."

	Steve reached back with both hands and pulled gently on his cheeks.

	"Oh God! It's all red and puffy."

	"Shit!" muttered Steve. "I don't think I can sit on one of those
benches in the dining room."

	"You don't and they're gonna wanna know why."

	"I'll just tell `em I fell on my butt."

	"They're gonna wanna see. Just go to the infirmary and tell `em
your stomach hurts. They aren't gonna look back there for that."

	Steve went to the infirmary. The nurse told him to sit down and
wait for the doctor. He asked to be allowed to lie on one of the cots.


      			-----------------------------------------

      Rafael Franco went to a pay phone and called a number. No one
answered. He called right back and hung up after three rings. Moments
later, one of his three cell phones rang. He told Michael Santoni what was
happening.

      "Fuck! They ain't gonna bring him back. I knew it."

      "Listen, I looked this place up on the internet a couple of nights
ago. The director is a Goldwater Republican and very straight. I think if I
can talk to him, tell him a little about what's going on, he might just
cooperate and I can bring the kid back myself."

      "You know where that place is? It's in the fucking Rocky Mountains
under twenty feet a snow for Christ's sake."

      "Is it worth the cost of a private jet and a helicopter?"

      "Jesus. You know how much that's gonna cost?"

      "You didn't answer my question."

      "Hell, yeah. Do it."

      Two hours and fifteen minutes later, Rafael Franco was on his way to
Boise, Idaho where a helicopter awaited him.


       		-----------------------------------------


      Priscilla Pringle was out of patience. She hated daytime
television. At the hotel's reception desk she found out that there was a
bus to a town near the Livingston Boys' Ranch. She could get a taxi from
there though it would be expensive. She used the BCS credit card to take
some money out of an ATM machine and got on a bus that would take three and
a quarter hours to reach her destination.


      			-----------------------------------


      The judge got back on the phone with his superior who called the
mayor's office who called Felix Hanson who did nothing.


      			-----------------------------------


	Rafael Franco's jet landed, by local time, shortly after he'd taken
off. He was taken straight to the helicopter which took an hour to reach
the Boys' Ranch. It landed on the entry road, between five foot high banks
of white powder pushed there by the ranch's snow plow. Franco walked toward
the buildings. A crowd of boys came rushing out to see the helicopter. One
adult among them, Fred Warren, asked the lawyer who he was looking
for. "This is a home for boys," he told him.

	"I know. Is Mr. Brinkley in his office?"

	"You from New York?"

	"That's right."

	"Better let me check." He walked away.

	Franco followed him. They walked for a quarter mile. Franco had on
an overcoat but felt the chill seep in. It was a freezing five above zero.

	At the office, Fred Warren again asked the lawyer to wait but this
time just inside the door. Shortly, Tom Brinkley appeared.

	"You people sure are persistent. Come on in. I'll listen but I
don't think I'm gonna be willing to help you."

	In his office, Brinkley sat Rafael Franco in one of the Western
style chairs.

	The lawyer introduced himself then, "Mr. Brinkley, I don't know
what you've been told but Walter Stuyvesant is not guilty of the charges
against him and his foster son will tell you the same thing. What's
happened is that these two wonderful people have gotten in the way of some
corrupt politicians who need my client to be convicted in order to
accomplish their goal."

	"And what would that be, Mr. Franco?"

	"I'm afraid I'd be putting my client and others in jeopardy if I
were to tell you that but I'm not asking you to believe me. Speak to the
boy, alone. Ask him whether his foster father did anything bad to him."

	Tom Brinkley sat and stared at the New York lawyer. "All right. But
just him and me."

	Brinkley put Franco in another office down the hall and sent for
Steve Mulrooney. None of the kids knew where he was. Calvin knew but was
afraid the director had found out something about Flemming and Steve. He
didn't say a word.

	Almost an hour later, Brinkley's secretary thought to call the
infirmary. The director went there. He asked the nurse to wait outside
while he spoke to her patient. Steve was sure Calvin had said something and
Mr. Brinkley was there to confront him about Flemming. It would convict his
foster father. He decided to deny Flemming's involvement and blame unknown
boys who'd grabbed him out of bed the night before.

