A LOT OF TROUBLE

Chapter Three

            The alarm clock droned all too soon at 5am.  For a moment, neither Judith nor Lennie could recall the reason for it, but then Lennie apparently did because a very grim look came over his face.

            "Did you sleep well?" she asked.          

            "Well enough.  That whatever you gave me did the trick."

            "I'll make coffee."

            "Make it quick.  We gotta be on the road."

            Guess he hasn't changed his mind about my going along, she thought.  She wanted to ask him if he were still sure about that, but he looked definitely not in the mood for conversation.

            And she was right about that.  He said barely a word to her as they made their way out of the city and turned north on I-87. 

            "Ought to be about three hours from here," he observed.  "You don't look like you slept very much."

            "I didn't.  I was thinking."

            "About what?"

            "About you mostly.  I was just remembering. . .   Remembering a lot of things.  You've been good to me, Lennie – and good for me.  I wish you didn't have to go through this."

            "Yeah, well. . . "  His voice trailed off, and he lapsed back into silence.

            Judith wished she could sleep.  In fact, she'd very much like to be asleep before they crossed I-84 in about an hour.  There, just east over the Hudson lay Beacon, and Judith didn't want to think about that right now, and she started to worry about how she might react.  Lennie didn't need any sort of incident from her.  Actually, she was getting more worried about him by the minute.  He was white-knuckle driving although there were relatively few other vehicles on the road.  And this grim silence wasn't at all like him.  Only once before had she seen him anything at all like this, and Judith didn't like to think about that either, but she recalled it all too well.  "The Briscoe Storm" he had explained later was what his daughters had called it – a rare occurrence but not easy to watch.

            It had been about three months ago when Judith and Lennie were still working on their "plan."  On a Sunday afternoon they were sitting on a bench in a small park-like area sharing french fries and a Coke.  She couldn't remember what they had been talking about, but they were chatting and laughing when suddenly something on the street caught Lennie's attention.  Judith didn't think anything of it at first because no matter what he was doing Lennie was always scanning his immediate environment – second nature for a cop he told her.  Usually it made her feel safe, but this time there seemed to be something definitely wrong.  She turned to see if she could see what he was looking at, but he stopped her and said in a steely voice she had never heard, "Judith, do exactly what I say right now, and don't ask any questions.  See that coffee shop across the street?  You go there right now, and don't look back."

            "Lennie. . . ?"

            "Now!  Go!"

            Confused, Judith looked at him for a long second and then did as he told her – almost.  She crossed the street to the coffee shop but could not resist looking back.  Lennie was approaching a couple on the sidewalk on the side of the street where they had been sitting.  There was definitely some sort of problem between them.  In the coffee shop, Judith took a seat as close to the window as she could.  There was no doubt the man was harassing the woman.  Judith couldn't see her clearly, but she had the definite impression that the woman somehow did not look in good shape.  What happened next Judith couldn't be sure of because it was happening so fast and some people who had stopped to look were in her way.  It was evident that Lennie was in some sort of altercation with the man and that he was trying to separate the two.  Possibly Lennie was trying to take the woman away.  Maybe she was resisting him?  Judith just couldn't tell.  It was only minutes, but the scene seemed to drag on longer than that.  She was getting scared because the man looked very angry and out of control, and she didn't see any other police in sight.  Then the man seemed to be gone – she didn't know where.  Lennie was taking the woman across the street toward the coffee shop.  Had he arrested her? she wondered.

            He and the woman entered the coffee shop.  Lennie continued past the table where Judith was sitting and said brusquely, "Not a brilliant choice of a seat, Judith.  Get back here."  Bewildered, she followed him and the woman to the farthest back empty table in the place. 

            "Sit," he said to both of them.  As they did, Judith could see that indeed the woman was not in good shape at all.  New and old bruises and welts covered her face.  She wasn't poorly dressed, but she seemed shabby and thrown together – and very dazed.  Judith tried not to stare, but she had never seen anyone who looked as terrible as this woman did – not in prison, not anywhere -- and she wanted to cry for her.

