Chapter 17 - Marcus Speaks
Marcus did not walk into the courtroom.
The judge allowed him to testify by closed-circuit video from another room because of his age and the emotional circumstances.
The jury could see him.
Bethany could see him.
He did not have to sit ten feet from his mother while answering questions about her.
I was grateful for that.
Marcus wore a green polo shirt and kept rubbing one thumb against the other.
A support person sat outside the camera frame.
The prosecutor began with simple questions.
His name.
His age.
His school grade.
Then he asked about the birthday party.
Marcus said he had been excited.
He liked the dinosaur paper Rosie brought even though the gift inside was a science kit.
He remembered the suction-dart game because it was one of his favorite presents.
The prosecutor asked whether he had played with it.
"A little."
"Did Rosie play with it before your mother took her to the bathroom?"
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
That directly contradicted Bethany's early claim that Rosie had put the suction cups on herself while playing.
"How do you know?"
"Because Mom said it was mine and Rosie couldn't touch it yet."
The prosecutor let that sit.
Then he asked Marcus about the quiet game.
Marcus's eyes dropped.
"What is the quiet game?"
"A game Mom does when you're being bad."
"What happens?"
Bell objected based on the pretrial limits.
The judge allowed a narrow answer.
Marcus said his mother used things that pinched or stuck and told him the game ended when he stopped crying.
He did not describe every incident.
He did not need to.
"Did you say anything to Rosie about the game that day?"
Marcus nodded.
"What did you say?"
"I told her don't cry if Mom says quiet game."
"Why?"
His voice became smaller.
"Because then it lasts longer."
I looked down at my hands.
Bell cross-examined gently at first.
He had enough sense not to bully a nine-year-old in front of a jury.
"Marcus, you love your mother, don't you?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Yes."
Bethany started crying at the defense table.
It was the first time I had seen tears from her since the case began.
Bell continued.
"And your mom loves you?"
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
"Sometimes."
The word hung in the courtroom.
Bell changed direction.
"Your father and your aunt have talked to you about this case, correct?"
"Dad told me to tell the truth."
"Did he tell you your mother might go to prison?"
"No."
"Do you know that now?"
Marcus nodded.
"Does that scare you?"
"Yes."
"Would you like your mother to come home?"
Marcus began crying.
The judge paused the proceeding.
I looked at Bethany.
She was crying too.
For one terrible second, they looked like any mother and son separated by something painful.
Then I remembered why.
Love did not cancel harm.
That was one of the hardest truths in the room.
After a break, Marcus chose to continue.
Bell asked whether my father had ever told him what to say.
"Grandpa did."
Bell froze.
"When?"
"At the party."
"What did he tell you?"
"That Rosie fell."
Bell tried to stop the answer, but he had asked the question.
The prosecutor did not hide his satisfaction.
Then Marcus described holding the black trash bag.
He described hiding the yellow dart in the red box.
"Why did you hide it?"
"Because Grandpa was throwing everything away."
"Why did you think it should not be thrown away?"
Marcus looked toward the camera.
"Because Rosie got hurt with it."
The defense objected that the answer assumed facts.
The judge instructed the jury to consider only what Marcus personally observed.
The prosecutor asked,
"Did you personally see your mother holding the darts before Rosie went into the bathroom?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In her hand."
That was new.
Even I had not known Marcus saw that.
Bell asked whether Marcus had told police that in his first interview.
Marcus said he did not remember.
Bell produced the transcript.
The detail was not there.
"So this is something you remembered later."
"Yes."
"After talking to adults about the case."
"I guess."
Bell turned toward the jury.
A seed of doubt.
That was all he needed from one answer.
The prosecutor repaired some of it on redirect by showing that Marcus had identified the toy and quiet game from the beginning.
But I understood how trials worked now.
Truth did not enter a courtroom whole.
It was pulled apart sentence by sentence.
After Marcus, the state called my mother.
The room changed when she walked in.
She wore navy again.
She looked at me once.
I looked away.
The prosecutor began with her plea agreement.
He made sure the jury knew she had committed crimes related to the cover-up.
He made sure they knew she hoped cooperation might help at sentencing.
Then he asked the question that mattered.
"Did you know before the birthday party that Bethany might harm Rosie?"
