Maybe This is Unorthodox

Previously: Ryan Dominguez reveals the existence of some incriminating videos.

Photo and Graphic by Annie Wilson

6:45 PM - Monday, November 3, 2014

US Park Police Office, Ft Winfield Scott, The Presidio

Mark rolled his neck and glanced at the clock. He’d need to leave soon to get home to Katie and hopefully he’d have enough energy to assemble some of the nursery furniture tonight. 

“Okay Raj, you should clock out, and DO NOT try and hack that site on your own.” Raj smirked to the side, his brown eyes reflecting the blue glow of the screen in front of him.

“Okay, I’ll lay off.” 

“Good. I need you rested here tomorrow, okay? We have plenty to do. Don’t play games after hours, okay, especially with something central to the case.”

“Understood.” Raj singsonged, slapping his laptop shut. 

“Night Raj,” Jeannie said giving him a tired smile as he left. Mark heard Paco yawn and realized they all needed to call it a day. Jeannie’s phone buzzed on the tabletop and Mark saw her peer at the screen with a frown.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Um. I don’t really know how to say this, but we’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned? What does that mean?” Paco said chuckling.

“It means my Dad just sent me a text saying that I needed to bring you two home with me to be briefed on something related to the case.” Jeannie looked from Paco to Mark, eyes wide.

“Your Dad?” Mark asked, “can he do that?” Jeannie guffawed.

“I mean, I guess? It must be something because he never would impose on me like this,” she huffed. “Trust me,” Jeannie rose, grabbing her jacket, “I’m not exactly thrilled about this, but at the same time, something about the request is unsettling. I doubt he wants to pour you guys cocktails.” Fergus, who’d been sleeping against the baseboard, long legs extended stood slowly and gave himself a shake. 

“Darn. I could use a cocktail.” Mark retorted.

“Well, let’s see what we can do.” 

Twenty minutes later, Jeannie met Paco and Mark outside the Park Lane under the building awning, their SUVs parked in the loading zone. Jeannie lead them through the opulent lobby to the elevator at the back, a blush growing on her face. The elevator doors closed and the silence was heavy in the car with the three of them. 

“I’m - I’m nervous about this, I’m sorry.” Jeannie admitted. “I’m maybe more embarrassed? I - I don’t know what’s about to happen.”

“Jeannie. It’s fine.” Mark could tell by Jeannie’s face that it was far from fine with her. The doors opened to a quietly luxurious hallway and Jeannie immediately turned to the right to a broad door that she opened immediately, knowing it would be unlocked. In the hallway, Ed Ganey was standing there waiting for them. Jeannie looked to Mark and Paco, none of them understanding the situation.

“Ed - what? What’s going on?” Jeannie began. Fergus darted forward and then loped toward the kitchen, hoping to find some dinner.

“Sorry about this Jean, but you’ll understand why we had to bring you here.” Ed looked at all of them. “All of you.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “The judge is waiting in his study.” He gestured to the side and Jeannie lead the way through the living room to a room separated by a pair of glossy wood pocket doors left slightly ajar. Jeannie pushed one open and then the next, glancing inside, her face serious. Mark and Paco came behind her, Ed following. A trim, handsome older gentleman sat in a wheelchair in one corner of the small room. Mark could tell from his long legs that he must be somewhat tall, and must have been imposing at his full height. He wore a plaid gingham dress shirt coordinated by a solid v-neck cardigan, a pair of dark trousers and felt slippers. Jeannie immediately went to him to kiss his cheek and hold his hand. The man looked up at his daughter, pride shining in his eyes. 

“Dad?” Jeannie began quietly, “this is Mark Greenberg from the FBI and Paco Mayfield from the US Park Police. They’re my colleagues.” She paused as he looked from Mark to Paco silently, giving a slight nod to each. “You, you asked us to come? What’s going on?” He tilted his head toward his iPad which Jeannie picked up for him, and looked to Ed Ganey, who stood to the side, arms crossed over his broad chest, white hair shining. 

