Miracle Creek(38)

Abe said, “Detective, how exactly did the fire start?”

Pierson nodded. “Our forensic arson team determined that a burning cigarette and matchbook placed in the middle of a pile of sticks under an oxygen tube started the fire. The tubing cracked, putting the oxygen in contact with the fire. And even though oxygen itself isn’t flammable, it mixing with the contaminants in and around the equipment resulted in an explosion, and the force of that blast blew away the cigarette and matchbook before they were completely incinerated. We recovered several pieces of each item intact, and conducted lab testing on the chemical contents and color patterns. We identified the brand of the cigarette as Camel, and the matchbook as one that 7-Eleven stores in this area distribute.”

Abe’s lips wiggled, like he was trying to suppress a smirk. “What brands were the cigarettes and matches found at the defendant’s picnic area?” he said, making picnic sound like a dirty word.

“Camel cigarettes, and a 7-Eleven matchbook.”

The whole courtroom seemed to rise and vibrate, everyone sitting taller in their chairs, leaning forward and sideways to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth’s reaction.

Abe waited for the whispers and creaks of chairs to quiet. “Detective, did the defendant ever try to explain away this correlation?”

“Yes. After her arrest, the defendant said she found an open pack of cigarettes and matches that night in the woods.” Pierson’s voice took on a singsong quality, the tone of a babysitter reading fairy tales to kids. “She said it looked discarded, so she took it and smoked it. She said there was also a note with an H-Mart logo on it saying, ‘This needs to end. We need to meet tonight, 8:15.’ She said she didn’t realize it at the time, but those must’ve been discarded by the arsonists.”

“How did you respond to this explanation?”

“I didn’t find it credible. Teenagers smoking discarded cigarettes, I buy. But a forty-year-old upper-class woman? But be that as it may, we took her ‘explanation’ seriously.” He drew air quotes. “We dusted the cigarette pack and matchbook for fingerprints.”

“What did you find?”

“Curiously, we found only the defendant’s fingerprints, no one else’s. She explained that by saying she used”—Pierson’s face twitched, as if trying not to laugh—“antibacterial wipes to clean them before she used them. Because, you know, they’d been on the ground.”

Soft giggles swept the room. Someone laughed out loud. Abe frowned, deliberately crinkling his face. “I’m sorry, did you say antibacterial wipes?” The jurors smiled, seemingly amused, but Teresa found herself hating the transparent theatrics, his pretense at surprise. “So she was willing to smoke these random cigarettes belonging to God knows who, as long as she used her antibacterial wipes?” Abe’s repetition of “antibacterial wipes” seemed juvenile, a form of bullying, and Teresa wanted to shout at him to shut up, that Elizabeth really did have a habit of wiping everything with those wipes she carried everywhere, and so fricking what?

“Yes,” Pierson said, “and in the process, conveniently ‘wiped away’ any evidence that could have corroborated or contradicted her story.” Teresa wanted to jump up and smack this man’s fat, bunny-drawing fingers.

“What about fingerprints on the H-Mart note? Surely, the defendant didn’t use antibacterial wipes on paper.”

“We didn’t find any note.”

“Could it have gotten overlooked?”

“The night of the explosion, we set up a wide perimeter around the picnic site and combed through it the next morning. There was no H-Mart note in that vicinity.”

A tingle jolted Teresa’s scalp and spread down her shoulders, warm and thick, like a shawl. There had been a note that night. Close her eyes, and she could see it—a crumpled ball of paper on the blanket. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could see bright red and black splashes, the way H-Mart’s logo might look scrunched up.

Teresa imagined telling Abe. Would he believe her? He’d ask why she didn’t tell him before. The truth was, to avoid talking about Elizabeth laughing when told of Henry’s death, she’d said she couldn’t remember much about that conversation, including what items she saw nearby. “I was so focused on telling her Henry was dead, I guess I blocked everything out,” she’d said. She could say Pierson’s testimony triggered her memory, but Abe wouldn’t buy it; he’d peck at it like a vulture until her story fell apart. Which meant she might be forced to come clean, explain about Elizabeth laughing. And that might hurt Elizabeth far more than Teresa saying she saw something that vaguely maybe could be an H-Mart note.

So going to Abe in private was a no-go. But staying quiet was not an option, either; the jury had to know that Elizabeth wasn’t lying about the note.

When Teresa opened her eyes, Pierson was saying there was nothing to corroborate Elizabeth’s version of events. Teresa stood up. She cleared her throat. She said, “That’s not true. I saw it. I saw the H-Mart note.”

The judge banged the gavel and called for order and Abe said to sit back down, but Teresa remained standing and looked to Elizabeth. Shannon was saying something to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth looked past her and met Teresa’s gaze. Elizabeth’s bottom lip quivered and stretched into a half smile. Elizabeth blinked, and the tears pooling in her eyes rolled down her cheeks. Fast, like they’d burst from a dam.