What Happened During The Dinner Run?
The Family Routine, The Forty-Four-Minute Errand, And The Question A Jury Must Answer
On a Tuesday afternoon in Duxbury, Massachusetts, a little boy manages to dress himself.
Dawson Clancy is three years old. His father, Patrick, takes a photograph and sends it to his wife. Lindsay is at a paediatric appointment with their five-year-old daughter, Cora, who poses in a patient gown and mask. The parents exchange pictures. The messages are clear. The day is moving through its ordinary checkpoints.
Later, Cora and Dawson play outside in the snow. Eight-month-old Callan needs rocking. Dawson eats chicken nuggets on the couch. Dinner has not been cooked, so Lindsay suggests takeout from a restaurant the family knows but does not usually use for a quick meal.
Patrick holds the baby, kisses Cora on the head and says he will be right back. He is also collecting children’s medicine from a pharmacy. Lindsay places the food order. Nothing in their brief exchanges sounds like an alarm.
Patrick leaves shortly after a quarter past five. In less than an hour, the family’s home will become the centre of a question that medicine cannot answer by itself and the law cannot avoid: what was happening inside Lindsay Clancy’s mind while the house appeared calm?