Miracle Creek(95)

Teresa, her last and only friend. The cat-scratch thing had repelled her, of course it had.

“Shit,” Shannon said. “I don’t know why she has to be so dramatic about it, all this walking-across-the-aisle nonsense. No wonder Abe was so smug just now.”

Anna said, “We just saw him, and he said he’s calling Teresa next, and he tried to rattle us. ‘She’s heard some very interesting things that will fascinate the jury,’” Anna said in a Southern-twang imitation. “He’s such an asshole.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Shannon said. “He said Teresa’s testifying about things she’s heard, which means it has to be a hearsay exception, which means—”

“An admission?” Anna said.

“That’s my guess.” Shannon turned to Elizabeth. “Have you said anything to Teresa that could make you look bad? The way he was acting, it must be something pretty incriminating.”

It could only be one thing. Their conversation in the chamber. The shameful, secret words they’d whispered to each other alone, meant to be shared with no one, never to be repeated. The words she couldn’t bear to even think about, Teresa was planning to repeat in open court, and they’d soon be spread to the world through websites and newspapers.

She felt a pang of betrayal. She wanted to find Teresa and demand to know how she could turn against her when she herself said those same words, thought those same thoughts. She wanted to tell Shannon how Teresa said she wanted Rosa dead. How satisfying it would be, watching Shannon tear her apart in court. To have the all-caring Mother Teresa be cast in the role of Bad Mother for once.

But Teresa wasn’t a bad mother. Teresa didn’t scratch her child. Teresa didn’t force her child into painful treatments that made her sob and throw up. And no matter what she may have thought or said, Teresa never made her child think she hated her. Teresa had good reason to abandon her now: she finally realized how despicable Elizabeth was, and she wanted justice for Henry against the mother who’d failed him.

“Elizabeth, can you think of anything?” Shannon repeated.

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

“Well, keep thinking. I’d like to know what’s coming. Otherwise, I’ll have to cross her blind.” Shannon turned to her associates.

Cross. She could hear it now: “What happened right before Elizabeth said this? I mean, you weren’t just saying, Oh, I got a haircut, and she blurted out, I wish Henry would die, right? I’m curious—have you said anything like this? Ever think it?” It nauseated her, thinking of strangers passing judgment on Teresa’s most intimate thoughts, the private words she’d said only at Elizabeth’s coaxing. She needed to save Teresa from having to tell that story, from the pain to her and Rosa and Carlos from the broadcasting of those words. But how?

Shannon turned to her. “Can you list everyone who spent time alone with Henry last summer? Therapists, babysitters … and didn’t Victor come visit one weekend?”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s just, you can interpret what you said in different ways, and we’re brainstorming what ‘There is no cat,’ could mean, why a person might say that.”

“A person?” Elizabeth said. “I’m the person. I’m the one who said it, and I’m right here. Why don’t you just ask me?”

No one said anything. They didn’t have to. They didn’t ask her because they didn’t need to. It was obvious, they knew the answer, but they didn’t want to be constrained by the truth in their “brainstorming” on how to spin this.

“I see,” Elizabeth said. “Well, I’ll tell you anyway. What I meant by—”

Shannon put up her hand. “Stop. You don’t need to…” She sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter what you meant. What you said is not evidence. The judge told the jurors to disregard it, and in a perfect world, that would be the end of it. But this is real life. They’re human, and there’s no way it won’t affect them. So I need to neutralize it by giving them alternatives to you being a child abuser.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “But how … What’s the alternative?”

“Someone else could’ve hurt him,” Shannon said. “Someone Henry wanted to protect, someone you maybe had suspicions about, and it upset you so much hearing Henry covering up for that person, you had a breakdown in court.”

“What? You want to take some innocent person and accuse them of child abuse? A teacher or therapist or Victor? Victor’s wife? My God, Shannon!” Elizabeth said.

“Not accuse,” Shannon said. “Merely hypothesize. Distract the jury from stuff they’re thinking about you, which they’re not supposed to be thinking in the first place. All we’ll do is point out some theoretical reasons why you could have said that.”

“No. That’s crazy. You know that’s not true. You think I scratched him. I know you do.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what evidence I can present and what arguments I can make. And I’m not going to back away from something just because it’s not very nice. You understand?”

“No.” Elizabeth stood up. Blood rushed out of her head and the room seemed to shrink. “You can’t do that. You need to stick to just saying this has nothing to do with who set the fire. You can convince the jury of that.”