	"Steve, I need you to be completely honest with me about
something. I know about your situation. Now, did that man molest you or
not?"

	"No, sir. I couldn't see them but it was three big kids. I was
asleep. They covered my face with a shirt or something and took me into the
shower. They only whispered..."

	"What are you talkin' about, boy?"

	Steve's stomach felt like it sank down to his bladder.

	"I'm talkin' about one thing an' you're onto something else," said
the director with suspicion on his face. "How come you're in here?"

	Steve was having a hard time holding back tears. He knew he'd
committed a terrible mistake. Brinkley didn't know about his rape. He'd
been talking about Walter. But now, all was lost. He put one hand over his
eyes to hide the tears.

	Brinkley walked over to him and knelt in front of the gurney. Steve
was still lying down, on his side.

	"Somebody hurt you, son?"

	Steve nodded.

	"Where?"

	Steve began to sob then cry. Brinkley put his arm over him.

	"Ain't gonna happen any more, son. Who was it this time?"

	Steve held out three fingers but couldn't speak.

	"No, it wasn't. It was one a my people, wasn't it?

	Steve just cried harder.

	"All right. You go ahead and cry. I'll just wait here with you and
we'll talk later."

	There was a kindness in his voice Steve hadn't heard for a long
time, almost like his father's. It took a while for the crying to calm to
occasional sobs. Brinkley tried to sit him up. Steve winced in pain. The
director lay him back down and kissed him on the head.

	Again, he waited for Steve to relax then, "Think we can talk a
little now?"

	Steve nodded.

	"First thing I gotta ask is if that man in New York ever did
anything like this to you."

	"No sir. Never. He's the nicest man in the world, the best father
and I love him. They're all lying about him just because I got all hundreds
on my exams and we walked to school together each day."

	"So who did this to you, when, yesterday?"

	"Umm hmm."

	"One of the leaders?"

	"Please don't say anything. They'll say it was my father's fault."
He began to cry again.

	"I'll have to think about that, but, tell you what. I won't say
anything until his trial is over. Fair enough? Now, come on. Who was it? I
don't want anybody else to get hurt like you."

	"He's gone."

	"Mr. Flemming?"

	Steve nodded.

	Brinkley shook his head. "Shoulda gotten rid a him a long time
ago. What happened? How'd he get to you? You're in Mr. Thurman's group,
aren't you?"

	"I needed a cell phone to call my dad and he had one." Steve told
him the whole story. When he'd finished, Brinkley asked, "But, son, why'd
you go lookin' for someone like that? You coulda tried talkin' to somebody,
me for instance."

	"That wouldn't a worked. Nobody would've believed me."

	"You're probably right but why somebody like that?"

	"You can't say if I tell."

	"Same deal. Promise that if I do, it won't be until after the
trial, and only if I'm sure it won't hurt you. But you can't say anything
either, at least about Flemming unless you talk to me first."

	Steve agreed and told him about learning through the kids at
Trimble State about the shower man with a cell phone and how he'd found a
way to get to him but not exactly what he'd had to do.

	"So you went through all this just to talk to your foster father?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Doggone! How much you hurt back there, son? Can you sit?"

	Steve tried. It hurt but he could.

	"You think you can sit on an airplane for a few hours?"

	"To go home?"

	"Not exactly home, but to New York."

	"Yes sir!"

	"What ever happened to your parents, boy?"

	"Excuse me but when am I going to New York?"

	"Today if you can handle it. You know, if they see you like this,
they might wanna know what's wrong. You can stay here another day and get
better. I promise I'll get you back to New York as soon as you say you're
ready. I know you wanna see your father but it might be better to wait
another day. I can tell `em you're sick `cause you sorta are."

	Steve knew he was right. Just sitting that short time on the gurney
was painful. He lay down.

	"I gotta tell you something. There's a man, a lawyer here, with a
helicopter, come to pick you up. He says he's your father's lawyer. You
wanna talk to him?"

