The Forgotten Hours(61)
It was stupid, but she had not been prepared for everything to be spelled out like this. A clear-cut mechanical narrative, so appalling in this context. So unforgettable.
Q. Did you say anything?
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Q. Sorry, is that “no”? Can you clarify for the court?
A. No, I didn’t say anything.
Q. And the defendant? Did he say anything?
A. No. He was quiet.
Q. And you didn’t scream or cry or say “stop.”
A. No. But it—
Q. You can tell the court.
A. But it hurt. I didn’t say anything, but it was hurting me.
Q. Can you tell us why you didn’t say anything? Why you didn’t tell him to stop hurting you?
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THE COURT. Do you need a break? It’s okay if you need a break.
THE WITNESS. No, I’m okay.
THE COURT. You’re sure?
THE WITNESS. Can I please have a glass of water?
Q. Did you see your parents the next day?
A. I saw my mother. My father, he doesn’t live with us.
Q. Okay, you saw your mother the next day. Did you tell her what happened to you?
A. No.
Q. Why? Why did you not say anything to your mother about John Gregory hurting you?
A. Because he is my best friend’s father.
Lulu had used the present tense here, and what did that mean? “Best friend”—those simple words added sparking embers to the sense of panic overtaking her. Of course they had not been best friends anymore at that point. But they used to be; they used to love each other, and that reality had been wiped out, along with the life Katie had taken completely for granted.
There were hundreds of pages of testimony, and Katie began frantically flipping through the pages, looking for something specific. She snagged her lip again with her teeth, then stopped herself before drawing blood.
She saw her own name on page 114, day six, when she took the witness stand.
There was Piper’s name, Lulu’s mother, when she took the stand.
There was some guy from her father’s office, and the new West Mills town soccer coach, speaking on her father’s behalf. In the old pirate box at the cabin, Katie had uncovered a sheet with a list of names on it, and many of those same people were listed in the transcript, called up as character witnesses. On and on with the names, questions, reworded questions, breaks in the narrative, more names, objections, sidebars. Rape crisis counselors. Doctors.
The image of Lulu on the stand—stuttering and crying as she talked about Katie’s father’s fingers—threatened to blot everything else out, and she shoved it away, yet Lulu hovered alongside her, whispering, and Katie couldn’t tell what she was saying, though she desperately wanted to understand.
There was one person mentioned on almost every page, at least obliquely, whom she could not find under either Direct Examination or Cross-Examination. One name was missing: the name John Gregory.
Where was his testimony? How could this document be missing what must surely be among the most important components of the trial—her father’s side of the story? As she flipped back and forth, something dawned on her, and every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth.
The reason it was not there was because he had never taken the stand in his own defense. He had never told his own side of the story, either in court or to his family.
Cross-Examination
Q. Hi, Loretta. My name is Herbert Schwartz.
A. Hello. I, um, can you—I mean, call me Lulu, please?
Q. You don’t need to be nervous. I’m not going to try to trip you up, okay? And I will certainly call you Lulu if you like.
A. Okay. Thank you.
Q. So, according to your testimony, you were in the den of the cabin, here on the diagram. Your Honor, I move to admit this evidence as Exhibit #4.
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Q. Is this a fair depiction, in this diagram, of the layout of the house?
A. Yes, I think so.
Q. Well, let’s see. You’ve spent many summers at the cabin with the Gregory family, is that right?
A. Yes.
Q. Since you were about six years old?
A. I’d just turned seven when I first started staying with them.
Q. You were seven years old. So that is over ten years ago, right? You had been spending every summer with them for about, what, seven years in a row?
A. Yes.
Q. So it would be fair to say they are like family to you? Mrs. Gregory, Charlie, is like a mother, and Mr. Gregory, John, is a bit like a father. Perhaps a surrogate family?
A. I suppose so.
Q. They took care of you since you were little, fed you, comforted you if you were upset?
A. Yes. But I, I have a mother, too, a real mom.
Q. I understand. Your mother, your adoptive mother, she’s here today, right?
A. No, she’s not here. I mean, not today.
Q. Okay, I’m sorry. I thought she was here. So, in addition to your mother, your adoptive mother, not that long after you were adopted into her family, you also started staying with the Gregorys for weeks at a time?
A. Yes.
Q. Back to my question, then. This diagram, it is an accurate representation of where the den is in relation to the rest of the house? The den is right next to the kitchen? It is not in a basement, down a long hallway, or tucked far away, is that correct?