When did you learn that the real monsters are hiding in plain sight?

The Accusation and the Attack

When did you learn that the real monsters are hiding in plain sight? I was sitting next to my dementiest stricken husband in his hospice room when two officers walked in to question him about molesting our granddaughter. Six weeks earlier, our son Gail had brought little Roberta to visit.

She’s four and the light of Frank’s fading world. The only person who could still make him smile even when he didn’t recognize anyone else.

Gail stepped out to take a work call, and I was in the bathroom when I heard Robera giggling. I came out to find Frank playing peek-ab-oo with her, his hands over his eyes, then spreading them wide, saying, “Boo!” like he’d done with our kids 40 years ago.

Robera was squealing with joy, sitting on the edge of his bed. It was the most alert I’d seen Frank in weeks, actually engaging instead of staring at nothing.

Gail walked back in right as Frank was covering Robera’s eyes with his hands to play her turn, and his face went white. He grabbed Roberta so roughly she started crying and stormed out without a word.

I tried calling him for days, but he wouldn’t answer. Then his wife, Rebecca, texted me that we were sick people and to never contact them again. I had no idea what happened until the officers showed up.

Officer Garrett pulled out a report while Officer Preston stood by the door. Gail Steel reported that Frank Steel molested Robera Steele on October 15th during a visit.

I almost laughed because it was so absurd. Molested? He was playing peek-ab-oo. His hands were on her eyes for the game.

Garrett ignored me and leaned over Frank who was staring at the ceiling.

Mister Steel, did you touch Roberta?

Frank didn’t respond because Frank doesn’t even know his own name most days.

Mister Steel, answer the question.

Preston said louder like Frank was being difficult on purpose. And I started getting irritated. He has dementia. He can’t answer you. The hospice nurse, Maria, came in and confirmed.

Frank has advanced Alzheimer’s. His brain is literally deteriorating. But Garrett said, “That’s convenient, isn’t it?” And I felt my first flash of real anger.

“Convenient? He’s dying.”

Maria said.

“But Preston smirked.”

“Smart enough to molest a kid, though.”

And I wanted to slap him. I showed them Frank’s medical records, brain scans showing the massive deterioration. Doctor’s notes saying he has maybe 2 months left.

But Garrett said pedos fake illnesses all the time to avoid consequences. And now I was furious, my voice shaking.

Fake? He doesn’t even know who I am half the time. Frank started getting agitated from the loud voices and tried to pull out his IV.

Maria had to hold his hands while I begged the officers to leave, getting more desperate.

“We’re not going anywhere until he confesses,”

Garrett said, then grabbed Frank’s shoulder and shook him.

“Frank, did you touch Roberta?”

And I screamed, “Get your hands off him.” Frank started crying, not understanding why someone was yelling at him, and his heart monitor started beeping faster.

His heart rate is 150.

Maria said.

“You need to leave before what?”

“Before he has to answer for being a pedoo.”

Preston said.

“And I lost it.” He was playing peek-ab-oo.

“Are you insane?”

Frank’s breathing got ragged and he started clutching his chest. Maria hit the emergency but Garrett blocked her from getting to the medicine cart. He’s faking to avoid talking and I shoved him.

Move. He’s having a heart attack.

But Preston grabbed my arms.

Assaulting an officer. You’re under arrest, too.

Other nurses rushed in and doctor. Kim tried to push past but they wouldn’t move.

This is an active crime scene.

Garrett said while Frank’s monitor showed his heart rate at 180, then 190. And I was screaming. You’re killing him. He played peek-ab-oo. That’s all.

Frank was gasping, his face turning gray, reaching for me. But the officers held me back.

Caroline, he said, the first clear word he’d spoken in days.

Caroline, help.

And I fought against Preston’s grip, sobbing.

“That’s my name. He knows me. Please,”

but Garrett said, “Petus always manipulate their enablers.” And I screamed, “He’s not. He’s a dying old man.”

They started chest compressions while the officers stood there watching, and I was hysterical now.

“You monsters! I hate you. Why are you killing my husband before it’s time?”

They disregarded every word I said. “We have a court order for his DNA,” Preston said while they shocked Frank’s heart. “Dead or alive, we’re getting it.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They were letting him die over Peek-ab-boo. Dr. Akim was screaming about calling security. But Garrett said, “We have jurisdiction.”

This is a child molestation case.

And I was beyond rage now. It was peek-ab-boo. He put his hands on her eyes for a game.

