He Said, She S.A.I.D.: ...And then He Went to Jail

By Bruce McLaughlin

It's a parent's worst nightmare. The police busting into your suburban home, accosting you in bed, arresting you, and hauling you off to jail. All while your 10-year-old son watches wide-eyed, cowering in terror.

Bruce McLaughlin lived through just such a nightmare. He was booked on charges of abusing his children—falsely accused by his wife during an emotionally charged divorce that had already permanently shattered and scarred their family.

In his book, Bruce shares his confusion, rage, fear, and indignation as he was booked, tried, convicted, and jailed for an abhorrent crime he did not commit. Even as an attorney, Bruce found himself ill-prepared for the challenges he faced in proving his innocence, restoring his reputation, and
rebuilding his life.

Read his riveting tale of injustice and eventual redemption. Part memoir. Part thriller. Part horror story. This page-turner is a cautionary tale for parents contemplating divorce and shines a bright light on the need for a reform of the criminal justice system to ensure others are not falsely jailed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734783414

Book preview

Title

© 2021 Bruce W. McLaughlin

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.

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Paperback Edition

978-1-7347834-0-7

E-Book

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Second Edition: January 2021

Disclaimer

I would like to thank the real-life members of my family, friends, and others portrayed in this book for allowing me to tell this story about them. I recognize that their memories of the events described in this book are different than my own. They are each fine, decent, and hard-working people. The book was not intended to hurt any family member or other person mentioned between these covers. Both my publisher and I regret any unintentional harm resulting from the publishing and marketing of this book to anyone noted herein.

—Author

Dedication

Lucas Donald, Nicholas Anson, Emma Olive and Hannah Virginia, May you grow ever stronger from this unfortunate experience, as a bone that is broken grows stronger over the break it heals.

With all my heart, Dad

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Arrest

Chapter 2: Desperation

Chapter 3: Almost a Model Home

Chapter 4: Our Early Married Life

Chapter 5: Separation

Chapter 6: Allegations of Physical Abuse

Chapter 7: A Ray of Hope

Chapter 8: Christmas Hope

Chapter 9: The Letter

Chapter 10: The Trial Defense Attorneys

Chapter 11: The Big Lie

Chapter 12: Genital Herpes Allegation

Chapter 13: Brother’s False Arrest

Chapter 14: Dr. John Detriquet’s Evaluation

Chapter 15: Trial by Jury

Chapter 16: Robyn Takes the Stand

Chapter 17: The Case Proceeds

Chapter 18: The Verdict

Chapter 19: Virginia’s False Arrest

Chapter 20: Joe Hodgson’s False Arrest

Chapter 21: Sentencing

Chapter 22: Flight to New Zealand

Chapter 23: Hague Convention Application

Chapter 24: Escape

Chapter 25: Operation Reconcile

Chapter 26: New Evidence

Chapter 27: DSS Hearing

Chapter 28: The Habeas Corpus Application

Chapter 29: Club Meck

Chapter 30: Super-Max

Chapter 31: General Population

Chapter 32: Return From New Zealand

Chapter 33: The Habeas Case Progresses

Chapter 34: False Recovered Memory Syndrome

Chapter 35: Max Segregation

Chapter 36: The Habeas Hearing

Chapter 37: Malicious Prosecution

Chapter 38: Visitation Problems

Chapter 39: Custody

Chapter 40: Preparing for Round Two

Chapter 41: The Criminal Retrial of the Prosecution’s Case

Chapter 42: The Defense’s Case

Chapter 43: False Allegations Continue After the Retrial

Chapter 44: The Plethysmograph Test

Chapter 45: Malpractice by My Defense Attorneys

Chapter 46: My Comeback

Epilogue

Virginia Criminal Justice Reform: A Discussion

Acknowledgments

Editor’s Note

Table of Exhibits

Exhibits

Table of Key People

Glossary

Expert Resources

Prologue

I, Nicholas Anson McLaughlin, swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

I have heard myself speak these words far too many times— more times than a young child ever should. I was torn between my mother and father—torn between her words and his words—put on a stand for the whole world to watch our family break apart.