            "Judith, this is Ellie.  I want you to sit with her here for just a moment while I make a call."  Shifting a constant glance from both of them to the entrance, he went to the counter where he flashed his badge and was handed a phone. 

            "Ellie," Judith said reaching her hand out to the woman.  "Ellie, can I get anything for you?"

            The woman made no response whatsoever, and then Lennie was back at the table.

            "Leave now, please, Judith."

            "Leave?"

            "Yes.  Go back to your apartment.  I'll be there later."

            "When?"

            "Just go.  Now."

            Judith looked again at the woman.  There didn't seem to be anything she could do, and Lennie had made it plain that he didn't want her here.

            "Okay," she mumbled and gathered her bag and coat.

            Back in her apartment, she poured herself a glass of wine to steady her nerves and wondered just what it was she had witnessed and why Lennie had changed so completely right before her eyes.  She was pretty sure that he probably had slipped into work mode, but he'd never been that unpleasant to her – not even on the day he arrested her.  What in the world?

            It was probably about 90 minutes later that he rang her bell.  She let him in, and he didn't say anything.  He sat down on the couch, and he didn't say anything.  Judith couldn't stand it any longer.  "Ellie?  What hap. . . "

            "Ellie's gonna be dead in six months – if not less."

            "She's sick?"

            Lennie laughed very bitterly.  "No, she's not the one who's sick."

            She wanted to keep him talking.  "Who is?"

            "It's the fucked-up system that's sick!"

            "Um, how?"

            "You don't have a clue what went on out there, do you, Judith?"

            "You know I don't."

            "Well, let me explain it.  Ellie – Mrs. Mason – was beaten up, not once but over and over and over again."

            "That much I could tell."

            "It's the beatings you can't see are what's gonna kill her."

            "I don't understand."

            "No, of course you don't."

            Judith was trying to be patient but was getting annoyed at Lennie's attitude.  "You don't have to say it as if it were my fault."

            Lennie closed his eyes for a long minute and didn't say anything.   When he did, it was, "Get me a glass of wine."

            Judith was stunned.  "Lennie, I don't know how to respond to that."

            "You respond by getting me a glass of wine, that's how!"

            Judith was shaking and thought it best not to argue with him.  She started for the kitchen, but she heard Lennie give a great big sigh behind her, and he called her back.

            "Judith, I. . .  Look, I'm sorry.  Just make it ginger ale, okay?"

            "Yes, sure – okay." 

She thought it would be a good idea to remove her own wine glass from the coffee table and take it with her, but when she reached for it, he snapped, "Leave it!"

When she returned he had gotten up and was looking out the window on the other side of the room.  She brought him the ginger ale, and he turned and half-sat on the sill.  She went back to the couch.  He looked ruefully at his soda and then looked at her and she could see the want in his eyes.

She had one of her intuitive flashes and said, "I know what you're thinking."

A look of cynical amusement flickered across his face.  "So, Little Miss Empath strikes again?  Do tell me.  What am I thinking?"

Without missing a beat, she said, "You're wishing you had a real drink and a real woman."

He stared at her in some surprise, and she could tell she had been right on target.  He turned to look out the window again and sipped his ginger ale.  Judith didn't say anything, praying that he was working his way through whatever had come over him.

Finally, without turning around, he said, "Look, I know the way I'm behaving is rotten, and I expect I'll be doing some big time apologizing later.  Right now, I'm just really angry, and this is what happens."

"Can you help me understand why you're so angry?"

He did.  He returned to the couch and gave her a terse, almost toneless, crash course in what happened in cases like Ellie Mason's – how those beatings Judith didn't see were those administered by bad law.  He said he could have written the whole script almost from the moment he spotted them.  Severe domestic abuse.  Divorce or estrangement.  Still more beatings.  Restraining orders.  Some jail time for the man – maybe.  Release.  More beatings.  More restraining orders.  None of it making a damn bit of difference.  Lennie could see it in the man's eyes as soon as he encountered him.  He was going to kill Ellie.  Today or not.  But sooner or later.  It already was a done deal.

