“Why do you want to find your mother?” I snatch the opportunity to learn more.
“Wouldn’t you? I want to know who she is, why she gave me up, whether she still thinks about me. And now I also want to know whether she killed him. How it happened. Why it happened. If he hurt her. I have so many questions and I don’t want to wait until my parents decide to tell me what’s happening. I want everyone to stop treating me like a child.”
“What do you need from me?” I try to quash the thoughts that are racing through my head.
“I want you to tell me the truth. My parents don’t.”
And then, before I can respond, she carries on: “And I want to meet Mrs Larkin. My parents don’t want that, they’re coming up with silly excuses. But I want to meet her, get to know her, find out about her son.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I say.
Maya stands up. “Then I’ll have to find someone else. I came to you because I thought you cared about me, but evidently I’m just your babysitter.”
Tears well in her eyes and start running down her cheeks. She wipes them furiously with the back of her sleeve. I want to stand up and hug her, hold her close to me, tell her that I will do anything for her. But I know that despite my best intentions, I can never be there for Maya in the way I really want. I gave up that right as soon as she was born and have to live with the consequences.
Yet, she’s giving me an opportunity to do something for her. To help her in a way that she needs. To make a difference in her life. I cannot let this go.
“Sit down, Maya,” I say. “Let’s not make any rash decisions.”
She takes her seat back and stares at me, her eyes boring into mine. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt and shifts in the chair, like she’s trying to find a comfortable position.
“I can continue trying to convince your parents to allow you to meet Mrs Larkin.”
Another expression flickers through her eyes. Disappointment. Resignation. She brings her hand up and twirls a strand of hair around her index finger. Round and round and round. “You know that won’t be enough. It might work with Dad but Mum is just too stubborn.”
She fixes me with a look that suddenly reminds me she is almost an adult. The recent events have pushed her to grow up faster than she should. It’s my fault for creating this situation. “I want you to arrange the meeting with Mrs Larkin.”
“Maya, I need to think about this. I’d be going behind their backs.”
Her expression softens. “Ok. But please don’t keep me waiting for nothing.”
Standing up again, she remains next to her chair for a few seconds, then turns around and leaves. The sound of the children playing drifts through and I catch snippets of their conversation. But I don’t move. Toying with a pen, clicking the nib in and out, I replay the conversation with Maya in my head. There is no right decision. Whichever way I decide to go I will be letting someone down. I don’t know if that can be Maya.
Chapter 37
Chloe shuffles in her chair, shifting her small bump this way and that. “You’re going to be fine,” I tell her, putting one hand on her arm and squeezing slightly to reassure her.
We’re in the courtroom, waiting for the judge to walk in, and today is her turn to testify. “Just remember what we discussed. Answer my questions as you did during our preparations and when the prosecutor starts interrogating you, stick to what he’s asking. Don’t give additional details.
“Don’t talk fast. Take your time, use it to think about what you’re saying.”
When she is called to the stand, Chloe walks with ease, keeping her paces straight, her head slightly bowed. When she sits down, she puts her hands in her lap, relaxing her arms, and looks straight ahead. She answers my questions about that afternoon, relating in detail how Ben had attacked her, how she tried to push him away, how he was too strong, and how she finally managed to escape.
“Why did you take Mr Grant’s car?” I ask.
“I was scared.”
Her voice is wobbly and I worry that she won’t be able to handle the questions.
“What were you afraid of?”
“I thought he was going to catch up with me. That he’d drag me back into the house. That he would attack me again.”
“Did it occur to you that driving could be dangerous for someone who’d never done it before?”
“I didn’t think that far ahead. I saw the car as a way to escape, get away from him.” She looks at the jurors and then back at me. “I wanted to get away as quickly as I could. I wanted to be as far from him as possible.”
“What happened next?”
“I switched the ignition and moved the gear stick. I thought I’d put it in first, but when I pressed the accelerator the car jerked backwards.”
“So you put the car in reverse by mistake?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Did you press the brake?”
“I don’t think so. It all happened so quickly. I didn’t have time to think.”
“Why didn’t you stop to check on the extent of Mr Grant’s injuries after you hit him? Did you hear him cry out in pain?”
“Yes, I did. But I was still scared. I didn’t realise how injured he was and thought he might be faking, and might get up and attack me again.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I got out of the car and ran away.” She looks up and her eyes are glistening. “I wanted to be somewhere where he couldn’t get to me.”
Taking a short pause, I look at the jurors, studying the expression of each one. They are looking at Chloe, drinking in every word. A young woman is biting her lip while an elderly man has the same kind of expression my dad has when he looks at Leah. They believe her, I think.
“Where did you go?”
“I ran to my foster home.”
“What did you do then?”
“I took a shower and washed my clothes,” Chloe answers.
“Did it occur to you that you were destroying evidence of the attack?”