Frank flatlined for 40 seconds while they worked on him. The officers discussing whether they could still prosecute if he died. I collapsed on the floor, sobbing and screaming.

They got him back, but he was unconscious. And Garrett leaned over his bed.

“When he wakes up, if he wakes up, he’s under arrest for child molestation.”

“And you?”

He pointed at me. “You’re under investigation for enabling child abuse.” We’re freezing your assets, taking your passport, and CPS will decide if any grandchildren can ever visit you again.

I knew I needed to talk to Gail. But first, I had to get through the night. I pulled the chair right up against Frank’s bed and sat there watching his chest go up and down, counting each breath like they might stop any second.

The machines kept beeping, and I jumped every time the rhythm changed, even a little. Maria came in every hour to check his blood pressure and write things down on her clipboard.

She lifted up his hospital gown to show me the dark purple marks on his shoulders where Garrett had grabbed him and shook him. “I’m taking pictures of these,” she said, and pulled out her phone.

The flash made Frank twitch, but he didn’t wake up. I held his hand all night, and it felt cold, like he was already halfway gone.

At 6:00 in the morning, Maria brought me coffee and a muffin from the nurse’s station. “Ceil Armstrong from Patient Advocacy is coming at 7:00,” she told me. I called him about what happened.

I didn’t know who Ceil was, but I was glad someone was coming to help. Right at 7:00, this tall black man in a suit walked in carrying a briefcase.

“Mrs. Steel, I’m Ceil Armstrong,”

he said, and shook my hand. Maria told me what occurred yesterday with the officers. He pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of Frank’s bruises from different angles.

Then he sat down with a notebook and asked me to tell him everything from the beginning. I went through the whole thing from the peek-ab-oo game six weeks ago to the officers blocking the medicine cart yesterday. Ceil wrote fast, filling up pages while I talked.

They said he was faking the heart attack, I told him, and my voice got shaky. He flatlined for 40 seconds. Ceil’s jaw got tight when I said that part.

Dr. Kim came in around 8 carrying a folder thick with papers. These are Frank’s latest brain scans, she said and spread them out on the bedside table for Ceil to see.

She pointed at the dark spots all over the images. This is massive deterioration of brain tissue. Frank has maybe 10% of normal cognitive function left.

She was still mad about yesterday and her voice got louder. Those officers prevented me from administering cardiac medication during an active medical crisis. That’s criminal negligence.

Ceil took pictures of all the brain scans, too.

Can you write a statement about Frank’s mental capacity?

He asked Dr. Kim.

I’ll do it right now.

she said, and left to get it typed up.

I picked up my phone to try Gail again. It rang once, then went straight to voicemail like he’d rejected the call.

Gail, it’s mom, I said into the phone. Please listen to me. Dad was playing peek-ab-oo with Roberta, the same game he played with you when you were a baby.

You loved it so much you’d laugh until you got hiccups. He doesn’t understand what’s happening now. The disease ate his brain. He loved you more than anything before he got sick. Please call me back.

My voice broke at the end and I had to hang up. Ceil looked up from his notes.

The hospital can implement new protocols to protect Frank from further police contact without medical supervision present.

He pulled out his laptop and started typing something. I’m drafting a policy right now that requires two medical professionals present for any law enforcement interaction with incapacitated patients.

I sat back down and took Frank’s hand again. His fingers were so cold I rubbed them between mine trying to warm them up.

Maria came back with two other nurses I recognized from yesterday.

We want to give you our statements.

One of them said. They all wrote down what they saw, how the officers wouldn’t let them help Frank. How they blocked the medicine cart.

That officer said Frank was faking even when his heart rate hit 190. The second nurse wrote, “Their anger made me feel less alone in this.”

Ceil collected all their statements and put them in a folder. This is good documentation. He said, “We’re building a clear record of what happened.”

By late afternoon, I was exhausted and Ceil said I should go home to rest. I didn’t want to leave Frank, but Maria promised she’d call if anything changed.

I drove home and sat at my kitchen table with a yellow legal pad. My hands were shaking as I wrote down everything I could remember about October 15th.

How Frank’s face lit up when he saw Roberta. How she climbed up on his bed all by herself because she loved her grandpa so much. The peek-ab-oo game and her squealing laugh.

How it was the first time in weeks Frank had really engaged with anyone. I wrote about all the times Frank played peek-ab-oo with our kids and grandkids over 40 years: birthday parties and Christmas mornings and Sunday dinners. Hundreds of games and never once did anyone think it was wrong.