This is our story of trials and tribulations.

—Nicholas McLaughlin, 2020

1

The Arrest

August 8, 1996

The Long and Winding Road

—The Beatles

There he is! the Loudoun County deputy sheriff mouthed silently to his partner, pointing to the large bed in the darkness. The lead officer put his left index finger to his lips to indicate silence as he quieted the clink of the handcuffs with his other hand. They each reached for their flashlights.

Frozen over the top of the bed, the big deputy signed: one…two…three!

Both flashlights pointed at me, sleeping soundly.

I thought I was dreaming about a scene in a movie; it seemed so real.

Groggy, I squinted into the blinding lights.

What the…? Hey, what are you doing in my house? My throat constricted in fear.

Firm grips on both forearms jerked me upright.

It is real! I panicked in silence, not knowing what to do.

Stumbling through the tangled sheets, my feet found the floor. I felt my hands pulled behind my back, and I rolled my wrist in response to the coldness of a cuff.

Don’t move!

I froze. The second cuff tapped my left wrist, confining me into submission. Terrified, I blinked rapidly to alleviate the pain of the bright yellow spots in the dark.

You have the right to remain silent…

My Miranda Rights? Seriously? What is going on here?

I saw my 10-year-old son Lucas cowering at the headboard against the pillows, pulling the covers up to his chin. Wide-eyed, he whimpered. Embarrassed, I stayed silent. The alarm clock showed 1:00 a.m. in its brightness on the nightstand.

Officers, my son is sitting here, terrified. May I please change my clothes?

Where are your clothes?

I nodded my head toward the walk-in closet.

Come on. Both officers walked with me, hands on my shoulders.

Luke, don’t worry. I’m just changing out of these pajamas.

I could hear him whimper.

Officer, please hand me that golf shirt hanging on the hook there by you. My pants are hanging beside it there, too.

He collected my blue jeans from the hook and tossed them at my feet.

Motioning my cuffed hands, May I put my pants on?

The officers looked at one another, nodded and shrugged in agreement. Humiliated, I allowed them to help me remove my pajamas in silence, down to my skivvies.

I’m going to remove the right cuff. Don’t do anything stupid, said the big cop.

I nodded in full compliance.

Balancing on one leg, I pulled on my socks, jeans, and shirt and then stepping into my loafers. I put my hands together behind my back again and waited. Cuffed, they guided me down the stairs toward the light in the living room. Gathering my wits, I realized that Robyn had let the officers into the house. I saw Jackie Brown out of the corner of my eye.

Why is Jackie Brown here?

In Virginia, there was a new law for any assault that, if a complaining victim had any physical injury, the accused was to be automatically arrested, removed from the home, and taken to the police station. I know this, because I am a lawyer. My wife, Robyn, must have obtained a hospital evaluation and reported me for grabbing her wrist.

The short officer opened the door behind the passenger seat. I felt a firm hand on my head, Duck down and get in, Bruce.

Now, I am an arrested-for-assault lawyer, riding to the station in the back of a police car where so many of my clients had gone before me.

2

Desperation

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

—Ben Jonson

My arrest on this landmark day of August 8, 1996, made me wonder how our beautiful family got to this disastrous place. As I rode to the station, my mind wandered to the last time I’d spoken with Jackie at our house. It had been a long while.

Hi, Jackie, I said as she came through the back door of our new home.

Bruce, can I have a word? Jackie exclaimed in a rather formal fashion.

Sure, what’s on your mind? I responded.

I’ve been talking to Robyn, and she really wants an English garden back here, not a deck.

Why is that important?

Wouldn’t it be lovely to sit out in a lush English garden and sip tea in the shade together?

Jackie, with all due respect, I think our kids would prefer a deck off the back of this house where they can play and I can put a hot tub for Robyn and me to use, don’t you think?

But that’s not what Robyn wanted–she said that the deck thing is your idea, Jackie muttered to no one in particular.