"But you reported him, right?  He violated a restraining order.  Won't he be arrested?"

"Yeah, for probably about three seconds."

"He looked really violent, Lennie.  Weren't you worried he could have hurt you or someone else besides Ellie?"

"A coward like that?  I doubt it.  He's got one target and one target only in mind.  Still, you never can be absolutely sure.  That's why I wanted you out of the way."

"So, what did you do with Ellie?"

"Arranged for her to be taken to a shelter.  I went along to her place with them to collect her kids and some of their stuff.  Wanted to be sure that the bastard wasn't waiting for her."

"Kids?  Oh, no!  They have kids?"

"Three."

"So, what happens now?"

"He'll kill her."

"But she's at the shelter."

"She'll have to leave eventually to make space for others, or she'll leave on her own.  It really doesn't matter.  He'll kill her, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it."

"I hope you're wrong."

"I'm not.  Guys on Death Row have a better chance than Ellie Mason.  Hell, people on a terminal cancer ward have a better chance than Ellie Mason."

"And no one can do anything at all about this?"

"If those bastards in Albany wanted to get off their fat asses, sure.  But it ain't gonna happen.  Probably not in my lifetime, and definitely not in time for Ellie Mason."

"That's what it would take?"

"That's what it would take," he answered resignedly.  "Like McCoy's always telling us, 'Write the legislature.'" 

They didn't say anything for a minute or so.  Finally, he sighed and said, "Well, you know what I really need right now?"

"I know what I hope it's not."

"No, don't worry.  I need to walk – walk for a good long time."

Judith thought that sounded like a good idea.  She used to do a lot of walking herself – round and round the perimeter at Beacon.  It helped.

"You want to walk by yourself, or do you want some company?"

He considered that.  "Company.  But you better realize that I'm not going to be very good company."

"That's okay.  Just let me change my shoes."

"Can we take your car?"

"I thought you wanted to walk."

"I want to walk at Battery Park."

"Isn't it a little cold for that?"

"The water's good.  It helps."

"Whatever.  I'll get an extra sweater, too."

So, they walked, and they walked.  Judith had trouble keeping up with Lennie, and he didn't seem to notice.  A couple times she just sat on a bench while he made another round.  Finally, when the afternoon was growing dusky, he joined her there.

"I guess it's time to start that apologizing now," he said sheepishly.

"I'm more interested in your feeling better than in your apologizing."

"Thanks, but I really am sorry.  I know I probably frightened you."

"Yes, you did." 

He didn't reply.

"Does this happen often, Lennie?"

"No, not often at all.  My girls used to call it "The Briscoe Storm," and they learned to keep out of my way when it struck."

"You'd get angry at them?"

"No, no – not at them.  Well, I mean, of course, of course I would be angry with them sometimes, but like parent and kids stuff – not like this."

"What's the difference?"

"This is. . .  Well, this is not angry at individuals.  Hell, I wasn't even angry at Ellie Mason's husband – sorry piece of crap isn't worth it.    What I get angry at is when people get hurt – when there's waste, incompetence, indifference.  When people could do something about it but they don't because they don't care or it's unpopular."

            "I can understand that, Lennie, but you did frighten me."

            "I hope you didn't think that I was angry with you." 

            "It got a little hard to tell for a few minutes there."

            He closed his eyes in real pain for a moment.  Then he took her hands.  "I know.  I was so angry that I was blind to everything else, and you were just in the way."

            "You know, one thing I learned at Beacon – we're all responsible for our own behavior.  We can't control what happens to us, but we're responsible for how we respond to it."

            "You're right, of course.  The only excuse I have is that it's never what happens to me – it's just when it happens to others and I can't do anything about it." 

            "So, who's the empath now?"