	"Yes, sir. I can walk."

	"No, no. He can come here, but first, tell me why you're with a
foster father and not your real parents."

	"It's gonna take a long time, sir."

	"Son, after what I've learned about you so far, I really wanna hear
this."

	Steve related the entire story as he knew it, from age three right
up to the problems at the school.

	Brinkley was smiling by the end, then he broke out laughing.

	Steve was surprised by the reaction. "Don't you believe me, sir?"

	"Oh, son, I do believe you, every word. You are just the most
incredible kid I've ever met. Golly, what a book you could write." He
laughed again. "Trouble is, these days, nobody'd be gutsy enough to publish
it. You ever read Jack London, `Call of the Wild' or `White Fang'"?

	"'White Fang'. Yes sir."

	"I shoulda known. Jack London woulda loved you. He'd a wrote about
you."

	He laughed some more. "I'm gonna call your lawyer. Damn! That
Stuyvesant should be proud as heck to have raised a kid like you. I know I
would. Damn!" He left the room shouting, "Whoa, doggy!"

	Rafael Franco was sitting where he'd been left reading the Boys'
Ranch rule when Brinkley came to get him. "Do you really make all the boys
wear briefs in the showers?"

	"Darn right we do. You're a lawyer. You know why. The state wanted
us to put in all new separate showers. You know what that woulda cost? We
got thirty-two groups here."

	The lawyer asked why Steve was in the infirmary.

      Brinkley answered, "He ate somethin' bad. Been sick all day. Hurts
just to move. Doctor doesn't want him moved. That ain't a trick,
Mr. Franco. Ask the boy. I promise to have him on his way the minute he
feels better. He decides, not me. And you have my word on that."

	In the infirmary, Franco asked Steve, "You want to stay another
day? It's okay. Your dad and the judge will understand. Mr. Brinkley and I
had a good talk and I believe he's on your side all the way, and I mean all
the way."

	"That's right, son," said the director, "all the way."

	"I better stay another day."

	"Okay. Now, there's a woman arrived here a while ago in a
taxi. She's from the Bureau of Child Services. She's going to go back with
you when you're ready. Her name is Miss Pringle. Yeah, funny name. Just
don't say anything about it to her, okay?"

	"And don't say anything about me being here," admonished the
defense attorney.

	Franco briefly discussed what he'd be asking Steve in court. Steve
told him about the masturbation session his foster dad had interrupted.

	Rafael Franco went back to New York.

	Priscilla Pringle was put in the guest house after a tour of the
Boys' Ranch.

	Tom Brinkley stayed with Steve for a while, going over parts of his
stories again, laughing his head off. Steve was allowed to sleep in his
room with Calvin.

	"I'm going home tomorrow, at least to New York. I'll probably never
see you again."

	Calvin asked for his story but Steve told him very little. Shortly
after lights out, Calvin asked, "Sure you don't want one more blow job?"

	In the morning, Steve was taken back to the infirmary. The doctor
had a suppository that he said would help and some medicine to make Steve's
stool softer. He'd yet to have a bowel movement and was worried it would be
a big one.

	The suppository greatly reduced the pain of sitting. Steve didn't
tell the doctor of his fears regarding internal damage. Anyhow, that was
down to discomfort rather than pain. Half an hour later, he had to go to
the bathroom. The pain was excruciating. It was all he could to not to
scream. He looked in the bowl. There was blood mixed in the shit. It
frightened him. But he said nothing to anyone.

	By midday, Steve said he was ready to go. A helicopter, paid in
advance by Rafael Franco with mob money, came to pick up Steve and Miss
Pringle. He slept that night in a Catholic group home in Queens.

	He had the box of suppositories and a small bottle of medicine to
soften his stools hidden in some clothes Director Brinkley had given
him. He pushed a suppository in before going to bed and another before
breakfast.

	The next morning at nine, he was in the office of Judge Paulson who
said, "I'm not going to ask you whether your foster father did anything or
not. I just want to know if you really want to testify in court. You know
two lawyers are going to ask you a lot of questions and you might not like
some of them."

