Andrew Vachss - False Allegations

"It was the truth !" Heather blurted out. "We know the truth. She—"

"Shut up, you cow!" Kite hissed at her. "What's wrong with you? Have you forgotten our work?"

"Our…work? To find the truth…"

"No!" Kite said sharply. "We know the truth, don't we? False allegations, that's the truth. All the pernicious lies, all the exaggerations. The phony therapists. The witch hunt—remember Heather? There was only one way to stop it. Only one way to put a stake right through the enemy's heart."

"But you knew…All along, you…"

"This is a chess game," he said in his empty voice, eyes shielded behind the glasses. "An intellectual problem. The real weapon in this war is propaganda. And I have just delivered the master stroke. It will take them years to recover. Public perception will never be the same. I did this. Nobody will ever get away with a false allegation again—everyone is on the alert now. Just as I promised you when we started together."

Heather sat down on the floor and bawled like a little girl. A little girl who had lost her compass.

"No hard feelings?" Kite said to me, talking over Heather's slumped body like she wasn't there. "We're both professionals, you and I. And I appreciate the work you did—I admire it. You are the finest investigator I've ever worked with. But this was never about investigation."

"And you got paid."

"Did I? You know nothing about it, Mr. Burke. No, you got paid. And paid well. For myself, the payment is my syndrome. The syndrome , Heather," he said, shifting to a gentle, kindly voice. "You remember all the time I have invested in it? How important it is? Well, my syndrome is now the truth."

Heather's face snapped up. Her makeup was streaked, black–cherry hair hanging limp. Her movements were stiff, almost robotic. She caught her upper lip with her lower jaw, bit down so hard a drop of blood blossomed.

Kite returned her stare calmly, waiting for the dice to stop rolling.

"Can I still…?" she asked, finally.

"Of course you can," Kite smiled down at her like a father forgiving a child. "Things will be just as they were. With us, I mean. There's still so much work to do. Now why don't you go into the bathroom and pull yourself together. Then you can show Mr. Burke out."

She got to her feet silently. I kept my eyes on Kite, listening to the tap of her heels on the hardwood floor.

"You're not planning on doing anything stupid, are you Mr. Burke? I can't imagine you believe your…testimony would be worth very much in a court of law. And I know some things—"

"I'm all finished," I cut him off. "Can I just ask you a question?"

"Certainly. In fact, I'll even answer it for you. I was, shall we say, retained by a certain group in anticipation of certain lawsuits being filed. But the plan, the strategy, the tactics…they were all my own. Uniquely my own. And I have committed no crime. As I said, I did a full–scale investigation. And I proceeded in good faith throughout. And I'm sure you understand that I have a rather complete record of our…dealings. So…"

Heather came back into the room, face freshly scrubbed. "Will you please show Mr. Burke out, Heather?" Kite said, the control–leash tight in his voice.

She did an about–face and started down the hall. I followed close behind. At the door, I pulled her to me, holding her against my chest. "For your love," I whispered, pressing the brass knuckles into her chubby little hand.

Igave the videotape to Wolfe. Just in case somebody at NYPD decided to treat their copy like they had the French Connection heroin.

Jennifer Dalton disappeared the next day. The cops said there was no evidence of foul play.

Kite was a different story. A maid discovered his body in the penthouse a few days later. He'd been beaten to death. His files had been looted, picked clean. "It could have been anyone—we've got a long list of suspects," the lead detective on the case told the newspapers. "But whoever did it was a pro—they knew what they were doing."

They got that part right anyway.

Idon't know where Heather went to. But wherever she is, I know her eyes aren't orange anymore.

AFTERWORD

Every year, millions of children in the United States are victimized by severe abuse. This maltreatment takes many forms, but all have this in common: they rob children of some percentage of their potential, some vital human piece of themselves. And by such robbery, all America is looted. The problem has been documented to the point of nausea. The media dutifully report the body counts, but the one–sided war rages on. Domestic violence, sexual exploitation, rape, sociopathic plundering, homicide…we remain under siege even as our "protective" institutions rot from within.

We know the root cause of our societal ills and evil—the transgenerational maltreatment of children. We know today's victim can become tomorrow's predator. We know that while many heroic survivors refuse to imitate the oppressor, the chains remain unbroken as abused children turn the trauma inward and lose their souls to self–inflicted wounds—from drug and alcohol abuse to depression to suicide. Their lives are never what they could have— should have—been.

We know the enemy…but where is the counterattack? More social engineering? More pious whining? More networking? More conferences? More unfocused, blundering incompetence? There is a Rosetta stone to societal decay. Child abuse, simply, modifies development of the brain. It alters "processing," so that the abused child (of whatever age) assimilates and responds to stimuli in distinctly aberrant ways. Most of those ways are self–destructive. Some destroy others. All, eventually, destroy us …as a country, and even as a species.

The CIVITAS Child Trauma Programs at Baylor College of Medicine are attacking child maltreatment in three distinct ways: (1) providing clinical services to desperately underserved children; (2) training a cadre of dedicated and superbly skilled professionals; and (3) carrying out these services and training in the context of ongoing research. Without an understanding of what happens inside maltreated children, we can never hope for meaningful change but must expect only a continuation of our pitiful policies of appeasement and amelioration.

CIVITAS provides a multidisciplinary and interinstitutional spirit that synthesizes the complex social, legal, cultural, psychological, and physical issues related to child maltreatment. When is it safe to return an abused child to his biological parents? What about "false allegations?" What constitutes a truly professional investigation? What turns one abused child into a healer…and another into a serial killer? Are monsters born, or made? CIVITAS is answering these questions and, more important, documenting the answers, proving them again and again, developing a body of scientific knowledge to replace the psychobabble and guesstimates that pass for "truth" today. A major goal of CIVITAS is to develop, pilot, and evaluate innovative models for clinical service, training, and research in a replicable model for use throughout America.

Some of this research is now available. More is being developed every day. How can you help? By altering the pace of this vital work. What CIVITAS needs is resources. Financial resources. Given sufficient resources, we can not only find the answers, we can implement them. Do it for humanitarian reasons. Do it for self–interest. But do it now. Please.

If you want more information about CIVITAS; if you want to make a contribution; or if you want both, write to:

Bruce D. Perry, M.D., Director