In all due respect, Jackie, the deck is our children’s preference. Both Luke and Nick have told me that they prefer a flat play area out here, and I’d like to put a grill out here for family meals as well, I said.

Without so much as another word, Jackie turned away from me indignantly and went back into the house, acting as if it were her decision to make. Since then, she hadn’t spoken to me and has spent time at the local Loudoun County in-patient psychiatric facility with mental issues. So, why was she at my house?

Mr. McLaughlin, we have arrived. When we stop, wait for your door to be opened and do what you are told to do.

I blinked and realized I’d daydreamed the whole 30-minute ride to the station.

Silently, I complied. I turned and swung my feet out to step on the sidewalk and struggled to stand up. I sought to keep my balance with my hands cuffed behind my back.

Walk with us, sir. We are taking you in for processing. They will put you in a cell afterward.

Ugh! What if they put me in a cell with someone who might harm me?

Stand over here! directed the Deputy Sheriff.

Yes, sir. I felt like many a client before me, humiliated by being told what to do, where to go, and when to follow.

Give me your fingers.

I held out my right hand–then the left, as the officer rolled each finger on the ink pad and again on the card.

Sit over there and wait while we pull your criminal record, said the deputy.

I knew it was devoid of any prior convictions as he showed the computer printout to me. I nodded and shrugged in agreement.

Move over here! another deputy ordered.

I scooted over to the camera bay where the image captured a shell-shocked, blank stare on my face. Blinded by the camera flash again, I blinked to erase the pain.

Wait over there, the deputy pointed to extra seats.

Instead of being escorted to a jail cell, I was issued a 72-hour stay-away order by the Loudoun Magistrate and released. At 3:00 a.m., I walked to the Leesburg Colonial Inn close by and got a room to sleep through what was left of the night.

At sunrise, I walked home, got my car, and drove to Frederick to stay with my brother, Mark, until my stay-away order expired. I was grateful I had parked outside. After the weekend, I returned to my Beauregard home to try and reconcile with Robyn. Upon my arrival, a Leesburg police officer greeted me.

Mr. Bruce McLaughlin?

Yes?

You are served.

I opened the order. Stunned, I inhaled deeply and held my breath as I read.

A six-month stay away order? Seriously? What do I do now? Paralysis gripped me. This new order stated that, if I wanted to get into the house, I was to contact Robyn’s lawyer.

How am I going to get my things out of my office when I work exclusively from my home office? I could not.

I walked to the front door and tried my key. Robyn had changed the locks. This is a problem… I have business requirements that I must prepare before traveling out of state this week!

Bruce, hire a lawyer and fight this! I said out loud.

***

My new attorney, Spencer Ault, informed me that the Loudoun Women’s Shelter attorney, who represented Robyn, would not return his calls over a two-day period. I felt desperate because of my upcoming trip. As a Virginia attorney, I could not risk violating this court order. It would be a criminal charge.

As a last resort, my lawyer recommended that his process server tack a notice on our Beauregard residence advising Robyn to appear in court on an emergency order to allow entry into the house so I could collect my things. This would allow me to work and continue to pay our bills. The process server knocked loudly, scaring Robyn and the children, who refused to answer the door. He left the paperwork tacked on the door.

It was an error on the 6-month stay-away order that indicated I was required to go through Robyn’s lawyer in the first place. Robyn didn’t have a lawyer this time. She was only briefly advised by the Woman’s Shelter attorney on how to extend the original 72-hour stay-away order.

Now that I’d hired a lawyer out of desperation to get into my house, Robyn hired herself the meanest divorce lawyer in Northern Virginia, Mark Sandground of the Tyson’s Corner law firm Sandground and Barondess, to oppose me. He was on record in advertisements with a Doberman Pincher at his side, saying that he would do anything to help his client win, even if it meant destroying the other side. Sandground had previously been suspended by the Virginia State Bar in the late 1980s for an ethical violation of misrepresenting his client.

He was on record in advertisements with a Doberman Pincher at his side, saying that he would do anything to help his client win, even if it meant destroying the other side.