	"I want to testify, sir. My father's..."

	"Steve, I don't want to hear any of that here. You'll get your
chance in court in a few minutes."

	Steve was brought into court through the prisoner's entrance. The
moment he saw Walter, tears filled his eyes. He wanted to run to
him. Walter too had tears dripping down his cheeks. The bailiff led Steve
to the stand. Steve mouthed, `I love you' twice. Walter did the same.

	The bailiff swore him in though Steve hardly heard a word the man
said.

	When the defense attorney approached him, Steve couldn't take his
eyes off his dad. Rafael Franco said, "Steve, please look at me. Let's
start when you were not yet four years old. Do you remember much from that
time?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Tell us what you remember of the time when your father was
murdered."

	"I remember the funeral real good, the big black car with the
casket, the man who said prayers but mostly when they put him in the
grave. I know I cried `cause I didn't know why they were doing it."

	"Do you remember the day before that when your mother left
Mr. Stuyvesant with you?"

      "A little. I was scared of him but he took me to McDonald's and told
me stories."

	"Anything else?"

	"I think we went to the park that day but it might've been another
day. He took me out on a boat on a lake and told me, no, maybe he read me a
book. Something like that."

	"And what else?"

	"We went to his house and I slept in a big bed, at least it seemed
big. That's about all I can remember."

	"Did you tell your mother anything about Walter back then?"

	He thought. "I don't remember anything. She didn't talk to me
much. I remember Walter talked to me a lot."

	"Did Walter ever fix your clothes, take your pants down to adjust
your shirt or anything?"

	Steve gave him a strange look. "Adjust my shirt?"

	"Did he ever take you pants down?"

	"When I was four and had to go to bed he helped me undress like
untying my shoes. He taught me how to tie them. I remember I was the only
kid in the day care center who could tie his own shoes."

	"What about your pants?"

	"You mean my pants. I know what you're saying. No, he never did. He
always told me to take them off, even when I had to take a bath. All he did
was my shoes and my undershirt. And he never touched me down here." He
pointed below his belt.

      "All right, on that subject, you have repeatedly told many people
that Walter Stuyvesant never did anything sexual to you. Is that correct?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"But, when Sergeant O'Malley told you Walter had confessed, you
shouted out. `He said he'd never tell'. Is that correct?"

	"I don't remember exactly what I said but it was something like
that."

	"If he never had sex with you, then what were you upset about?"

	"It was nothing about us, me and my dad. I thought he was talking
about something else he promised because the policeman said my father said
it was all my fault."

	Walter put his hands to his face. It wasn't for show. He was
agonizing over the pain his boy had gone through with all those who had, in
reality, abused him.

	"Steve, you are going to have to be clearer than that."

	"I can't. I promised I'd never tell."

	"Steve, you are in court now. You have to tell us more. Right now,
it sounds like your foster father did something to you that you don't want
us to know."

      Steve looked to Walter who nodded to go ahead. "All right. He caught
me and another kid doing something in my room, masturbating is all. He was
angry but then he said he was sorry for being angry and said it was
okay. The other kid was really scared because if his father found out, he'd
make him see a doctor and maybe put him in a home. And I knew if people
found out Walter knew and didn't make us stop, they could take me away from
him and maybe put him in jail like they did to other men. It was in the
newspaper all the time. But he didn't do anything. He hates sex."

      "He hates sex? What do you mean by that?"

      "Every time I ask him something about sex, he gets all upset and says
we shouldn't be talking about things like that. He says it could get him in
trouble. Now I know what he was talking about."

      "Wait a minute, you're saying you thought the policeman was talking
about Walter allowing you to masturbate?"

      "Yes."

      "And you got all excited about that?"

      "What? They were always saying things about him and what he was doing
to me even though I always told them he didn't do anything and he
didn't. All of them like that doctor there and that cop who made them put
me in jail then in that stupid hospital when I didn't do anything but beat
off like he never did." Steve folded his arms and held himself tightly. "We
never did anything wrong, nothing like they were saying."

