Editor’s Note: This story was written by a local mom who, through a traumatizing experience, helped to change how Manchester’s police department trains and prepares officers to deal with situations involving people with disabilities. We will bring you that story, as well.
But first, the prelude to change.
What follows is her story, presented in four parts; a journey through a system she quickly discovered was ill-equipped for the unique circumstances that began with a simple phone call for help. The author is using a pen name to protect the identity and privacy of her adult son and those involved.
⇒The Class B Felony and My Autistic Son — Part I
⇒The Class B Felony and My Autistic Son — Part II
⇒The Class B Felony and My Autistic Son – Part III
I sat alone in the back, trying to focus. My son and my husband left to find a restroom. Our attorney came over and sat with me. He was speaking but I struggled hearing his words. They were being drowned out by the thunderous beats of my heart. He continued making pleasant small talk, saying something about the man whose portrait hung on the courtroom wall.
My girl walked in, accompanied by a court-appointed advocate, and took a seat on the right side of the room.
My husband took a seat beside me, and our son took his place beside his attorney at the defendant’s table.
The Judge arrived and it began.
The charges were read, and the prosecutor told the judge that my girl wanted a chance to speak. With the prosecutor on one side of her, and an advocate on the other, she stood at the podium and began to cry. “It’s all my fault,” she wept into the microphone. “I have a brain injury and I get confused. I’m so sorry,” she cried. The very patient judge gently thanked her for her statement and gave her time to compose herself. She returned to her seat. It occurred to me that she didn’t say that my son was innocent.
The prosecutor began to argue the case. I was shocked that part of her case was built on information about me provided by members of my girl’s family. They stated that I had no regard for my girl’s safety, that I lied about keeping her safe and that I encouraged her to try things that they felt were risky.
Our attorney submitted documents from medical professionals and stated that my son has been diagnosed with autism, OCD and generalized anxiety disorder.
It had been 55 days since the arrest, yet the prosecutor said this was the first time she was given this information.
The judge considered the information in front of him and began to state that life has already been hard enough on these two young people and they deserve a chance to be independent and live together.
A young woman, seated in front of my girl, stood up, interrupting the proceedings. She was wearing Daisy Duke shorts and a tight top. She shouted that my son was guilty. I recognized her distinct voice immediately. She is the relative that had abandoned my girl in the heat just days earlier. I now understood why that male relative was trying to warn me about her. He’d used the words “unstable” and “bipolar.” He mentioned his fear that she herself was in an abusive relationship.
I turned my attention back to the hearing. This young woman ignored the judge’s directions. She continued to shout that my son was guilty. Again and again. And again.
The Judge invited her to the podium. She explained her relationship to my girl. She said that my son is guilty. The judge asked what she’s witnessed that makes her say that. She explained that she knows my son and that he’s weird. She said that whenever she’s out with my girl, that my son calls often to check-in. He did it all the time. She said that this behavior is a sign that he’s very controlling.
Our attorney stood up. He said, “Your Honor, he calls me all the time too. That is a symptom of anxiety, not violence.” He explained that my son receives adult services from the Moore Center and medication management from the Mental Health Center of Greater Manchester. He takes daily medication and attends cognitive behavioral therapy every week.
The judge paused. He reviewed the documents in front of him. He raised his eyes and gazed around the room. He looked at me and asked, “Are you his mother?” I said, “Yes.”
He said, “Please approach the Court”
My first thought was, I wished I dressed better. I was wearing casual clothes, a cotton blouse and jeans and sneakers. I walked up to the podium. I was asked to state my name. I was asked if I am employed. I was asked the name of my employer. I was asked if I had anything to add.
I shared that my son was diagnosed at age 8 by the good doctors at Boston Children’s Hospital. I explained that he has had struggles consistent with his diagnosis. He has had uneven development. He can’t tie his shoes but he can drive a car. He has horrible penmanship but can fix your iPhone if your break yours. He continues to have struggles but he has also made real progress.
I told him that I met my girl eight years ago, that her mom died when she was 12 and that her dad was out of the picture. She had been relocated from relative to relative and that she didn’t have consistent structure as a child. I described what I’ve been told as to how she came to have her acquired brain injury, that when she was a toddler she’d been left in the care of her siblings and somehow fell down a flight of cement steps while strapped in a stroller.