Mutual fear of each other was stirred up by our lawyers, who were quite obliging to cash in on the growing animosity between Robyn and me—like piranha going for blood.

When our first emergency hearing was scheduled at the end of our first week of separation, my lawyer told me to wait outside the courthouse until our case was called. Although I waited for more than an hour, my lawyer did not call me. I asked the courtroom bailiff about my case, and he told me it had been called already. Panicked, I rushed to find Ault.

Spencer, I am distraught. You know I was reading in the courtyard outside the courthouse where you last left me. You told me you’d come get me, so why didn’t you come get me? I demanded.

You didn’t come when the bailiff called your name, he told the court, Ault said flatly.

But Spencer, why didn’t you come get me when the bailiff came back into the court empty-handed? I fumed. You are fired, Spencer!

I marched out of his office without saying another word.

I called the Leesburg Police and asked them to accompany me to my residence to obtain my business and personal items. I met the policeman at the house, and I was required to break a screened-in window, because no one was home and the locks were changed.

By accessing the house without Robyn’s knowledge while the police were present, I nonetheless started a maelstrom of fear to grow inside Robyn even though I was trying desperately to support my family. We started our marriage in a loving, joyful way, connecting on most every level.

And now, here we were, a million miles from there.

The McLaughlin family during happier times at our idyllic home in Leesburg before divorce and false allegations of child abuse tore us apart.

3

Almost a Model Home

The secret of a happy marriage is finding the right person. You know they’re right if you love to be with them all the time.

—Julia Child

Robyn Anson was a classic blue-eyed, long-legged blonde from Christchurch, New Zealand. I fell in love with her in 1976. She was 22, and I was 24. She was traveling on a visitor’s visa in the Washington, DC, area, staying with friends from New Zealand. She became a short-term nanny for a New Zealand family in Potomac, MD to earn some extra money. When she visited my church youth group at Fourth Presbyterian Church in Bethesda, I was immediately taken with this vivacious woman.

Instead of going to my night law school class one evening, I decided to meet her at a church softball game. I was unfortunately assigned to the other team, and Robyn was told to play second base. There she was—a blonde beauty— dressed in her blue shorts and high white socks, pulled above the knees, like a New Zealand cricket player. I wanted to meet her any way I could, so I hit a single and stretched it into a double—just so I could slide into second base and literally knock her off her feet. Since New Zealanders are not familiar with the rules of softball, Robyn was standing on the base like she was protecting a wicket. I profusely apologized when I knocked her down and helped to dust her off. Mission accomplished.

Later, Robyn was designated as the coordinator for the church’s upcoming Hawaiian luau.

Bruce, would you like to make a pineapple upside-down cake for our church luau?

Yes, but only if you will help me bake it, I answered, smiling.

Yes, I will. She smiled back at me.

I felt lucky that Robyn agreed to help me make the cake rather than helping the other guys in the church. Robyn came over to my bachelor pad I shared with four friends in Chevy Chase, where we both learned how to make a pineapple upside-down cake.

Robyn earned a teaching degree in early childhood education from American University in 1979, which allowed her to stay in the U.S. on a student visa during our 4-year courtship.

Robyn and I loved Europe. I was born in Frankfurt in 1952 and lived there as a child for several years, growing up in a small close-knit family while my father served as an intelligence officer with the CIA on two foreign tours of duty. My brother, Mark, and I traveled around the world several times with my diplomatic father and wonderfully talented artistic mother. I loved Germany as a student at an international school in Oberursel, a suburb of Frankfurt—so much that I majored in German and Political Science at Tufts University in Boston. I decided to take my junior year (in 1972-73) as an exchange student from Tufts in Tuebingen, a delightful university town nestled in the Schwabische Alb region south of Stuttgart. As part of that memorable year, I qualified to be a translator in German, French, and English at the main stadium at the Munich Olympics, where I worked for two weeks during the summer of 1972.

Robyn loved Germany and decided to live in Frankfurt for a year while we dated. She taught second grade at the Frankfurt International School, the same school I loved as a child from second to fourth grades.