      "So, why do you think they sent you to that hospital?"

      "So I would say my father was doing what they said. They all told me
that. They said as soon as I told them the truth, I'd be out of there,
first the juvenile jail then that hospital. But I told them the truth. They
really wanted me to lie."

      "Why did your father walk you to school and back every day?"

      "Because he loved me and we liked it. I liked it."

      "What did you like about it?"

      "I liked being with him and he liked being with me. I love him." He
said that straight to Walter.

      "Is that why you kissed him?"

      "Of course. Doesn't your son kiss you?"

      "Unfortunately no. But he's sixteen now."

      "I'll kiss Walter when I'm forty."

      "Why do you get such high grades in school?"

      "'Cause I can, just like the other kids who get good marks."

      "Does Walter help you with your school work?"

      "Sometimes. He's real good at math but I know more history and
science."

      "Doesn't Walter push you a little to study harder?"

      "Why? I get hundreds on most of my tests. That's as high as you can
go."

      "And you like to get hundreds?"

      "Wouldn't you?"

      "Why?"

      "Why do I like to get hundreds? It feels good to know you're one of
the best. I hear you're a great lawyer. Doesn't it feel good when you hear
that?"

      "You sound like a psychoanalyst."

      There were laughs from the courtroom and some jurors.

      Attorney Franco turned to the prosecution table. "Miss Savage. Your
turn to be analyzed."

      Karen Savage wasn't nearly as friendly. "Steve, I sorry, but your
story about why you got so upset at the hospital when Sergeant O'Malley
told you your father had confessed sounds like something you made up. Do
you remember exactly what Sergeant O'Malley said to you that day?"

      "No."

      "All right, about what he said?"

      "He said something like I could leave the hospital because my father
had confessed and something else. I didn't like him, don't like him. He put
me..."

      "That's not what I'm asking. So he said you could leave the hospital
because Walter Stuyvesant had confessed..."

      "Look! He didn't have anything to confess except that I could
masturbate, okay? I thought he had said things so they'd let me go. When
the people at the school were starting the trouble, he told me not to worry
because he'd never let them hurt me. He said he'd go to jail first and that
bastard put me in jail..."

      The judge banged his gavel. "Steven. You will not speak like that in
my courtroom. Now, you control yourself."

      Karen Savage took a breath and asked, "Are you ready, Steve?"

      "For what?"

      "To answer questions properly."

      Steve nodded.

      She asked who took who's hand first when they walked. "Probably me."

      "Why did you kiss Walter when other boys didn't do so?"

       "Maybe I loved my dad more than they loved their dads."

      "What would have happened if he'd gotten seventies or eighties
instead of nineties and hundreds?"

      "He'd have worried and asked me what was wrong."

      "He wouldn't have made him you work harder?"

      "I don't know. When I got low marks in the fourth grade, all he did
was worry and make me go out and play more."

      She worked on the control aspect, occasionally interspersing innuendo
about sex but Steve never took the bait. He did get angry again when she
insisted he was covering something up.

      "That's what you all say. It's like you and the school counselors and
the doctors have this script you're all reading just to make me crazy!"

      "No one has said you were crazy, Steven."

      "Then why did you stick me in a hospital for crazy people?" He was
shouting again. "You don't even know my right name. You don't know anything
about me!"

      The judge had to calm him.

      Ten minutes later, the prosecutor sat down.

      "The defense rests," announced Rafael Franco.

      Steve was whisked out the side courtroom door. He waved to Walter on
the way.

      "Miss Savage, do you still want to re-examine Mr. Stuyvesant?"

      She thought about it then said, "No, your honor."

      "Then we can have closing arguments this afternoon?" asked the judge.

      Both attorneys agreed.

      Walter ate lunch alone. Before seeing Steve that morning, he'd been
somewhat ready to go to prison. Now, he was very much ready to fight to
stay free then do what had to be done to get his son back..

