President's assassin

Margaret Barnes stared at the cuffs in my hand for a very long time. Basically, a hardened criminal has been through the wringer a few times, and knows better than to talk to coppers under any circumstances. But ordinary people don't appreciate how the odds are stacked against them; they think they can bluff and outsmart cops, they think they can get away with a medley of half-truths and half-lies, and as first-timers, they still believe they have their untainted reputations to protect.

Some combination of all these thoughts went through Margaret Barnes's mind, and eventually she said, "All right. He… I mean, Calhoun… he beat me… and he threw me down the stairs. He was in a rage that night. He'd been… well, he'd been drinking… but he wasn't…" She stared at me and, as though to underscore the one irrelevant truth she'd told, insisted scornfully, "He wasn't drunk."

Je

Mrs. Barnes nodded.

Je

Again, she nodded. "I never lost consciousness. He… he hovered over me, and… and I couldn't move my body… and, so we both knew I was badly hurt and…" She tried to stifle a heavy sob. "He threatened to kill me, Je

Je

She was nodding furiously. "I felt like… like an animal."

"He was a cruel man, wasn't he?"

"Beyond your imagination. He left the house every day, the good family man, the federal judge… you have no idea how normal… how charming he could be outside this house… how admired… how misjudged. But inside…"

"I do understand, Margaret. Calhoun was sick. He was addicted to control. He needed his partner to depend on him. He needed his wife to be subservient, and it may have been an accident, but probably he was satisfied when you ended up crippled and became absolutely dependent on him." Mrs. Barnes was still nodding as Je

Tears were now streaming down Margaret's face and she was intermittently sobbing and drawing short breaths. The first dark secret was out, and it was like plucking the cork on a dusty bottle of champagne.

"I… my son and I… we have no relationship. We haven't.. . well, we haven't spoken in years."

"We'll get to that. Tell me about your family."

And for the next ten minutes, Margaret related what it had been like to be a wife, to be a mother, and to be a son in the house of Calhoun Barnes, a greater monster than we had even imagined. Margaret Barnes, as Je

As I listened, I was struck that Je

Because the mother was equally terrorized, and because she was bedridden, and then handicapped, young Jason was forced to confront his monster alone, unprotected and vulnerable. But I think not even Je

"I find it normal, Margaret. We see it sometimes in hostage situations. There's even a term for it-the Stockholm syndrome. The combination of applied terror and victim helplessness creates mental dependency, and, perversely, even affection and loyalty. For a young boy, trapped in the home of such an abusively dictatorial man, I'd be surprised to hear otherwise."

"I… yes, I could see how that explains it." In fact, she might-in her own way she probably had succumbed to the same bewitching phenomenon.

Je

"No. We… I kept it from him. I thought… a child… a son.. . should not have to bear such a terrible truth. Don't you think that's so?"

Je

In fact, the hour was very late, and I was tired and becoming increasingly impatient to learn exactly what had triggered Jason's rage-but Je

For the next few minutes, alternating between a whispery intensity and hurt chokes and sobs, she detailed how Calhoun had estranged her from Jason, isolating him and isolating her. Daddy taught his boy to admire strength; Mommy was crippled, Mommy was weak, Mommy deserved contempt. Also, Mommy was physically incapable of caring for and protecting him, magnifying Jason's emotional enslavement to his father and his alienation from his mother. It struck me that young Jason might also have felt a sense of betrayal. Margaret had failed in nearly every sense, both practical and emotional, to be his mother, and a child is concerned not with cause but with effect.

Even I could understand that no child would emerge from such a malevolent and viciously manipulated environment healthy in mind, conscience, and soul. Jason's head was probably a shopping cart of pathologies, Oedipal guilts, and sexual confusion. No wonder the guy wasn't married yet. But Margaret finally paused to catch a breath, and Je

"Uh… if you'd be so kind."

Je