“After what Ryan said today, I didn’t know how to proceed, but thought I needed to consult with the judge. We wanted to give you a fuller picture, and maybe this is unorthodox, but that’s why we brought you here. You can always call this a social visit.” Ed explained, not explaining anything. 

“What’s going on, here?” Mark asked in a low voice. The judge had been typing on the iPad and pushed it toward Jeannie. 

“Keys in center drawer.” Jeannie read, “File 003-6889 - Hartman.” The color drained from her face. “A case file?” The judge gave her his slight nod in the affirmative. Jeannie moved to the old-fashioned desk and slid out the center drawer, finding a set of keys in the pen inset at the front. Pushing the drawer back she went to a small closet in the opposite wall and clicked on the light. Old-fashioned metal filing cabinets lined the walls, Jeannie looked over the numbers and found a set at the back that she unlocked and began with the top drawer, pushing herself up on tiptoe to look through them. She slammed the drawer shut again and went to the next, emerging quickly with a file that she began to flip through. 

“I’ll save you the read, Jean.” Ed said, “This is a case from 6 years ago that involved Tripp Hartman’s elder brother, Nathan. Nate Hartman was involved in a bullying incident at Xavier, where he nearly beat a boy blind in the boys’ locker room. Apparently the incident started because the other boy, Mike O’Connell, remarked on some severe bruising on Nate’s body; there were deep bruises up and down the left side, around the ribs.” Jeannie had moved to stand between Mark and Paco, flipping the file to show the photos of the bruises, which were every shade of purple on pale, freckled skin. The ribs of the body showed, but you could not see the boy’s face. “Nate reacted, calling the other kid a “faggot” and accused him of checking him out. In fact the poor kid was just concerned about Nate. The fight ensued, and it took the gym teacher, trainer, and a campus security guard to pull him off of the kid, who was taken to SF General.” Jeannie flipped the file again to show the victim’s face, purple and swollen to nearly three times its normal size. The left eye was completely obscured by the swelling. 

“Jesus,” Mark whispered. “Where did Nate get his bruises?”

“He never said, at least not on the record.”

“What happened in the end, was there a charge?” Mark countered. Ed sighed.

“Well, here’s where it gets complicated.” He gestured to the judge, “Nate Hartman appeared in Pete’s court, represented by his father, who argued that the fight was provoked and his son was acting in self defense. He was a real sonofabitch the whole time. Pete told Jim Hartman that there were 10 witnesses or more - the other boys who’d been in the locker room - who disagreed with his take, and that they’d all been deposed by the DA. It was a locked up case and Nate Hartman was sent to the Youth Authority for 4 months.”

“The ranch¹?” Jeannie looked from Ed to her father, who nodded slightly. “Wow. Rough. Especially for a rich kid like that.”

“Actually, the success rate after CYA is pretty good, those kids are given hard work to do but it gives them purpose. Usually if they get through it we don’t see them ever again, so it works.” Jeannie inhaled sharply.

“Jean — “ it was almost a short, whispered groan from the judge; Jeannie was at his side immediately. “Noos.”

“Notes?” A slight nod. Jeannie flipped the file to the end where a few pages of yellow legal paper where covered in handwriting. It was a letter from Nate Hartman. 

“Dear Judge Hagen,” Jeannie began.

“I’m sure you receive letters from some of the people that have appeared in your court all the time, but now that I am finishing my time at the ranch, I wanted to thank you for sending me here. You may have saved my life. My father is a violent man, and had knocked me down and kicked me repeatedly in the garage for not stacking away the bikes appropriately. My little brother Tripp and I had taken our bikes to the beach and back and I had a date that night, so when we got back, Tripp said he would put the bikes away. My Dad has a particular way about things and if the bikes aren’t done right, well, my Dad says that he can’t open the car door. I guess that’s what happened because when I got back from my date, my Dad pulled me into the garage and made me re-stack all the bikes. He then knocked me down with a punch to my stomach and kicked me in the side when I hit the ground. 

