Empty Accusations of Child Abuse Leave Stain on Family

The Costa Mesa Police Department got the call on a Sunday afternoon and dispatched an officer right away. County Social Services had a report of a baby so severely abused that he was near death.

Before approaching the house, the officer knocked on the doors of neighbors. Did they notice anything suspicious about this particular family on the block?

No, the neighbors couldn’t say that they did. Still, that wasn’t too unusual in a case like this.

Police backup had already been called. Who knew what the officer would find when he confronted the suspects in their home? These types of cases are especially ugly, and dangerous too.

Kimberly Hansen, 27 years old, mother, office manager and third-year law student, opened her front door when she saw the officer on her porch. She had just come back from shopping. Her husband was out playing golf.

Tucker, the couple’s 5-month-old son, was in his infant seat in the kitchen, smiling at no one in particular, as he often does. Buck, the family’s Labrador retriever, had jumped against the front door, barking, when he saw the officer through the glass. At 17 months, Buck has a lot of energy. He likes to lick people on the face.

The officer entered and ordered Kimberly to restrain the dog at once. There was an edge to his voice.

“He said, ‘We have a report that your dog mauled a child,’ ” Kimberly says. “I said, ‘Excuse me?’ ”

The police report, filed after the officer had left the Hansen home, says more. An anonymous woman caller had told a worker at the county Child Abuse Registry that “a 5-month-old child would die if someone didn’t come out immediately.”

The report goes on: “The female stated that a large dog at the location was biting and licking the face of the 5-month-old baby boy. The anonymous informant also stated that she saw some type of ‘instruments’ at the location. The informant also believed that there was possible sexual abuse involved.”

Kimberly Hansen and her husband, Michael, stood accused.

“Well, at that point, everything stops and you think, ‘This isn’t happening to me,’ ” Kimberly says.

The officer took a look around. No “instruments” were found. Everything seemed fine. The officer asked if perhaps he had the wrong address or if the Hansens had just moved in. Tucker, in fact, looked altogether too good. He was smiling, chortling really, and the officer could see no marks whatsoever on his very pale skin.

The officer called Social Services back. Yes, the information was correct as received. The anonymous caller, the social worker added, appeared to be upset with someone in the Hansen home. She had refused to leave her name. The officer called the station. He said he wouldn’t be needing any backup help after all.

The police report adds this: “I had Kimberly unclothe the baby so I could examine him further. There did not appear to be any injuries or any obvious sign of child neglect or molest. The entire time I was there with Kimberly the baby was in good spirits and very active.”

The officer, in addition, noted that Buck seemed to be a happy dog, that he and baby Tucker got along well. Buck did lick the baby’s face once while the officer was there. The officer described it as “not uncommon for a family pet to do.”

So the case, as far as the Hansens’ involvement, was closed. The police have no evidence, nor suspicion, that the couple abused their only child. They say they would like to find the woman who made the false report of child abuse, but even if they do, there is little they could do except ask her why she made the call.

They suspect that she’s a baby-sitter who mysteriously quit, after no apparent problems with the Hansens, the Friday before.

All of this is not as strange as it may sound. An accusation of child abuse, regardless of any basis in fact, is one of the most powerful weapons around. Divorcing parents use it all the time, feuding neighbors too. It stains the accused; it presumes guilt. And even if the accused is cleared of any charge, well, there is still that doubt. . . .

The Hansens took Tucker to his pediatrician the next day. Doubts had been nagging them, keeping them from sleep that night. Would they know if their baby had been abused? What if the accuser had abused Tucker herself?

The doctor could find nothing wrong. The notations on Tucker’s medical file say this: “No changes in behavior. Happy baby. No diaper rash. No rectal bleeding.”

Except the Hansens’ life has changed. They are skittish now in situations where self-consciousness had never occurred to them before. Kimberly’s husband says he’ll think twice before he pulls the neighbor girls’ pigtails. He used to tickle them when they come over to see Tucker and to play with Buck. Maybe he should knock that off.

“It’s like you feel guilty,” Kimberly says, “and a little apprehensive, even changing your child’s diaper. It’s like everything you do, you have to justify. And that’s scary.

“There’s almost an element of shame. It’s almost like a taboo subject. When we told people what happened--of course, the whole neighborhood knows here--they said, ‘I can’t believe you would even tell anybody about this!’ ”

Yet, this time, the system did work, albeit with a few bumps. The Hansens were falsely accused by an anonymous caller; the report did not check out. Yet the accusation, and the police report, remain.

“It was frightening,” Kimberly says. “There are no words to describe the horror in the pit of your stomach. That hasn’t subsided; it’s still there. . . . Suppose Tucker had been six months older and walked into a wall and had a lump on his head? What would have happened then?

“I’m a credentialed teacher in California, so I realize that people have to feel free to be able to report things. I am very sympathetic to callers wanting to retain anonymity.

“On the other hand, you can effectively destroy people’s lives with one phone call. But if you take away the anonymity, you also open people up to retaliation, and you don’t want that either. You want the children to get the help they need. It’s a Catch-22.”