convicted of multiple drug and theft offenses. The identity and whereabouts of the boy's biological father are unknown. 5. Stephen Solomon has petitioned the court for long-term licensed custody of the minor child, pursuant to Section 39.623. The undersigned finds that:
(A) The homeschooling provided by Mr. Solomon consists mainly of unsupervised reading, including criminal court files and autopsy reports unsuitable for a child. (B) Mr. Solomon has denied the undersigned an opportunity to perform medical tests on the child, including repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation (RTMS). He further has prevented the child from taking part in therapy programs of the Pilot Autism Project at Rockland State Hospital. (C) Mr. Solomon maintains a professional life that can best be described as chaotic. An attorney, he has been jailed for contempt of court on numerous occasions and has earned a reputation for bizarre behavior in the courtroom. Additionally, although he demonstrates obvious affection for R.A.S., Mr. Solomon is ill-equipped to serve as custodian for a child of such special needs.
RECOMMENDATION
The undersigned recommends that Stephen Solomon's petition for custody be denied and that R.A.S. be adjudged a ward of the state and placed in a licensed shelter with mandatory testing and treatment under the auspices of the Division of Family Services. Respectfully submitted,
Doris Kranchick, MD
Twenty-nine
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
“What bullshit! What total bullshit!”
Clutching a copy of Kranchick's report in one hand, an ice bag pressed to his temple with the other, Steve paced his office. Tie at half-mast, face flushed, a doorknob-size lump on his forehead. Purplish bruises circled his eyes. He looked like an angry raccoon. Victoria sat at her desk, watching and worrying. Bobby crouched cross- legged in a chair, his head buried in a book.
“Just wait till I get Kranchick in court,” Steve said.
“I feel terrible,” Victoria said. “Maybe if I hadn't run from the table-”
“Nothing to do with it. She likes you. She says my life's ‘chaotic.' Unless you're in a coma, whose life isn't?”
“Maybe you should calm down before you start planning trial strategy.”
“I'm calm!”
“Shouldn't we talk about the burglary? Do you really think it was Manko?”
He tossed the ice bag onto his desk. “Who else would it be?”
They'd been over this for hours last night after a soggy and bruised Steve had squished back to the house. The intruder had been in the study. Steve's briefcase had been moved, but nothing was taken from the house. The security video was in the VCR, just where he'd left it. What had the burglar been after? So far, nothing made sense. What good would it do to steal the tape when Pincher had a copy?
“Are you going to confront Manko?” she asked.
“Not without proof.”
“Yesterday you accused him of murder even though you thought he was innocent, but today you won't accuse him of a burglary you think he committed?”
“Let's see what happens when the forensics guy goes over the tape.” A fly buzzed into the office from the window above the Dumpster, and Steve swung at it with the report. Strike one. He opened the report again and read aloud: “‘A reputation for bizarre behavior in the courtroom.' Kranchick's hated me from day one.”
“Because you wouldn't do her,” Bobby said, without looking up from his book. “You wouldn't stick your screwdriver in her tool shed.”
“Bobby, that's really inappropriate,” Victoria said.
“Yeah, stow that shit,” Steve said.
“No guy will ride her tunnel of love,” Bobby said. “I'm gonna tell the judge that.”
“The hell you are,” Steve said.
“Dive for a pearl in her bearded clam.”
“Bobby, chill!”
“Chomp her carpet burger.”
“Cut it out, kiddo. And what's that you're reading?”
Holding up a tattered book, Bobby spoke in perfect French: “La Pendaison, la Strangulation, la Suffocation, la Submersion.”
“If that's porno, get rid of it.”
“Coroner's textbook from the nineteenth century,” Bobby said.
“Put it away. It's not suitable for a child.”
“Yes it is.”
“Kranchick wouldn't agree. You want her to take you away?”
“No!” Bobby yelled, then fell into a chant, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…”
“Aw, jeez, I'm sorry.”
The boy was rocking in his chair. Victoria remembered that first night at Steve's house. Bobby had blasted her with the squirt gun, then dashed inside, where he buried himself in the sofa and swayed back and forth, locked into some dark cellar of his mind.
“No, no, no, no, no, no…”
The boy was a wreck, she thought. If he acted this way in court, Steve wouldn't have a chance. “Bobby, do you want to play the anagram game?” she asked. Anything to calm him down.
“No, no, no, no, no, no…”
Steve walked over to Bobby and tousled his hair. The boy twisted his head so the palm of his uncle's hand caressed his cheek. After a moment Bobby rubbed his face against Steve's hand like a contented kitten. Then he picked up the old French coroner's book and, just like that, started calmly reading again.
Steve resumed pacing, swinging the rolled-up report at an imaginary baseball or an imaginary Kranchick, Victoria didn't know which. She was worried about both Solomon boys. Bobby was regressing, and Steve was far too hair-trigger. Bobby's case required logic and reason, strategy and finesse, but Steve was planning an artillery attack.
“I'll expose that quack,” he said. “What are her credentials, anyway? Does she have an ounce of compassion? Does she understand that love is more important than charts and tests?”
“Steve-”
“I took Bobby to her hospital. They tried to give him an IV drip of Valium for some tests, and I said, no fucking way.”
“Who are your experts? What's your strategy?”
“Do you know what it smells like in that hospital? Ammonia and laundry starch. If I could bring that stink into court, no judge would give Bobby to the state.”
Out of control, she thought. No sense of objectivity. No plan.
“If we lose,” Steve said, “I'm packing our bags.”
“Give up your Bar license, become a fugitive?”
“If that's what it takes.”
“Have you thought about retaining counsel?”
“Who can argue the case better than me?”
“Someone who's not emotionally involved.”
“You been talking to Marvin the Maven?” Steve put a little gravel in his voice. “‘The man who represents himself has a shmendrick for a client.'”
“Marvin's right.”
“Not this time. See, the theme of my case is love conquers all.”