She was 18 when we met. My husband and I made the decision to welcome her into our home. She lived with us for four years and then, when my son’s application for public housing finally came through, the kids moved out together. They’ve lived together for two years before the arrest. I said, “She’s like my own daughter,” and then added, “I love her.”
I stated that each of these young adults has language processing difficulties as well as deficits in executive functions. Those types of disabilities are often exacerbated in highly stressful situations.
I explained that if I thought for one moment that the allegations were true, I would have immediately taken my son to Hamstead Hospital and asked for an emergency medication management evaluation.
I explained that I’ve served on several councils and committees relating to improving the quality of life of people that experience disabilities.
As an afterthought, I added that COVID added stress to the kids’ situation.
He thanked me. I returned to my seat.
The judge asked my son to stand up. His attorney stood by his side. The judge asked him about his anxiety. My son commented that he’s working on it. He told the judge that he also calls me several times a day so much so that it has been a problem with my employers from time to time.
The judge thanked him and asked him to be seated. His Honor began to say, “I see no reason why the restraining order needs to be continued…”
Again, the young woman shouted. “He’ll kill her.”
The prosecutor stated that she wanted more time. Our attorney objected.
The judge wanted to amend the bail conditions. The attorneys tried to negotiate an acceptable plan which continued in spite of the interruptions.
The judge finally stated, “I believe it’s okay for these two young people to see each other. But let’s keep the living situation the same. They may see each other, but they can only see each other in the presence of, and in the home of, his mother.”
The young woman shouted, “He’ll kill her when she leaves the room!”
The Judge stood firm in his decision. He instructed the prosecutor to come up with a plan for my girl to have success moving forward. He asked the prosecutor how much time she needed to complete this. She responded, “Soon.” He asked, “How soon?” They repeated this back and forth conversation for a moment and then the judge said, “You have thirty days. We will all meet back here at 9 a.m. on August 13th.” I glanced at the calendar on my phone. It would be Friday the 13th.
I walked out of the building with my husband, our son, and his attorney. While I was happy that the kids could see each other once again, I was in shock over what had just taken place. I had hoped the entire matter would have been resolved. The attorney asked if I had any idea why members of my girl’s family had been so hostile. I had no idea. One of whom I’d spoken to only once, over the phone. I promised her that I would keep my girl safe. Who knows what she had been told. As for the outspoken young woman, I mentioned that I used to see her from time to time. I told him the last time I’d seen that young woman, she asked for money, which I lent to her. It had been over two years since I’d seen her.
As we stood in front of the courthouse, I asked my son’s attorney where my girl was. He said I could go into the room where the prosecutor was. I had no intention of interacting with that young, headstrong woman. He understood and went inside for me. He came out and said they’re finishing up and my girl will come out and find me. My attorney left and my husband drove my son to our home. I sat on a marble bench and waited.
My girl came outside. As she hugged me I told her I was proud of her. She did a great job. I asked her what she would like to do. Did she want to go back to the apartment? Did she want to come back to my house? She said yes.
We walked into the house and my son gave my girl a stuffed animal that he’d seen and knew she would like. He hugged her. Then he said, “Do you want to play Halo?” And just like that, they were in the TV room playing video games with the dog curled up beside them. My husband went out to buy lunch for all of us.
I kept my word. I stayed in the room with them. If I went outside to water the garden or fill the birdbath, she came with me. Not because I thought she was in danger, but because I wanted to be able to truthfully tell the judge that she was always in my sight.
Life got easier. Every day after work, I called her. If she wanted to come over, I would pick her up. She’d bring her laundry and did it at my house while the kids played games or talked. Over the next month, I spent hours in the big room, watching them play video games or watching movies as a family. She would join me in preparing dinner and doing chores. I would take her to her appointments and to the pharmacy and whatever she needed.