      But, the case hadn't been going well. Rafael Franco was
right. Bringing up his problems at the group home and time at Trimble State
had been a tragic mistake. Katz had asked him about his life then
encouraged him to use the trauma at the hospital as a reason he could never
have had sex with anyone, much less his foster son. It had sounded good at
the time, even sensible. But Katz hadn't made him aware that the
prosecution could use the same situation to insist he'd been a pedophile
since childhood.

      The mass of prosecution witnesses and the flood of damaging
statements by them was overwhelming what little the defense had to
offer. Granted, Steve's mother was shown to be a liar but not
completely. There was no way to definitively disprove her claims that Steve
told her he'd touched his privates. A lot of doubt had been cast on Steve's
denials by too many people even before his panicked statement in front of
Sergeant O'Malley.

      Rafael Franco had been helpful, very helpful. Any sensible person
would have grave doubts about the charges. However, the jury was made up of
the kind of people that believed once a charge such as his had been made,
it was probably true.

      Going to prison after seeing his boy, hearing him say how much he
loved him, was going to be far more difficult. Of course, it was possible,
perhaps even probable, that even if he was found not guilty, Steve would be
hustled back to Idaho and they'd both have to make do with the occasional
telephone call. He wished he could tell the man loaning the cell phone how
much he appreciated what he was doing and find a way to pay for those
expensive calls.



      Rafael Franco spoke first. He was quietly eloquent, speaking directly
to the jurors in front of the box.

      "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Walter Stuyvesant did not sexually
do anything with Steve Mulrooney much less abuse him. You heard Steve
Mulrooney. He said clearly and repeatedly that his foster dad only loved
him, guided him. If he had a fault, it was an unwillingness to even discuss
sex with his foster son.

      "Forget all the smoke being blown in your faces. Most of it is the
result of malicious preconceptions by individuals who decided long before
meeting him or hearing from Steve that Walter Stuyvesant did sexually abuse
his boy. Malicious preconceptions by a woman whose son apparently had been
sexually abused who decided that any man not the father of a boy who is
around that boy is there for nefarious purposes. She cannot conceive of a
man doing anything good for a boy unless he has an ulterior motive and, for
her, that motive had to be sexual. Well, there are a lot of very good men
in this world, in this city who do a lot of very good things for boys. Very
few, though, are as giving and committed as Walter Stuyvesant, a man police
Lieutenant Garretson called the ultimate Good Samaritan."

      He berated the motives of the school counselors and their
psychologist as self serving and narrow minded. He faulted Dr. Perlman's
testing methods and diagnosis as based on `fatally faulty science'.  The
Stockholm Syndrome diagnosis, he exclaimed, was the most faulty part of his
diagnosis. "Comparing this situation to the Steven Stayner case is like
comparing apples and broccoli. Stayner was kidnapped. He went from school
to school, home to home. In the end, he rebelled against his captor. Steve
Mulrooney was dumped on Walter by his mother after she violently abused
him. Steve's school changes were due to graduation, not problems. Steve
changed apartments once and that was because the police moved him to escape
Steve's murderous mother. Steve was a successful student, an A student
throughout, an A student of his own volition."

      Steve's mother, he told them, was a nasty, hate filled woman, a
triple murderer on top of that, lashing out at anyone who might have made
her look bad. Walter had taken her battered, abused son and made a
wonderful, happy person out of him. She couldn't stand that. "Look what
happened when she was angry, or maybe just through with former lovers. They
were stabbed to death! You may recall she was almost successful doing that
to Walter but he was saved by the all abiding love of that woman's
son. Just imagine how angry that made her."

      He called Trimble State's Dr. Townsend a `state tool of intimidation'
whose only goal was to convince Steve to lie about his father.

      He went over Walter's `sad history', pointing out how he'd been made
to hide in terror at the mere thought of anything sexual. He reminded them
of the missing pages in the Trimble State Hospital report and the fact that
Walter had, in fact, been a small, still prepubescent boy when the shower
incident took place and during the first year of his horrific mistreatment
at the hospital.