The next Monday, I’d forgotten how bad the bruising looked when I got undressed to shower after gym class. When Mike O’Connell mentioned my bruises I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say or do — I couldn’t admit they were from my father, you know? I didn’t want anyone to notice and pity me and I reacted with anger. It wasn’t even my anger, it was my shame. I should not have, and I knew it in the moment and I know it now. I hated every second of that. I hated every second of my father representing me in court. I have hated everything about my life in that house. 

I am grateful for this sentence to the ranch; it has been a valuable time for me to reevaluate things. I have been visited by Brother Driscoll from Xavier at least twice a month, sometimes more, and his counsel has helped me although I know I’m not ready to forgive myself or my father. I do know that I won’t be going back to Xavier. I’m 18 now, so I’m going to get my GED and figure out a job of some kind. I would like to go to college, and my father wants me to go to Santa Clara where he went, but I don’t want him paying for my life any longer. I will figure something out, but just need some time. I have a good friend that I can live with — someone I went to grammar school with whose family has moved to San Mateo. I can live there for a time and at least I will be out of the city and away from my Dad. 

I realize I probably should have told you all of this in court or in chambers or whatever it’s called, but I honestly didn’t know how to say these things in front of my Dad. 

Thank you for hearing me, and for sending me here. Sincerely, Nathan Hartman.”

Jeannie’s face was devastated, mouth parted in disbelief. No one spoke. 

“Where - where is Nathan now?” Paco whispered, leaning against the bookshelves. 

“He’s local, I think, but keeps a very low profile. He got his GED and went to SF State, paid his own way. He was always adamant that he didn’t want to take a dime from his father again. I’m not sure where exactly he is, or where he’s working, but he can’t be too difficult to find.” Ed offered. 

“What happened to Mike O’Connell?” Mark asked.

“He had an eye patch for about 6 months while his eye healed, and has had a difficult time. A lot of brain trauma, so between that and the eye he suffers from migraines and some memory loss, but he’s a sweet young man. He took a year between Xavier and college, and ended up going to the University of Washington. Last I heard he was thriving in Seattle, despite everything.”

“Did the family file a civil suit or anything?” Jeannie venture, shutting the file and dropping it on the desk. 

“They did, and Hartman settled.”

“How much?”

“500 grand.”

“You are kidding.”

“No. The family sued for two million — that was what was the projected cost of Mike’s medical care plus college tuition, etc, but Mike didn’t want to blow it out of proportion and said they should take the 500.” Jeannie shook her head slightly.

“Let me guess, this is part of the reason why the Hartman’s paid for a new athletic facility out at Xavier? An act of contrition?” Ed shrugged.

“Can’t confirm, but that adds up.” 

Another silence. Mark sighed deeply and began pacing in the small room. 

“So, a kid who’s bullied at home becomes a bully at school.” Paco offered. “Tale as old as time.”

“Yes,” Ed agreed, “and perhaps explains some of Tripp’s behavior that Ryan mentioned. That’s why I thought you should know.”

“This also kind of explains Jim Hartman’s reaction yesterday at the interviews.” Jeannie remembered, staring in the mid-distance. “I introduced myself and when I said “Hagen” he gave me a look over. He recognized me.” She looked at her father.

“Be careful there,” Ed advised. “The guy is ruthless.”

“And apparently beats his kids.” Mark added wryly, still pacing. He felt himself getting angrier by the second. Jim Hartman was all kinds of wrong.

“Well, you know,” Jeannie looked at her father, “this is good insight into what we’re dealing with, but we can’t admit that we know any of this to anyone. The juvenile court record is sealed. This entire meeting is essentially illegal.” Jeannie glanced at Ed and back to her Dad. He raised his eyebrows at her and glanced toward Mark. “What, Mark? What do you mean?” Peter Hagen wrote three letters on his iPad: “FBI” Jeannie read. Mark heaved a sigh.

“He means that it will come up on an FBI background check. Even sealed juvenile files will come up on an FBI background check.” 

1. “The Ranch” is the nickname for the former San Francisco Log Cabin Ranch located in La Honda, San Mateo County. Considered a “last resort” for the most severe juvenile offenders, it closed in 2018 after a series of teens ran away from the unlocked facility.