‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Those are the conditions we work under, Mrs Johnson. If we don’t get voluntary
co-operation, we have no way to force it.’
‘Well… I can do one thing. I can go talk to her principal, tell him that be has VD
running around loose in his school:
‘It won’t do any good, Mrs Johnson. You will find that he is extremely leary of
being sued.’
I thought about it… and had to admit (the lawyer in me) that I had nothing to tell
the principal if Priscilla refused to co-operate. Ask him to run ‘short arm
inspection’ (Brian’s Army slang for it) on all his older boys? He would have
hundreds of parents on his neck before dark.
‘What about drugs?’
‘What about drugs, Mrs Johnson?’
‘Does Public Health deal with drugs?’
`Some. Not much. Drugs are usually a police matter.’
I told them what I had found. ‘What should I do?’
‘Does your daughter admit that these items are hers?’
‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about them yet.’
‘If she won’t admit it, you may have great trouble proving that the key items – the
cannabis and the powder that may be cocaine – are hers, rather than yours. I know
you are a lawyer… but perhaps you need to see a lawyer who specialises in such
matters. There is an old saw about that, is there not?’
(‘A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client.’)
‘Indeed there is all right, I’ll take advice first’
Donald showed up right after that. He had not been on the couch on Saturday morning;
I had assumed that he had gone back to Grinnell. It was now evident from the speed
with which he showed up once I fetched Priscilla home from the hospital that he had
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stayed in Kansas City and placed himself somewhere near to watch for her return.
Evident, but not true. He had learned somehow what hospital she was in – I could
think of three simple ways – then arranged for someone to let him know when she was
dismissed – again, three simple ways, including bribery if he could afford it. Never
mind; he showed up.
The door chimed.
I buzzed the door phone. ‘Announce yourself, please.’
‘It’s Donald, Mama.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see Priss.’
‘You can’t see her.’
‘I’ll see her if I have to bust this door downt’
I reached up and set off the Argus Patrol’s ‘Mayday!’ ‘Donald, I will not let you
enter this house.’
‘Try and stop me!’ He started kicking the door.
Priscilla came running downstairs, started to open the front door. I grabbed at her;
there was a scuffle, we both went down.
I’m no fighter. Fortunately Priscilla was not trained, either. Brian had taught me
just one thing: ‘If you have to do it, do it fast. Don’t wait’
As she was getting up, I punched her in the stomach – no, the solar plexus. She went
down and lay there, trying to gasp air.
I heard from outside, ‘Mrs Johnson! Argus is here:
‘Nab him and take him away! I’ll call you.’
‘Nab who?’
‘Uh -‘ Priscilla was trying to get up again. I punched her in the same spot; she
went down the same way. ‘Can you wait around for twenty minutes or a half-hour? He
might come back.’
‘Certainly. We’ll stay as long as you need us. I’ll call in.’
‘Thank you, Rick. It is Rick, is it not?’
‘Rick it is, Ma’am.’
I turned round, grabbed my daughter by the hair, lifted her head, and snarled at
her. ‘Crawl upstairs, go to your room, and stay there! If I hear another peep out of
you, I’ll punch you again.’
She did exactly as I told her to, crawled away, sobbing, and crept upstairs, slowly.
I made sure all doors and windows on the ground floor were locked, then I called
Dallas.
I explained to Brian in bitter detail what had happened since I had last called him
to report on our children, what I had tried to do, what had actually happened.