Niceville

anger-management class, that he has fully paid his entire arrears of child support, that he has paid for the damage that was accidentally done to his ex-wife’s front porch and car, that he has voluntarily enrolled in a parenting-skills seminar that begins next week, and that he restates his desire to be a kind and loving presence in his daughter’s life, if the court will only grant him the opportunity.”
    Judge Monroe’s eyeglasses glittered again as he raised and lowered his head in a perfunctory acknowledgment of the statement.
    Everyone in the courtroom was reasonably certain that barring astroke of lightning, Judge Theodore W. Monroe was about to come down very hard on somebody. He had his vulture face on.
    He did not disappoint.
    “Duly noted, Miss Barrow, and the court thanks both counselors for their professionalism and clarity during what has been, at times, a very contentious and emotional hearing.”
    He paused here, set his fountain pen down on the papers in front of him, leaned back in his wingback chair, which creaked under his weight, oddly loud in the silent courtroom, clasped his arthritic hands over his belt buckle, and let his detached gaze move slowly over the upturned faces staring back at him.
    “Well, so … having heard the arguments of both sides, and taking into full account all the various depositions filed and the petitions made, and the reports filed by Children and Family Services and the Belfair and Cullen County Domestic Violence Advisory Panel, this court has decided to grant full and sole custody of Anna Marie Bock—now Anna Marie Dellums—to her mother, Colleen Claire Dellums—and that Mr. Christian Antony Bock, formerly Miss Dellum’s husband and the biological father of Anna Marie, will have no contact of any kind, either written—Miss Barrow, restrain your client—”
    Bock, his face darkening, had begun to object, but his lawyer shut him down with a hoarse whisper.
    Judge Monroe let a long moment pass while he glared down at Mr. Bock’s inflamed face.
    “I will repeat. Mr. Bock will have no contact of any kind, either supervised or unsupervised, until such time as an independent family review committee shall make a determination of the likelihood of Mr. Bock repeating the pattern of manipulation, deceit, bad faith, cruelty, aggression, and abusive and assaultive behavior that has been so well documented in this court. I do not rule out,” said Monroe, gesturing with a clawlike hand knotted by age, “some sort of supervised contact in the future, but only after an assessment such as I have described has been made and the results delivered to me for my consideration. I have also directed and required the various law enforcement agencies involved to ensure that there is no contact of any kind—written, electronic, visual, televisual, semaphoric, hieroglyphic, telepathic, in a séance—no contact of any kind will occur between Mr. Bock and any member of the Dellums family. Hear me now, Mr. Bock …”
    He fixed Bock with a cold gray eye.
    “I will regard even a casual encounter on the street as a matter to be carefully reviewed. I will consider the unexpected arrival on Miss Dellums’ front porch of a white dove with a sprig of laurel in its beak to be a flagrant breach of this order and I am ready, Mr. Bock, quite ready, to enforce your full compliance with this restriction upon you in any way within my power, up to and including your incarceration upon a bench warrant for such time as the statutes and my judicial discretion may allow.”
    A stir from his lawyer, framing an objection.
    The judge lifted a hand, bony fingers spread out, his head turning from side to side.
    “No, Miss Barrow, with all respect, please do not offer a comment, if you will, at this time. I have just one final statement for the record, and then we may all go about our daily lives in peace. Let the record show that I am now directly addressing Mr. Bock. Do you hear me, Mr. Bock? Are you paying close attention?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” said Bock, in an artificially small voice, but with a grating undertone, like stone sliding on stone. For a short, almost dwarfish man he could radiate a lot of mulish resentment, which he generally did only when he was alone in a room with someone or something smaller and weaker. But today, for the first time, he showed it to the whole court, and Kate Kavanaugh took careful note.
    “Good. I do not approve of you, Mr. Bock. Not at all. Were it in my