“You think somebody hurt him and he’s covering up? Older kids, a schoolyard bully?”
“That’s one possibility. But he’s usually friendly, outgoing, the kind of boy everybody likes and gets along with.”
“Usually?”
“I told you how Bobby was with me last weekend. Quiet, withdrawn—not like himself at all. I wanted to believe it was just a phase, but now . . . I think it’s more serious than that. More serious than other kids pushing him around.”
Runyon said nothing for a time. Then, “His father?”
“Yes. It isn’t just the fractured arm, Jake. When I took Bobby to the doctor, he didn’t want to take off his shirt so they could put a soft cast on his arm. We made him do it. His back and shoulders . . . bruises, lots of them.”
Christ. “What did he say?”
“He said he got them playing football. But he was lying—I could see it in his eyes. He got those bruises at home.”
“You never mentioned physical abuse before.”
“There wasn’t any while Robert and I were married. I’d swear to that. He’s a controlling, vindictive shit, but I never imagined he was an abuser, too. If I had . . . my God, I’d’ve used it against him at the custody hearing.”
“Why would he change, start hurting Bobby?”
“I don’t know. Financial problems, trouble with his practice or with this woman he’s planning to marry . . . I just don’t know. But I’m afraid he has.”
“Did you talk to him today?”
“Yes. He was home when I took Bobby there from the doctor’s.”
“Accuse him?”
“Not in so many words. I said I thought somebody was hurting Bobby; he said he didn’t believe it. Refused to discuss the matter. There was something about the way he acted . . . evasive. That damn glib lawyer evasiveness. You know?”
“I know.”
“If I did accuse him, he’d just deny it—and make me out to be paranoid for even suggesting such a thing. I don’t know what to do, Jake. What can I do if Bobby won’t admit the truth?”
“Talk to him again, try to convince him.”
“I don’t think I can get through to him. He won’t tell on his father. Robert’s too controlling—Bobby’s afraid of him.”
Runyon was silent.
Bryn tried to gulp some of her wine instead of sipping it with the good side of her mouth. Some of it spilled out, down the front of her robe. She said, “Shit!” and then, when Runyon started to reach out to her, “No, don’t. Don’t.” She mopped up the spilled wine with the hem of the robe in quick, angry movements.
He waited, not saying anything, letting her pick up the conversation when she was ready.
“I’m terrified it’ll get worse,” she said, “worse than a fractured arm. If anything really bad happens to Bobby . . . I couldn’t stand that, I can barely cope with things the way they are now.”
Runyon said slowly, “Maybe there’s something I can do.”
“I’m not asking for your help; I wouldn’t ask. Support, advice . . . that’s all.”
“Not enough, if you’re right about the abuse.”
“I’m right, but . . . it’s not the kind of domestic situation a private detective can investigate; we both know that.”
“Officially, no.”
“There’s nothing you could do anyway. You don’t know Robert, how spiteful he is, the way he uses the law like a weapon. You’d only end up getting hurt.”
“Not if he’s guilty.”
“Jake . . . please. Don’t get involved.”
Runyon was thinking about what he’d seen tonight in Ullman’s bedroom. Different kind of child abuse, but abuse nonetheless. Little kids being hurt by adults without conscience or humanity.
“I already am,” he said.
28
Kerry said, her voice thick with disgust, “It must have been like walking into a chamber of horrors.”
“Pretty close. What the cops found on Ullman’s computer and in those scrapbooks was even worse than what was on the walls. There must’ve been five thousand individual images, plus more than a hundred videos.”
“My God. How long has he been wallowing in it?”
“Fifteen years. Started while he was still married.”
“Is that why his wife divorced him?”
“No,” I said. “He was careful about keeping it hidden from her. Joe Hoffman wasn’t careful at all. Kept his collection in his workshop where his wife stumbled on it. He didn’t have much back then, just a batch of photos that she burned without thinking.”