misdemeanors sufficient evidence of lack of fitness, nowadays? Or have standards tumbled that low? As an expert, I’m sure you’re aware that for every conviction there are half a dozen offenses never accounted for. Per the FBI.”
“You’ve been doing your research.”
“Am I not obligated to do just that? In the best interests of the child?”
Before I could answer, she said, “Now I’d like to educate you in greater detail regarding my sister’s psychiatric profile.”
My sister. The child
.
In her world, names were a nuisance.
At the onset of every evaluation, I work at keeping an open mind, but impressions form and more often than not they’re confirmed by the facts. After a few moments with Connie Sykes, observing the flatness in her eyes, hearing the machine-like diction, I couldn’t help conjuring a pathologist perched on a lab stool, observing a specimen on a slide.
I said, “Go on.”
“First off, she’s an unhealthily dependent individual. And she directs those immature impulses at a particularly unsuitable peer group.”
“Bad friends,” I said.
“She consorts with low-life degenerates whose poor character matches her own. Specifically, we need to be careful about two individuals. Either one of whom could very well be the child’s father.”
Withdrawing a manila file from the briefcase, she placed it on her lap.
“We begin with a disreputable man named William J. Melandrano. Aka ‘Winky.’ Origin of that nickname is still unknown to me but given this person’s obvious attention deficit disorder, I have my theories. Sample two is one Bernard V. Chamberlain. Aka ‘Boris.’ ”
She let out a dry laugh.
I said, “You believe one of them is Rambla’s father.”
“Neither will come forward and attest to such, nor will my sister shed light on the matter, but she’s been intimate with both of them over the years. During the same time period, which should tell you something.”
“You know this because—”
“I’ve seen them with her. The way they touched her. My sister
loves
attention.” She shuddered.
“Ree won’t confirm paternity.”
“Yet another indication of poor character,” she said. “Isn’t knowledge of paternity any child’s birthright? A vital component of a child’s proper development?”
“Both these men are bad influences but Rambla needs to know which one’s her father.”
“If for no other reason than to be wary.”
“How did you meet Melandrano and Chamberlain?”
“My sister introduced me to them. Prevailed upon me to hear them.” She huffed. “They’re alleged musicians. An alleged band called—are you ready for this? ‘Lonesome Moan.’ The only moaning in question is that which arises upon being assaulted by the noise they create.”
“Not virtuosos.”
“Good grief,” she said, covering her ears. “The entire situation—my sister’s milieu—is repellent. For her whole life she’s made decisions that have left her bereft of the normal material and emotional nutrients enjoyed by decent individuals. Now she’s made the supreme error of delivering a child out of wedlock. I cannot, in good conscience, visit her sins upon her offspring.”
“You believe she puts Rambla in danger.”
Giving her a chance to use the toddler’s name.
“I don’t believe it, I know it. Because unlike you and the judge and the attorneys—all of whom are intelligent enough and, I hope, well intentioned—I’m the only one able to draw upon a comprehensive data bank that offers the complete picture.”
Her foot nudged the briefcase.
I said, “All those years with your sister.”
“Must you do that?” she said. “Paraphrase everything I say? This isn’t psychotherapy, it’s fact finding.”
I said, “What’s in the briefcase?”
“The chronicle of a lifetime spent with my sister. May I summarize?”
“Please do.”
“I was close to eight when she was born. Soon it became apparent that she wasn’t up to Connor and myself
Vanessa Kelly
JUDY DUARTE
Ruth Hamilton
P. J. Belden
Jude Deveraux
Mike Blakely
Neal Stephenson
Thomas Berger
Mark Leyner
Keith Brooke