My mother's lips trembled.
"I was afraid she might."
"Why?"
"Because Bethany had done things to Marcus before."
Bethany stared at her mother.
"What things?"
"She hurt him when he cried."
"Did you report that?"
"No."
"Did you tell his father?"
"Sometimes."
"Did you tell police?"
"No."
"Why not?"
My mother looked toward the jury.
"Because I was a coward."
It sounded rehearsed.
Maybe it was true anyway.
The prosecutor displayed her 8:17 AM email.
I am afraid Bethany is going to do something today.
"Did you warn Rosie's father?"
"No."
"Did you tell him not to bring Rosie?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I thought I could manage it."
The prosecutor looked at her.
"Manage what?"
My mother started crying.
"Bethany."
Then came the hallway video.
The jury watched my mother stand outside the bathroom while Rosie cried.
The prosecutor paused on the frame where my mother looked through the open door.
"What did you see?"
"Rosie's face was bruised."
"What else?"
"Marks on her arms."
"What did you do?"
My mother's voice became almost inaudible.
"I told Bethany he was looking for Rosie."
"Did you remove Rosie from the bathroom?"
"No."
"Did you call her father?"
"No."
"Did you call police?"
"No."
"Did you call a doctor?"
"No."
The prosecutor let every no land separately.
Then he played her own words.
"Fix her face before he sees."
My mother closed her eyes.
"Why did you say that?"
"Because I panicked."
"About Rosie's safety?"
Silence.
"Mrs. Collins?"
"About what would happen when he saw."
There it was.
Not fear for Rosie.
Fear of the reaction.
Bell began cross-examination with the cooperation agreement.
He suggested my mother was blaming Bethany to reduce her own punishment.
That was a fair attack.
Then he introduced Bethany's new theory.
"You told Bethany to handle Rosie, didn't you?"
My mother swallowed.
"Yes."
My entire body tightened.
Bell stepped closer.
"You told her to discipline Rosie."
"I told her to calm her down."
"Your message said, 'If she does, handle it before he makes a scene.'"
"Yes."
"And you knew how Bethany handled crying children."
My mother started to answer.
Stopped.
Bell pressed.
"You knew."
"I knew she could be rough."
"You expected her to punish Rosie."
"No."
"Then why did you write an email that morning saying you were afraid Bethany would do something?"
My mother looked trapped.
Bell had found the contradiction.
If she knew Bethany might hurt Rosie, telling Bethany to handle Rosie looked worse.
If she did not know, the morning email made no sense.
"I made a terrible decision."
Bell nodded.
"You gave the order."
"No."
"You set it in motion."
My mother looked toward Bethany.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Then my mother said something nobody expected.
"Bethany called me from the bathroom."
The prosecutor stood.
Bell froze.
"What?"
My mother continued.
"Before I went into the hallway."
Bell's face tightened.
"That is not in your prior statement."
"I was afraid to say it."
The judge ordered a sidebar.
The jury was sent out.
For twenty minutes, lawyers argued about the new statement.
The prosecutor looked furious because surprise testimony from a cooperating witness could damage the case.
Bell looked furious for a different reason.
When the jury returned, the judge allowed limited questioning after both sides reviewed phone records.
The records showed a forty-one-second call from Bethany's phone to my mother's at 2:48 PM.
The call had never stood out because both women were in the same house.
"What did Bethany say?"
The prosecutor asked.
My mother looked directly at her daughter.
"She said Rosie wouldn't stop crying."
"What did you say?"
"I told her to stop whatever she was doing."
Bethany shook her head violently.
My mother continued.
"Then Bethany said, 'You wanted her taught.'"
Bell objected.
Overruled.
"What did you say?"
My mother began crying.
"I said, 'Not like that.'"
The courtroom became completely silent.
Bell's theory had partly succeeded and partly exploded.
My mother had wanted Rosie disciplined.
She had knowingly put Bethany in control despite fearing what Bethany might do.
But Bethany's own words suggested she knew she had crossed even the line my mother expected.
The prosecutor asked one last question.
"Why did you not disclose this call earlier?"
My mother looked at me for the first time.
"Because admitting it meant admitting I helped put Rosie in that bathroom."
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I did not look away.
For once, my mother had finally said the thing exactly as it was.