“No, I didn’t think about that. I wanted to wash him away, get any remnants of him off me. I felt dirty and ashamed.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police that he had raped you?”
“I was embarrassed. It felt like he had destroyed my privacy and I didn’t want anyone to know what happened. I was ashamed, and I didn’t want to relive what happened.”
She continues answering my questions convincingly and I can feel that the late nights preparing for this testimony are paying off. She talks about the shock of finding out about the pregnancy and how it will impact her life.
“Why did you decide to keep the baby?” I ask.
She lifts her shoulders in a small shrug. But it’s not a smug gesture. Instead it shows resignation. “It’s not the baby’s fault. He, or she, deserves a chance.” One juror dabs at her eyes and another sniffs audibly.
When it’s George Winters’ turn to question Chloe he confronts her about inconsistencies in her story. “You lied to the police, said you didn’t realise Mr Grant was injured. Why should we believe what you’re saying now?”
It’s at that moment that Jennifer taps me on the shoulder and hands me a note. She wasn’t supposed to be in court so I know this must be important. My hands are trembling as I open the folded piece of paper.
Mary Beth Hayes has agreed to testify.
Relief floods through me and I scribble a note back to Jennifer, asking her to set a meeting for that afternoon.
Jennifer nods and leaves the courtroom. For the rest of the afternoon I try to focus on the prosecutor’s questioning and Chloe’s responses, objecting often when I think he’s crossed the line. But part of my brain is already working on my questions for Mary Beth.
It’s almost four o’clock by the time George Winters finishes questioning Chloe and the judge wraps up for the day.
“Let’s talk,” the prosecutor tells me when the judge walks out. “We’re ready to offer you a deal. If she pleads g
uilty to involuntary grievous bodily harm, we will recommend probation and community service.”
“But she’ll still have a criminal record.” I glance at Chloe still sitting upright in her chair.
“She’ll be spared jail and can take care of her kid.”
“That’s not good enough, George. A criminal record will be a black stain for the rest of her life.”
“That’s the best you’re going to get.”
“I’ll speak to her, but I can tell you right now that I will be recommending that she refuses your offer.”
“Suit yourself.”
In the taxi back, I tell Chloe about the offer. “But he raped me,” she cries. “I didn’t mean to run him over, to hurt him this much.”
“I think the case is going well and we have a good chance of winning,” I tell her. “But it’s still a gamble. You have to be ready for an unfavourable outcome if we don’t take the deal. That means several years in prison. You won’t be able to see your child grow up. But if you take the offer, you will always have a criminal record. That might impact your future opportunities to find a job and livelihood.”
*
Mary Beth is waiting in my office when I get back. I have purposely not told Chloe about her. It seems cruel to raise her hopes before making sure that the new witness will work in our favour.
For the next two hours I go over Mary Beth’s story, talking about the incident, questioning her over and over, making sure that her story remains consistent. We focus on the details, the description of the construction site where Ben had pulled over, how she felt when he pinned her against the seat, how she finally managed to escape.
“Thank you for doing this,” I tell her.
“I couldn’t let the girl go to jail. He’s a horrible person and needs to be stopped from ever doing what he did to us again.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I tell her, squeezing her hand.
*
That evening I get home late and for once I’m glad to have avoided Maya. I’m still troubled by the conversation we had the day before, her insistence that she gets the information first hand from me. I’m struggling with my decision. I don’t know what the right thing to do is, whether to betray Ellen and Tom’s trust and give Maya the information she wants. Or tell them about her request. As a mother I would want to know if one of my children went behind my back. But this is Maya and I’m rarely rational when it comes to her.
Miles has dinner ready. The children are playing on the living room floor. My husband hands me a plate of stir-fry noodles. My stomach churns. Although I’m hungry the thought of food makes me feel sick. But I take it gratefully and start fiddling with my fork, pushing the food around the plate, staring at the small cut vegetables. I feel Miles’ eyes on me and look up to see him staring in my direction. “Have there been any developments in Maya’s case?” he asks.
Swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat, I reply: “No, I haven’t heard back from the detectives and am waiting for the investigator’s report into Mrs Larkin.”
“I always wondered whether it was one of the other students who killed him. Someone we knew.” He exhales through pursed lips and shakes his head. “Surely the detectives must suspect that too. It’s a college town after all.”
“I don’t know. They haven’t said where they’re focusing their investigation.”
“Does Maya being born abroad help you? Or does it make things worse?”
“That’s been on my mind. I think it will make it easier to track me down if they start looking at student records. It will narrow their search.”
Miles takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “From a legal perspective, what is likely to happen if you are caught?”
I focus on the chip in the nail polish on my left thumb.
“I would be prosecuted. The fact that he killed those girls should work in my favour, somehow justify my actions. But I will get slammed for covering everything up instead of trying to get help. And I’m quite certain I’m going to be disbarred so I’d have to quit the firm.”
