Chapter 8 - The Hearing in Dedham
Courtroom 4 of the Norfolk County Family and Probate Court in Dedham was lined with dark walnut paneling and smelled of polished brass and old leather.
At 2:00 PM, Judge Carolyn Ross took the bench. She was sixty-two years old, with sharp, observant hazel eyes behind frameless glasses, and carried a reputation as the most unyielding family court jurist in the Commonwealth.
Sitting at the defense table was Arthur Sterling.
He had been brought in from the county detention center wearing a faded orange prisoner jumpsuit, his ankles shackled together with a heavy steel chain that clanked against the carpet with every step. Without his tailored suits, his salon haircuts, and his signet ring, he looked small, gaunt, and entirely pathetic. His public defender, an exhausted-looking young woman appointed after Harrison Vance abandoned the case, sat beside him with a thin manila folder.
Across the center aisle sat Evelyn Ross, myself, and Detective Marcus Miller.
"We are convened in the matter of Clara Sterling on behalf of Gillian Sterling v. Arthur Sterling," Judge Ross announced, her voice echoing through the vaulted room. "Petition for a permanent, lifetime domestic violence protective order under Chapter 209A."
Arthur’s public defender stood up hesitantly. "Your Honor, my client understands the gravity of the allegations, but we submit that a lifetime order is unprecedented for a first-time family offense. Mr. Sterling is prepared to enter into a voluntary ninety-day anger management protocol and agree to supervised contact during holiday gatherings—"
"Counselor, stop," Judge Ross interrupted.
The judge picked up her spectacles, took off her reading glasses, and leaned forward over the elevated bench. Her eyes locked onto Arthur Sterling with an intensity that made the man shrink back into his orange collar.
"I have reviewed the clinical trauma report from Boston Children’s Hospital," Judge Ross said, her voice dropping into a register of icy, absolute condemnation. "I have reviewed the high-definition security footage captured inside 144 Crafts Road on Sunday afternoon. In thirty years on the bench, I have rarely witnessed an act of domestic cowardice so thoroughly devoid of human decency."
She picked up the photo of Gigi’s swollen cheek, holding it up so the entire courtroom could see it.
"This is a two-year-old child, Mr. Sterling. A toddler whose only offense was reaching for a piece of ribbon on a birthday table. You did not administer discipline. You committed a violent, unprovoked assault against an infant who trusted you as her uncle. And then you stood over her and called her a spoiled brat while your mother watched."
Arthur began to tremble, his hands pulling against the waist chain. "Your Honor, please... I was under immense stress... the business—"
"Do not speak to me about business, Mr. Sterling," the judge cut him off with a crack of her gavel. "The federal court across the river has already documented the nature of your business. You are a predator who hid behind your father’s checkbook until the money ran out."
Judge Ross signed the document before her with a heavy, gold fountain pen.
"The petition for a permanent, lifetime order of protection is granted in full. The defendant, Arthur Sterling, is ordered to remain at least one thousand yards away from Clara Sterling and Gillian Sterling, their residence, their place of employment, and any educational or daycare facility the minor child attends. Any violation of this order constitutes an immediate, non-bailable felony under state law."
She turned her gaze to Detective Miller.
"Detective Miller, has the Norfolk County grand jury returned an indictment on the criminal docket?"
"Thirty minutes ago, Your Honor," Miller stood and answered. "Three counts of Felony Child Abuse Resulting in Substantial Bodily Injury, and two counts of Witness Intimidation. The Commonwealth has requested a trial date in sixty days."
"Excellent," Judge Ross said. "Remand the prisoner to the maximum-security tier. Court is adjourned."
As the court bailiffs moved in to escort Arthur through the secure holding door, he twisted around in his chains, his wild, bloodshot eyes locking onto mine across the wooden railing.
"Clara!" Arthur cried out, his voice cracking into a high, desperate whine that sounded like a frightened animal. "Clara, look at me! I'm your brother! You're destroying our family! Tell them it was a mistake! Please... Clara!"
I stood up from the mahogany table, smoothed the front of my wool coat, and took Evelyn Ross’s arm.
May you like
I did not speak to him. I did not glare at him. I simply looked at him the way one looks at a shattered piece of glass on the highway—something dangerous that had finally been swept to the side of the road.
I turned my back on the defense table, walked through the double oak doors, and stepped out into the clean, cold Massachusetts air.
