Miracle Creek(37)

The lawyers returned to their tables and Abe put up another poster.




“Detective,” Abe said. “Tell us what this is.”

“It’s an illustration from the last website the defendant saw before the explosion. She searched for ‘HBOT fire start outside chamber,’ presumably to find the case listed on the protesters’ flyer, and found this: a chamber similar to Miracle Submarine, where the fire started outside. The fire cracked the oxygen tubing, allowing oxygen to escape and to come in contact with flames. Tank One exploded and killed the two patients connected to it.”

“So the defendant saw this image a few hours before putting her son in the third spot, marked Deceased. Is that what you’re telling us?”

“Exactly. Now remember”—Pierson looked at the jury—“Miracle Submarine exploded in the exact same way. The fire started in the same spot, under the U-shaped drop of oxygen tubing. The fatalities were also the same, in the two rear positions where she insisted her son be seated.”

Teresa looked at the left box marked No injuries where Rosa had sat. In every other dive, she’d sat in the red box marked Deceased. If Elizabeth hadn’t insisted on changing things, Rosa’s head would’ve been the one engulfed in flames, charred to the bones. Teresa shivered and shook her head to expel the thought, fling it away. She felt relief so intense that her knees buckled, then a rush of shame that she was, let’s face it, thanking God for someone else’s child dying an excruciating death. It occurred to Teresa then—was it possible that she was rooting for Elizabeth not because she thought her innocent, but out of gratitude to Elizabeth, for planning the explosion in a way that left Rosa safe? Was her selfishness coloring her interpretation of Elizabeth’s laugh, her notes?

Abe said, “Did you discuss the fire’s point of origin with the defendant?”

“Yes, right after the defendant identified her son’s body. I told her we’d find whoever was responsible and how this happened. She said, ‘It was the protesters. They set the fire outside, under the oxygen tubing.’ Remember, at this point, we didn’t know where or how the fire started. Later, when our analysis confirmed that very spot as the fire’s point of origin, we were surprised, to say the least.”

“Could she have known because of what she claimed—the protesters set the fire and their flyer made it clear how they did it?” Abe said, sounding like an innocent schoolboy asking if the Easter bunny was real.

“No.” Pierson shook his head. “We investigated them thoroughly and ruled them out for several reasons. First, all six protesters were released from questioning at 8:00 p.m. They said they all drove back to D.C. immediately without stopping anywhere, and cell tower pings corroborate that. Second, all six have impeccable backgrounds as peaceful, law-abiding citizens, with the primary goal of protecting children from harm.”

Teresa shook her head at this, hard, wishing that she could tell the jury not to be fooled by their supposed “peacefulness.” They hadn’t seen those women that morning, jaws clenched, contempt in their eyes. They’d looked ready to do anything necessary to stop HBOT, like those fanatics who gun down abortion doctors in the name of saving lives.

Teresa took deep breaths to calm herself. On the stand, Pierson was saying, “Even if you believe they’d do something as drastic as commit arson to scare people into stopping HBOT, it makes no sense that they’d do it when the oxygen was on full blast and children were inside.”

When the oxygen was on full blast. This phrase triggered a thought that sent chills through her body: What if they didn’t know the oxygen was on? That morning, as she was rushing past them after the first dive, the silver-bobbed woman had yelled, “We’re not going anywhere. See you tonight at 6:45.” She hadn’t thought much of it, she’d just been annoyed, but now, Teresa realized: the protesters had known their exact schedule. Which meant they’d expected the oxygen to be off by 8:05. According to Pierson, whoever started the fire had lit the cigarette between 8:10 and 8:15. That was the perfect timing: the protesters expected the dive to be ending but the oxygen turned off, which meant the fire would burn slowly, allowing the patients to see it on their way out, at which point they’d be terrified, quit, and report Pak. No more HBOT. It made perfect sense.

Abe said, “I can see why you ruled out the protesters as suspects. But if they weren’t involved, how could the defendant know the fire’s exact origin?” Again, that tone of confused curiosity, as if he genuinely had no clue.

“Two possibilities,” Pierson said. “One, she set the fire herself at that spot to implicate the protesters. Frame someone else for murder: a classic plan. A clever one, which might’ve worked if not for the strong evidence we found against her.”

“And the second possibility?”

“An unbelievably lucky guess.”

Several jurors chuckled, and Teresa felt pressure squeezing her lungs. Elizabeth hated the protesters; that had been obvious. Had that hatred been enough for her to risk setting fire to the barn? Not to kill anyone, but to get the protesters in trouble? That last dive, TJ’s ears had hurt, so Pak took twice as long as usual to pressurize and start the oxygen. Not knowing that, Elizabeth would’ve expected the oxygen to be off by 8:15. She could’ve set the fire then, expecting everyone to be out shortly and discover the fire before it grew. That would explain why she’d clearly been devastated but not surprised when told about the fire and Henry’s death. The realization that she’d caused her own son’s death—the irony, the unbearable knowledge that he’d paid for her hubris, her hatred, her sin—would no doubt cause her breakdown, that cackle of agony Teresa couldn’t forget.