Robyn Anson and I married in 1980 at my parents’ historic pre-Civil War home in the idyllic Fairfield, Gettysburg battlefield area of southern Pennsylvania. Shortly after our wedding, we traveled for two months around the world on standby with the old Pan-American World Airways. We visited her native New Zealand and stayed with her Aunt Millie and Uncle Cliff in Wellington, the capital city on the north island.

While there, Robyn shared that she’d been fondled by Cliff and a neighbor as a young girl. She joked to me as we lay in bed together how those experiences caused her to hate all men, except (she was quick to note) for me. She shared that she didn’t have a close relationship with her father, who had been rather remote during her upbringing; had no male role model; and couldn’t trust the opposite sex.

I knew her father, John Anson, to be a good soul. A vibrant, eccentric man in his golden years, he loved to have fun. Whenever we visited New Zealand, I fondly remember visiting his social club and jitter-bugging with his girlfriend and Robyn until we were all exhausted. One afternoon, I was sunning myself in his backyard only to be awakened by apples from his apple trees being rolled my way and hitting me where I lay. The two of us shared war stories into the wee hours of the morning over a fine glass of port—long after Robyn went to bed. I truly felt sad that Robyn could not create a more loving relationship with her father before his death only two months after our second visit to New Zealand in 1996.

I believe the feelings she harbored toward men had an adverse effect on our sex life. Robyn was very conservative, even prudish, in the way she shared intimate relations with me. She rarely initiated sexual relations. When I did, it seemed as if she was just going through the motions. I often sensed her mind was elsewhere, and she was somehow disconnected from her body. I was frustrated because I could never seem to satisfy her sexually. But I guess I was just afraid to ask her how I could do that. Instead, we just grew further apart. While I felt sad for Robyn after she told me of the abuse and neglect by men in her childhood, I just didn’t think much about it, because I felt that we had an underlying love that moved beyond that. I felt she loved me, and I didn’t question her further about the abuse or neglect. It was such an intimidating and embarrassing topic to bring up anyway. When I tried to address it in our bedroom discussions, Robyn evaded the issue and changed the subject. Eventually, I let it go and did not ask her about it much after that.

Because Robyn and I both wanted to live in Europe, I gladly signed up for a stint in the U.S. Army JAG Corps in 1981. My job as a contract negotiator with a local government contractor paid for a 4-year night program at the George Mason School of Law. After my graduation, we excitedly flew off to Germany for a 3-year tour of duty in Frankfurt.

I was a defense trial attorney for much of this time, traveling throughout Germany as a conflict counsel for the Army’s V Corps. Robyn and I loved exploring Europe and the Middle East during this tour. We lived at Camp King in Oberursel on a small Army transportation post, ironically in the very same building my family lived in 20 years earlier, when I attended the Frankfurt International School up the street. Robyn became the head administrator and teacher of the Camp King Preschool where we lived. We were both living our dream.

In 1984, we moved back to the States and lived in Fort Lee, VA, where I continued my military career. We wanted a large family, and we resorted to fertility treatments after Robyn suffered two debilitating miscarriages. She finally gave birth to our four beautiful children. The first, Lucas, was born in 1986 at the John Randolph Hospital near Fort Lee, while I was assigned there on active duty as a contracts instructor. Nicholas was born in 1989 at the Miami Valley Hospital in Dayton, while I worked as a civilian government trial attorney with the US Air Force. The twins, Emma and Hannah, were born in 1991 at the Gettysburg Hospital in Gettysburg, while I was the chief litigation contracts attorney with the Army at Fort Ritchie in Maryland.

We purchased a model home overlooking the famous battlefield of Gettysburg near my parent’s home and created a beautiful family together.

I simply loved Robyn, our family, and our life there.

I simply loved Robyn, our family, and our life there.

4

Our Early Married Life

On Grace

If you are standing before St. Peter

Trying to get into Heaven,

Leave your dog outside;

After all, Heaven is based upon favor,

Not merit.