I sat with her one afternoon and asked her to tell me what she would like to do. I knew the prosecutor was drafting a plan. But I also knew my girl. We made a Top 10 list. Anything at all. Then we edited it to what was realistic and what was just fantasy. We called it her “Plan for Success” and first on the list, she wants her driver’s license. We talked about the DriveAbility Program in Exeter. We can have an evaluation done. If they say she has potential, then I will happily help pay for her to take driver’s ed. She wants to get a part-time job working with children or animals, etc. I told her that we can reach out to NH Vocational Rehab. It might start as a volunteer position, but this is realistic. We went through her entire list. When it was done, she was happy.
I also sat with both kids and hammered out a roommate agreement. They each had input. We talked about typical things like what to do if one had a guest over that “stayed too long” or how it wasn’t fair if one person had to empty the litter box all of the time. A key part of the document put specific plans in place as to what to do if one was upset with the other. They would take a 15-minute cool-down period before talking. One person would go into the bedroom, and they would be physically separated for that time. If that didn’t help, they could call me. I no longer advise them to call 9–1–1. I had come to understand that because a man and woman live together, if there’s a disagreement, the police don’t act as peacekeepers. They would need to make an arrest.
I took a seat in the waiting room at the prosecutor’s office. My girl was meeting with the prosecutor and advocate. She brought with her a couple of sets of copies of the plan and the roommate agreement that we’d written. She could share them with the prosecutor if she wanted. It was up to her.
After 45 minutes, I was invited in. The prosecutor was friendly toward me and enthusiastic about both documents. In fact, she said they were wonderful and exactly what the judge would be looking for. I expressed concern about the young woman who’d interrupted the recent hearing. The prosecutor said that while she believed it came from a place of love, the person was wrong. My girl had told everyone the truth. She added, “Your son is not going to jail.”
She said she would draft an agreement for my son to sign. She would send it to his attorney before the end of the day. She would present the signed copy to the judge at the hearing on Friday the 13th. Once it was approved by the Judge, it would be filed with the Clerk of the Court and it would be over.
Seventeen days later, my husband drove my son to court. I picked up my girl at her apartment and drove her to the court. This time we met in the parking area, and all walked in together. The hearing notice stated Courtroom 4. But the good people at the front desk double-checked and insisted it had been changed to Courtroom 3.
What I didn’t realize was different courtroom meant a different Judge. There was no sign of the prosecutor or the advocate. I could not let my girl sit all alone and I sat by her side. My son’s attorney strolled up to me and said I was sitting on the wrong side of the wedding. I told him, I’m on the bride’s side today.
A young attorney who we’d never seen took a seat at the prosecutor’s table.
I sat there holding my girl’s hand telling her it would be okay. The advocate came in and sat on the other side of my girl. She explained that someone else was filling in for the prosecutor. I told myself it will be okay.
A female Judge came in and introduced herself and said, “We’re here today for sentencing in the case of the State of NH vs.…..” I thought oh my God, what’s happening? I felt the panic return.
This young prosecutor stood up and said he was filling in. He read a prepared statement. It was likely that he’d never read it, he mispronounced names, etc. But he said two magic words. “Moore Center.”
I saw her Honor’s demeanor soften a bit. She understood. But she seemed confused as to why the agreement had not been filed with the court. My son’s attorney stated that they were following the instructions of the previous judge.
Again, her Honor spoke directly to my son. She spoke of the seriousness of the charges. She said that she doesn’t want to see him back in her courtroom. Then she said the restraining order in the bail conditions stay in place until the executed nolle prosequi has been filed with the clerk of the court.
They called the next case and we left the courtroom. It was shortly after 10 a.m. In the hallway, my son’s attorney said he would call us as soon as he received confirmation that the document had been filed. Until then, my son could not return to his apartment.
The four of us walked out of the building. We had expected to celebrate. Instead, we went back to the house, feeling exhausted and disappointed. Five hours later, my son received a text from his attorney.
The nightmare was over.
And my quest to change the system began.
Editor’s Postscript: On March 16 Manchester released the following video about a collaboration with The Moore Center to create a training program for police officers to learn how to better deal with calls involving people with disabilities, including autism. This program was a direct result of Cam Martineau’s advocacy for her son, and her willingness to share his story to improve the legal system for others.