            "You've got me there."

            "Maybe it's what we have in common.  It's only that I cry and you get angry."

            "You got angry – at least once."

            "And you've got me there."

            "I guess we're a mess, Judith."

            "You?  You're one of the most together people I've ever met."

            "Then why did I treat you the way I did this afternoon?"

            "As you said, because I was there."

            "And that was wrong."

            "In the scheme of what you were dealing with, it's inconsequential.  I understand that now."

            "I can't guarantee it won't ever happen again."

            "At least now I'll recognize it."

            The flowers and box of Godiva that arrived at the gallery the next day weren't necessary, but Judith and Lennie sure had a good time on the couch that night eating the chocolate.

            One evening about a month later, he dropped a piece of paper into her lap.  It was a photocopy of the first page of a homicide report from the 116th Precinct.  Ellie Mason.  Lennie didn't say a word about it.  Judith watched for signs of  "The Briscoe Storm," but as far as she could tell he went about the evening normally.  They never mentioned Ellie Mason again.

            Now, watching Lennie as he drove, Judith could sense the white-hot fury in him.  She decided it might be best to take a page from the Briscoe girls' book and leave him alone for a while – at least until she saw any opportunity to be able to help him.

            Mercifully, Judith did nod off before they passed Beacon, so she didn't have to worry about that.  When she did wake, it was with a start.  She wasn't used to being in a car at interstate speeds.  In fact, she hardly could remember being on such a long road trip.  The last time was when she and Steven had driven to Nova Scotia, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

            Lennie glanced at her.  "Hungry?" he asked absently.

            "I could be, and it might be a good idea to stretch your legs."

            "Yeah.  Next chance."

            He did not say anything again for the next ten or twelve miles that it took them to find an exit with fast food places.  They pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald's, but Lennie continued to sit, still clutching the steering wheel.

            Judith already had opened her door.  "Lennie," she said hesitantly.  "Are we getting out?"

            He didn't say anything for a moment.  "Judith, who could do something like this?"

            "Do you really know yet what happened?"

            "I know enough.  From what Julia said."

            Judith didn't want to tell Lennie what he should be thinking, but she did venture,  "It's Jake and Julia who need you now.   Do you want to call her and see how he is?"

            "No.  No.  I did think about that, but I just couldn't stand, if. . .  No.   Let's wait until we get there."

            "Okay.  I, um, hate to point out the obvious, but we are stopped.  Let's go ahead and get something, okay?"

            "Yeah – sure."  And he finally did let go of the steering wheel.

            When they were back on the road about fifteen minutes later, Lennie lapsed again into silence.  For his sake, Judith wanted them to be in Glens Falls soon, but she had to admit to herself that she wasn't at all looking forward to arriving there.  Probably Lennie would just leave her at a motel.  That would be fine.  Yes, that would work.  And then he could just go ahead and go on to the hospital.  Surely that would be best.  She wanted to ask him what would happen when they arrived, but she just didn't think it would be a good idea to start a conversation with him right now.  Maybe when they got closer, maybe when they were almost there, he would tell her what he wanted to do.

            Judith didn't want to think because all she did when she thought about this situation was worry.  She had tucked a novel and several art magazines into her bag in the back seat, but she didn't think she could concentrate, and Lennie might think her insensitive if she tried to distract herself.  Judith, for God's sake, she told herself.  Could you possibly think of anything stupider to worry about?"   

            Worry.  She sometimes thought that "worry" should be her middle name – and first and last.  Worry-worry-worry.  Her mother was a worrier.  Her father had been a worrier.  She supposed she came by it honestly.  Of course, they had things really to worry about.  She had understood that once she had understood about the camps.  One of the things they had worried so much about was Judith's being scarred by their experiences.  If they could have kept her from ever knowing, they would have.  But who could not know?  Who wouldn't have asked why the three of them had no family?

            Still, Judith often found most peculiar the things her mother could find to worry about.  She had to suppress a smile when she thought about the day her mother had found out about Lennie.  It wasn't funny really, but it was so typically her mother.