If it were based upon merit,

You would be left outside,

And the dog allowed in.

—Mark Twain

Lucas Donald McLaughlin was named after my witty father, Donald. We enjoyed swinging Luke in the mechanical swing in a backyard lined on three sides by woods where deer came to graze regularly. Lucas was a strapping, healthy baby, full of life who brought us such joy as we started our family after a 6-year wait.

His birth by cesarean section was difficult and caused Robyn’s first case of post-partum depression. She was depressed for almost a year after his birth and experienced severe mood swings. After starting a regimen of antidepressants, she became very distant.

Nicholas Anson McLaughlin’s middle name was given to him after Robyn’s famous ancestor, Lord Admiral Anson, founder of the modern British Navy. Nick was a pleasant, affable boy who almost never cried about anything. He was born in the same Miami Valley Hospital as his grandfather, George Donald. Robyn suffered through multiple hours of a difficult labor, ending with another C-section. The second significant bout of postpartum depression occurred, lasting many months after Nick’s birth. Robyn continued to be aloof toward me sexually, and our relationship deteriorated further. Emma Olive and Hannah Virginia were delightful twin girls. Like their brothers, they were born by C-section. Both girls took their middle names from their grandmothers’ respective first names.

Both girls registered a perfect Apgar scale of 10 for measuring the health of babies at birth. Although they each had a handful of brown hair, it slowly turned a lustrous blond, then golden red within their first year. Combined with bright blue eyes, the twins looked stunning and very much alike. But as they grew into toddlers, they developed very distinct temperaments. Emma was always the lady, preferring to play quietly with dolls and dressing up. Hannah was the tomboy, always rambunctious and restless, willing to mix it up with the boys on the soccer field or basketball court. Robyn suffered her worst case of postpartum depression after their birth and began an 8-year-long relationship with Leesburg psychiatrist, Dr. David Begun, who prescribed her antidepressants. She spent a lot of time alone in her room, while I cared for the kids, when I was home. I also hired full-time nannies to care for the children when I was away.

We settled into our dream home on Beauregard Drive in Leesburg, VA. It was in this 5,000-square-foot home, replete with 6 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms as well as a grand foyer, great room, and unfinished basement that Robyn and I intended to settle down with our growing family. The house overlooked the children’s elementary school, Cool Springs. This school was built on the land formerly used as a fort during the Civil War by General Pierre Beauregard’s confederate forces to guard the northern flank of General Lee’s Grand Army of the Potomac.

After our move to Leesburg, I left the Air Force civil service and took a demanding but independent job as a motivational speaker with a small management company in McLean. The work was challenging and required me to travel around the country 3 to 5 nights a week. As a contractor, I managed my own clients and set my own work hours.

I was also involved in a partnership with Andy Caffey to jointly run a start-up consulting company known as the Lincoln Management Institute which trained small businesses in the legal aspects of starting and managing their own franchise business without the expense of paying a lawyer. We were consumed with co-writing a book and traveling around the country, marketing our legal program. I landed a large client who hired us to train their motorcycle and lawn care franchises on the East Coast. With my consulting assignments at both companies, my free time was at a premium.

I gave my spare time at home almost exclusively to my children. I loved being actively involved in their lives. I enjoyed being the designated reader at their elementary school, where I would sit on a small chair and read to Luke’s or Nick’s classmates spread out around me on the rug. I was a parent monitor at special school events and field trips. I relished dressing up in my German leather knickers and reading the fairytale, Hansel and Gretel, in German to Lucas’ fifth-grade German class or dressing up as Santa Claus and passing out candy canes to Nick’s third-grade class.

My most favorite times were coaching the children. I was a soccer, baseball, and basketball coach at various times and so loved seeing them develop physical and mental skills on the playing fields or courts. I was happy to take Emma to ballet class and watch her learn to pirouette. I was delighted to walk beside Hannah when she rode her horse, Shadow, back and forth in the paddock at a friend’s farm.