“Jeez Liz, this is bad. You’ll need the best legal help you can get.”
“Yes.”
“We’d have to protect the children as much as possible. They’re young, won’t be able to understand.”
I don’t like the direction he’s going in, almost like it’s a given that I’m going to be caught.
“This might blow over,” I say.
“What are the chances of you getting away with this?”
“I don’t know. If nobody else knew I’d say they were pretty good. But the fact that there’s someone out there who knows my name, knows where I live… Well, that’s not good.”
“So, best case scenario would be acquittal but losing your job?”
“More or less.”
“And what if you turned yourself in? Tell them about this Terry guy and try to strike a deal?”
“I don’t think I have any leverage. All I know is that he made a phone call to Terry, but I have no proof of his involvement.”
“Still though, if you confessed you won’t have to continue constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for something horrible to happen. Especially with someone threatening you. What if they come after the kids? I can’t believe how irresponsible you’ve been keeping that to yourself, knowing that there’s someone out there who knows what you did and might try to seek revenge. So reckless.”
His tone is final.
“You need to step forward, Liz. Or…”
“Or what?”
Miles raises the palms of his hands at me as if he won’t be responsible for his actions. I realise he’s giving me an ultimatum. I know at this moment that if I want our marriage to have any hope of surviving, I’m going to have to start making arrangements to confess.
Chapter 38
“What the hell are you doing?” George Winters spits at me, his face so close to mine that I can smell his tobacco breath.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I motion to Chloe to sit down. We’ve just entered the courtroom to find him already there.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he hisses. “Why are you adding a last-minute witness when we’re already discussing a deal?”
“The witness just came forward and as for the deal, we graciously refuse it.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
The colour drains from Ben’s face when Mary Beth takes the stand. He whispers something in the prosecutor’s ear, nodding his head widely at Mary Beth. “Your Honour, we object to this last-minute witness,” George Winters says.
The judge summons us over. “We were not given enough time to evaluate this witness,” the prosecutor complains.
“Your Honour, we alerted the prosecution about the existence of Ms Hayes during disclosure. However, she only agreed to testify yesterday,” I argue.
“The defence has buried the document amongst tens of others. How convenient!” George Winters says.
“Hold the sarcasm, Mr Winters,” the judge says. “I will be allowing this witness.”
Answering my questions Mary Beth tells her story. “Why did you decide to come forward?” I ask her.
“I couldn’t bear another person suffering because of him. I felt it was my duty to speak up and tell the court what he had done to me.”
Mary Beth is the last witness and after her testimony, George Winters and I make our closing arguments. The trial is almost over.
“What happens next?” Chloe asks me as we walk into my office.
“We wait for the jurors to finish deliberating.”
“How long will that take?”
“I don’t know. It could be a couple of hours or longer. It really depends whether they all agree on the verdict.”
She doesn’t respond, but sits across from me in silence. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit, try to get some rest?” I ask her, noticing how exhausted she looks.
“Ok.”
She walks over to the so
fa but I stop her.
“Let me take you to an empty office where nobody will disturb you.” I lead the way. Chloe removes her shoes and lies down on the sofa, her body sinking into the cushions.
“Thank you,” she says in a small voice.
“Get some rest.” I wish I could do the same, close my eyes and relax into oblivion, but my mind is overloaded with thoughts. I’m concerned about Chloe. The next few hours are going to seal her fate. I fear that if she is found guilty Luigi will resist me representing her in an appeal.
And when I force myself to stop thinking about Chloe, Maya’s face flashes before me. I’ve surrounded myself with a web of lies, woven over many years, and I’m terrified that once one thread is pulled away, the whole fabric will come apart.
Shaking my head vigorously I try to shift my focus to my work. Opening my laptop I start scrolling through the tens of emails, deleting junk and flagging the ones that need to be replied to. I work diligently for a while before going to check on Chloe. Opening the door a crack I see she is lying on the sofa, her eyes closed, her hands cradling her growing stomach. Taking care not to make any noise, I close the door again and walk away.
Back in my office I stand next to the window, taking in the city traffic, people walking fast, dodging other pedestrians, crossing the road without looking. But my attempts to distract myself fail. My mind keeps going back to the investigation and Miles’ look of mistrust whenever he glances at me.
For a while I pace back and forth, walking between my desk and the window and the door and the desk again in an endless triangle. We haven’t heard from the detectives, have no idea what’s happening with the investigation into Maya’s birth mother. Despite Ellen’s daily calls asking about the case, I have stopped short of contacting Detective Brown. My justification that I’ve been too busy is just an excuse. I’m scared of what he’ll tell me, worried that he will see through me and realise that my eagerness is due to my involvement, especially if he already has the slightest suspicion of who I really am.
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