      "I'm not going to waste my time on the lies of the man who claimed
that Walter was the initiator of any of what happened at the home. "Wallace
Bird was the one who liked what he convinced Walter to do, not
Walter. Walter just had the bad luck to be the one who got caught. And what
terrible bad luck that turned out to be though it has had one good
effect. Without Walter Stuyvesant, Steve Mulrooney would be a delinquent on
the way to a life of crime, or, perhaps dead.

      "Now, let's take a look at something very strange in this case. I've
checked and perhaps some of you know that the normal procedure for kids
taken out of a foster home, including those taken out for any kind of
abuse, is placement in other foster home or, in the worst case, a group
home but always here in the City of New York. And let me ask you this. How
many times have you heard of the victim of a crime, especially a child,
being imprisoned? I don't see any hands going up. Of course not. So why was
Steve first sent to the juvenile detention center then in the lock up
section of Trimble State Psychiatric Hospital? Did he commit a crime? Was
this A student with no disciplinary problems a danger to someone? You know
the answer to that. And, finally, why was he then sent off two thousand
miles to the snow covered Rocky Mountains to a home for problem boys and
juvenile delinquents?

      "I can think of only one answer and that is the fear of those
prosecuting that man over there that his supposed victim would tell the
truth that he did NOT, EVER, do what he is accused of.

      "So, what we have here is an accusation by individuals with malicious
preconceptions, mental health so called professionals who tested NOT with
the idea of discovering anything but of proving what they had decided
before even meeting the boy, a nasty, murderous woman who hated this man
not because he did anything wrong to her son but because he did what she
was supposed to do and did it extremely well which, of course, showed her
for all the world to be the terrible person she is, witnesses who flat out
lied and tried to hide the truth, remember the conveniently missing pages
in the Trimble State psychiatrist's report, and most important of all, the
alleged victim in this case insisting loudly that absolutely nothing
happened. That, my friends, goes well beyond reasonable doubt. That proves
absolutely that Walter Stuyvesant not only is not guilty of any of the
charges, that proves he is, in fact, the ultimate Good Samaritan.

      Then it was Karen Savage's turn.

      "Yes, forget all the smoke because that is all the defense has had to
offer, denigrating competent, serious professionals like the two school
counselors with over twenty years experience helping the children in their
schools, Dr. Perlman, a respected professional in the field of child abuse,
and Dr. Townsend of Trimble State with extensive direct experience with
boys like Steven Mulrooney. The mother may be much of what he says but I
have yet to hear any reasonable explanation about why she'd make up out of
the blue that Steven told her Mr. Stuyvesant had been molesting him. Then
we have Steven's statement which you heard in which he said that
Mr. Stuyvesant had told what he promised not to tell and that could only
have been one thing, that he had in fact been sexually molesting
Steven. Steven's excuse sounds like a six year old's story about a monster
coming through the kitchen window to knock over the spilled glass of milk
on the floor."

      She then took the issues and witnesses one at a time and
energetically put the prosecution spin on each. She brought up the Steven
Stayner case as an nearly exact example of what she claimed Walter had
`perpetrated' on Steven Mulrooney.

      She ended with, "Too many serious, competent people have come up with
the same conclusion which Steven himself confirmed for all to hear that
Walter Stuyvesant has been sexually molesting him since he was three years
old. There can be no place on the streets of our great city for individuals
like Mr. Stuyvesant who prey on our innocent children. It is our duty to
protect those children, protect Steven Mulrooney by putting men like him
where he can no longer inflict such grievous harm on them."

      Since there was still an hour to go that afternoon, the judge gave
his instructions to the jury. They were brief and concise. His message
centered on judging based on factual evidence not emotional
exhortations. The jury was led out.

      Walter and Rafael Franco went to the hallway to wait. "So, what do
you think?" asked Walter. "She sounded pretty convincing."

      "Juries are strange creatures, Walter, and this one was poorly chosen
for our side. If they look at the facts alone, you're a free
man. Otherwise, it's anybody's guess. Our weakest point was Steve's excuse
for what he said.

      "Four o'clock came and went. The judge waited until five then asked
to jury to continue in the morning.

      Walter met that night with Tom Garretson to go over what needed to be
done in case he was convicted and imprisoned the next day.