5

Separation

"Beware the person who stabs you

and then tells the world

they’re the one who’s bleeding."

—Jill Blakeway

In 1995, things began to deteriorate. A growing alienation continued seeping into our marriage, caused by Robyn’s depression and my prolonged absences for work. My growing consulting assignments required me to spend most of the week traveling across the country. I gave little time to Robyn. Any intimate time we shared together, dwindled to our annual spring vacation in the Caribbean or an occasional dinner out. I grew very frustrated due to her growing detachment from the children and me.

The increasing demands of my new company and the book I was writing gave me little time or patience to focus on my marriage. I felt stressed about our mounting bills. I asked Robyn to help by working for my business. In exchange, I would provide full-time nanny services.

Because of Robyn’s depression and lack of energy to deal with the children, we hired two Swedes, Petra Lindberg and Anna Sandberg, to care for the children in the summer of 1995. We also hired a housekeeper and lawn-care provider. The array of bills we accumulated rapidly spiraled out of control. Our dream home was becoming very expensive. When Robyn resisted managing my office, as she committed to do, I pressured her. I believe the emotional pressure I placed on her deepened her depression. It was a vicious cycle.

Our failure to communicate led to arguments, which led to mutual pushing and wrist-grabbing incidents. In October 1995, I was frustrated at dinner when Nicholas would not eat his meal. Against my wishes, Robyn went to Nicholas to comfort him. I stupidly grabbed her wrist to pull her away. She exaggerated, falling backward, and landed against the crossbar of the sliding glass door in our kitchenette area. I didn’t push Robyn, yet she accused me of pushing her into the sliding door. I didn’t apologize right away, which exacerbated our growing alienation. Robyn told me that if I ever touched her again in anger, she would have me arrested.

Robyn wanted us to attend joint marital counseling with a licensed social worker, Diana Hott, who was recommended by a friend. We attended several sessions together but just managed to argue with each other more. Diana had us sign a contract that we would never touch each other in anger. During our third or fourth session together, I walked out when Diana raised her voice and I felt belittled. I sensed that she lost her objectivity and sided with Robyn. I didn’t go back.

We attended the Cornerstone Chapel Church in Leesburg. The pastor was Gary Hamrick, and the assistant pastors were Martin and Elizabeth Sayer. On several occasions, Robyn and I attended counseling sessions with Pastor Hamrick. These sessions were largely unproductive. Hamrick admittedly did not like to counsel individual parishioners and assigned us to separate counselors. Robyn was assigned to the Sayers. I tried to apologize to Robyn for my part in our marital problems, yet both Pastor Hamrick and the Sayers ignored my efforts. They played into Robyn’s victim mentality by taking her side, rather than helping us reunite our relationship.

I thought Sayer was a weird man. Born in England, he married a German woman. The Sayers were radical Christians. Martin Sayer taught that Satan was behind all the negative forces of the universe. He preached hellfire and brimstone to those who dared not believe. He believed a conspiracy theory that the Masons had a destructive, evil influence on the growth of this country and spoke about it obsessively. He also attributed sexually deviant behavior to the Masons and believed that some of their symbols were phallic in nature. He saw sexual deviance in benign situations and the devil lurking behind every corner. He was so radical that he alienated his own son and his family from him—to the point where they did not communicate with each other.

Martin Sayer originated the belief of my molestation of the children and believed that God was telling him that I’d done so. He started by influencing Robyn to believe that I sexually abused Luke, then Nick, before moving on to abuse both of my girls. He told Robyn that he had an independent, spiritual revelation about my sexual deviance with each child. Robyn was highly influenced by both Martin and Elizabeth Sayer, who continued to estrange us from one another and attributed satanic characteristics to my behavior— demonizing me in the process. The irony to all of this was that I spent little time with these people. They did not know me at all. Robyn continued seeing her psychiatrist.

6

Allegations of Physical Abuse

"Even the false accusations of a person

of dubious morality can taint the

reputation of an upright servant."

—Hock G. Tjoa

When we appeared in court on September 3, 1996, to execute a separation agreement,