            During a phone conversation several months ago, Judith felt she needed to explain why she hadn't been visiting as often as she had been when she first left the halfway house.

            "So?  You are seeing a man?  Judith, that is a good thing."

            "I think so, too, Mother.  He's a lot of fun."

            "Well, fun, you know, fun is not the most important thing.  Tell me about him.  What does he do?"

            Actually, that is why she hadn't already said something to her mother about Lennie.  She knew that his job might be a hard sell.  Her parents were the most law-abiding people on earth – growing up, Judith would never dare even to think about throwing a candy wrapper on the street – but they did have a visceral aversion to authority figures, especially ones in uniform.  And Judith could understand that all too well, but she was sure – well, she hoped anyway that her mother could make exceptions for individuals.

            "He works for the city," she hedged, wanting to approach this topic slowly.

            "Oh, that is nice.  What does he do exactly?"

            Judith closed her eyes and said, "He's a detective."

            "For the city?  But why. . . ?  Judith, you do not mean he's a police detective?"

            "Yes, Mother.  That's what he is?"

            "But, Judith. . .   Judith, where would you ever meet such a person?"

            This wasn't going exactly the way Judith had planned.  She had hoped first to get her mother used to the idea of Lennie's being with the NYPD and later get around to this question.  She briefly considered going with the supermarket story, but her mother only would be angry later if Judith were less than truthful with her now. 

            "Well, Mother, we both know that I have some prior acquaintance with the police."

            "But, he's not. . .  He could not be one of those who. . . "

            Just then Lennie rang the bell.  Well, this is just getting better and better, Judith thought as she let him in, still talking to her mother.

            "Yes, Mother – one in the same."  She put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Lennie.  "It's my mother.  I'll be off soon – I hope."

            He wandered off to the kitchen as her mother's voice grew shrill.

            "Judith!  How could such a thing happen?  You should not be going out with this person!  Judith, this is not a good thing at all!"

            "Mother, he's a very nice man."

            "No, Judith, listen to me.  This is bad, very bad.  I know I never told you very much about this, but, Judith, in the camps, there were some girls. . . "  Her mother's voice trailed off.  She was obviously very distressed.

            "Mother, what in the world are you talking about?"

            "These girls – with the guards. . . "

            "I don't believe I'm hearing this!  For heaven's sake, Mother!"  Judith was pacing around her living room now, and Lennie, curious, came to the kitchen doorway.

            "And, later, Judith, a few years back – you remember?  Those hostages in Stockholm?  It is the same thing like that, and it's. . . "

            Judith didn't often interrupt her mother, but now she just had to.  "Mother!  That is not the same thing at all!  Those two things probably even aren't the same thing."

            "How is it different?  You just tell me that, Judith.  How is this thing you are doing different?"

            Judith paced and smacked her hand against her forehead.  "It's different because, in the first place, those other people were victims.  If you recall, I was not."

            "You were a victim, Judith.  That man Richard Peterson. . . "

            Judith interrupted again.  "Not again, please, Mother.  We have been through this too many times."  Judith's mother never could understand Judith's wanting to take responsibility for her part in what had happened to Stephen Campbell.  To her mother, it was all just some horrible mistake.

            "Those police persons, Judith.  They never should have arrested you.  They didn't understand."

            "They were doing their jobs," Judith pointed out, wearying of this conversation.

            "These are not good people, Judith.  They didn't care about the truth.  You must send this man away at once.  This is not a good situation for you."

            "Mother, I'm sorry.  I can't talk any more with you about this right now.  You are too upset."

            "He's there with you, Judith?  Is that man with you in your apartment?"

            "Yes, Mother," she sighed.

            "You must send him away now.  If he won't go, you must call. . . "

            Judith waited.  "Yes, Mother?  Whom must I call?"

            "Well. . . "

            "You see how ridiculous you are being?"