      "But didn't Franco say he was gonna submit an immediate appeal? You
could stay out on bail if he did."

      "If the judge permits it."

      The lieutenant promised to come by the court in the morning "one way
or another". He too expected problems though it probably didn't matter if
Walter was found guilty or innocent. He knew there would be people out to
make life difficult for him.

      The jury came back at ten forty-five the next morning.

      "Have you reached a verdict?" asked the judge.

      The foreman, a former used car salesman, said yes, and handed a slip
of paper to the bailiff. When the judge read it, he showed no emotion

      "How find you on the count of child abuse in the first degree?"

      "We find the defendant guilty."

      The verdict was the same on all four counts. Walter was
crushed. Rafael Franco put his hand on Walter's shoulder and pulled a paper
out of his pocket with the other.

      The judge thanked and dismissed the jury. The moment he'd done so,
Rafael Franco said, "Your honor?"

      The judge sat back and said, "I can imagine what you want,
Mr. Franco. Please sit down for a moment." After what appeared to be a
sigh, he called the bailiff to his bench and spoke to him. The bailiff
shrugged his shoulders then walked toward the prisoner's entrance, opened
the door and motioned for someone to come to him. It was Steve. He took him
by the arm and led him toward the bench.

      The judge said calmly, "Let him go."

      The bailiff gave the judge a questioning look look.

      Karen Savage said angrily, "You honor!"

      The judge repeated to the bailiff. "Let him go."

      Steve rushed toward the defense table. Rafael Franco stepped
back. Walter pushed his chair out of the way. Steve all but crashed into
his foster father. The two embraced each other, Steve audibly sobbing.

      The judge sat back and watched for a few moments. Then, he leaned
forward and said, "Everyone please sit down."

      Rafael Franco sat. Walter sat, one arm still around Steve. Steve
leaned over him, one arm over his shoulder, that hand held by Walter, and
whispered something in his ear. Walter hugged him.

      The judge rubbed his chin. He looked toward the prosecutor. "Miss
Savage, what do you see over there?" He pointed toward Walter and Steve.

      She kept her eyes on the papers in front of her.

      "Miss Savage?"

      "What would you like me to say, your honor?"

      "Nothing, Miss Savage. You can explain yourself to the Bar
Association." He took a breath and sat back. "I don't really know what to
say either. I am far too embarrassed, too ashamed of what has gone on in my
courtroom and my part in it. What I can say with a clear conscience for the
first time in weeks is the following.

      "I am throwing out the jury verdict and rendering a directed verdict
in the case before me of not guilty on all counts.

      Walter jumped up and grabbed his son. Steve was unsure what had
happened and asked, "What's that mean?"

      "I'm free."

      Murmurs and muffled angry cries rumbled through the court.

      Rafael Franco reached back and gripped Walter's arm.

      The judge said loudly, "Let's have order, quiet. Is Mr. Wooten here?"

      Albert Wooten who, as requested earlier in the day by the court, had
been sitting in the rear of the room, stood up.

      "Good. I direct the Bureau of Child Services to immediately reinstate
Mr. Stuyvesant here as Steven, Steve Mulrooney's foster father. I checked,
Mr. Wooten, and I can do that."

      Steve wrapped his arms around Walter's neck and kissed him long and
hard on the cheek.

      The judge smiled at Steve and Walter, then laughed. "You really ought
to find less public places to do that."

      Walter sat down. Steve stood erect and smiling beside him.

      The judge said, "I suggest to Mr. Stuyvesant that his attorney can
probably arrange a suitable remedy with the school system, Trimble State
Hospital and probably the City of New York. I know that I will be placing
charges of perjury on a number of individuals."

      Again he paused and fiddled with a pencil on his desk.
"Mr. Stuyvesant, Steve," another pause, "First, I apologize for all you
have gone through. I know that is of little value considering what has
happened." He stopped again and shook his head. "I'm going to shut up now.
Mr. Stuyvesant, you are free to go and take your foster son with you. Court
is adjourned."