            "Now you are calling me ridiculous?"

            "No, I didn't say you are ridiculous, but you have a ridiculous notion about this."

            "You will see that I am right.  Judith, this is not good for you at all."

            "No, Mother.  It's very good for me."

            "You must. . . "

            "Mother, I can't talk to you any more about this right now.  Why don't you think about it overnight, and I'll call you tomorrow.  Okay?"

            "You are the one who must think, Judith."

            "Okay, I'll think.  But right now I have to go."

            'To that man?  You shouldn't. . . "

            "Please, Mother – I don't want to have to hang up on you."

            "You would do that?  To your own mother?"

            "No, of course not.  But I am going to say 'goodbye' now."

            When she finally managed to end the conversation, she sat on the couch threw her head back, and let out a frustrated growl.  Lennie sat beside her.

            "They can make you crazy sometimes, can't they?" he observed.

            "You have no idea."

            "Oh, I think I do," he chuckled.  "From both sides.  So, is it just my self-centered imagination, or was I the topic of conversation?"

            "I just told her about you."

            "What's the problem?  I'm not Jewish enough?"

            "Oh, we didn't even get to that yet."

            "So, why's she upset?"

            "It's what you do – for openers."

            "She doesn't like cops?"

            "Yes, that's it exactly."

            "Another fan of New York's Finest, eh?  What's she got against us?"

            "You have to understand, Lennie – people like my parents. . .   Well, police, the military, anything like that can bring back some really bad memories."

            "Yeah, I guess I can understand that.  I really can.  Any chance she could get past that – at least in my case?"

            "That's what I was hoping.  And I think she could have."

            "Could have?"

            Judith sighed deeply.  "Yes, I think I could have brought her around to making an exception, but you're not just any cop."

            "You told her about that?"

            "I wasn't going to – at least not at first – but right off the bat she asks how we met."

            "Oh."

            "Yeah – oh.  She's worried that I have Stockholm Syndrome."

            "Stockholm Syndrome?  You mean that thing with the hostages and. . . "

            "Yes."

            "Is she serious?"

            "Oh, she's serious all right."

            "But that's. . . "

            "Crazy.  Yes, I know."

            Judith could see that Lennie was trying to keep from smiling.  "Did your shrink ever say you have Stockholm Syndrome?"

            "Even he's not that crazy."

            "Do you think you have Stockholm Syndrome, Judith?"

            "Of course not."

            Now they both were trying to suppress smiles.

            "This isn't funny, Judith."

            "No, it isn't funny.  Not at all."

            "Not one bit."

            Then they lost the battle and gave into out loud laughter.  Lennie wiped his eyes and said, "I'm sorry.  We shouldn't be sitting here laughing about your mother."

            "No, we shouldn't.  I know.  But, God – Stockholm Syndrome?  The things she worries about!  It makes me crazy sometimes."

            "Are you going to be able to bring her around?"

            "I don't know.  She wanted me to call the police to get rid of you."

            "Now you really are joking."

            "No, I'm really not."  And they both dissolved in giggles again at the thought.

            When he recovered himself, Lennie said, "Well, she sounds like quite a character.  Think you can bring her around enough that she'd be willing to meet me sometime?"

            "I'm going to try.  I'll talk to her again tomorrow.  I'm sure she'll eventually back down – preferably before I completely lose my mind."

            It took at least a couple of weeks of convincing, but finally Judith's mother did come around, and when she finally met Lennie, she did have to concede both that Judith was in a healthy relationship and that he was a nice man.

            Now, speeding north towards Glens Falls, Judith wondered if things would go as smoothly with Julia.  Damn it, Judith, she told herself, you're worrying about the wrong thing again.  But she couldn't help it.  She'd be just as happy not to have to meet Julia at all – at least not right now, not under the present circumstances.  And what if. . .

            She apparently had nodded off again because Lennie was shaking her shoulder and saying, "We're here."

                                                End Chapter Three.  Go to Chapter Four --------