“He wasn’t feeling very well.”
“Was he sick?” asked Bost.
Mrs. Underhill looked down, fiddling with the catch of her purse. “No. He wasn’t sick.”
“Can you tell us why Teddy wasn’t feeling well?”
“He’d gotten hurt.”
“Hurt how, Mrs. Underhill?”
“Burned. On a hot iron.”
“Did you see this burn?”
“I did. I took him upstairs and put some ointment on it, and some gauze.”
“Where was the burn, Mrs. Underhill?”
“In the middle of his back.”
“Mrs. Underhill, Teddy didn’t do that himself, did he?” asked Bost.
Elsie Underhill raised her head. “Of course not, Ms. Bost.”
“And was this the first time you’d come across evidence of such a serious injury to your great-grandson?”
“No.” She raised a fist to her mouth, pressing the knuckle of her index finger against the center of her lips.
“Can you tell us about any other injuries you’d seen before finding the burn mark on Teddy’s back that day?”
Elsie covered her mouth and wept.
Bost tried again. “Had Teddy been hurt when you’d last seen him six weeks earlier?”
Cate gripped my hand, her fingernails digging into my palm. It hurt but I didn’t care.
Bost’s voice was quiet. “I know this must be incredibly painful for you, but you have to answer the question.”
Mrs. Underhill dropped her hand from her mouth and hugged the black purse tight to her chest with both arms. “I begged her.”
“Angela?” said Bost.
“I told her, ‘I have not raised my hand to a child. Never to your mama, never to you. Don’t let this boy get hurt again. Leave him safe with me.’ ”
Bost waited.
“I got down on my knees.” Elsie turned in her seat, addressing her granddaughter directly. “Honey, you know I did—just the same as when I begged your mama to let me keep you.”
“When did you ask Angela to let you have Teddy?” asked Bost. “Was it during their visit to you, the day before his third birthday?”
“That was the last time.”
“But not the only time?” asked Bost.
Elsie shook her head. “You asked whether I’d seen the boy injured before that day.”
“Yes,” said Bost. “I did.”
“The truth is, I had seen him hurt over and over again.”
“How had Teddy been hurt on those other occasions?”
“One time he had a black eye. One time his little arm was all swollen. Then his leg was too sore to walk. It was always something.”
“When did Teddy’s injuries first come to your attention, Mrs.
Underhill?”
“After Angela and Teddy moved in with Albert Williams,” she said.
“Did you ever ask your granddaughter about what had happened when you saw Teddy with a black eye, or a swollen arm?”
“I didn’t have to. I knew.”
“And when did you first ask her to let Teddy move in with you?”
“When she met that man.” Mrs. Underhill pointed at Williams.
“Albert Williams?” asked Bost.
“Yes. When Angela told me she planned to live with him, I asked her to leave Teddy with me. Just for a while. Let them get on their feet together.”
“Did she agree to do that?”
Mrs. Underhill shook her head, looking like she was going to cry again. “I was so afraid.”
“Of what?” asked Bost.
“That I’d lose her, just the same way I lost her mother—because I didn’t fight hard enough to keep her safe when she was a little girl.”
“You were concerned about how Williams might treat Angela?”
“I saw that man, and it was like the whole thing starting up again. I knew him, all the ones like him. Won’t look you in the eye, won’t even bother to come up the front steps—just sit in the car out front. Waiting to be waited upon, and angry about it. You don’t let a man like that around your baby.”
I wondered which baby she meant: Teddy, or his mother, or her mother. Probably all three.
“But Angela took Teddy with her, didn’t she?” asked Bost.
Mrs. Underhill dropped her head and nodded, in defeat. “And then, when I saw how he was being hurt… so soon after?”
“You asked her again to let you have the boy?”
“That man got Angela on the drugs. I’d ask her to let me see Teddy, and she’d only come for money. If I told her no, she’d steal it. I knew it was the only way I’d get to spend time with him, so I let her do it.”
“But you gave her a thousand dollars, that last day before Teddy’s birthday?”
Elsie dropped her chin to her chest, eyes closed.
“Mrs. Underhill?” asked Bost.
The woman’s voice was just above a whisper. “She said she’d let me keep him.”
“In exchange for the money?”
“She was so filthy—nothing but rags and bones. All she did was pace around, scratching herself. Teddy just lay on the davenport, staring. They smelled like animals. When I tried to pick him up, to take him for a bath, he started screaming. That’s when I saw the burn mark.”
“What happened then?”
“I gave her the money. I took it out and got on my knees right there, laid it out on the floor in front of me. I told her, ‘You take this, and you leave the boy with me.’ ”
“What was her response?” asked Bost.
“She snatched up the money and counted it.”
“Did she say anything?”
Mrs. Underhill’s face crumpled up. “ ‘ This all you got?’ ”
“Then what happened?”
“She pulled Teddy to his feet and dragged him to the front door.”
“And did she speak again before she left?”
“She looked at me and said, ‘Give me more tomorrow, maybe I let you have him for real this time.’ ”
“What happened the next day?”
“The next day? The next day was too late. They’d killed him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Underhill,” said Bost.
Then she looked up at the judge. “Your Honor, nothing further.”
55
Galloway was up next.
She got right to the point. “Mrs. Underhill, did you ever actually witness Albert Williams hitting your great-grandson, or harming him in any way?”
“I saw the results.”
“Yes or no, Mrs. Underhill. Did you ever see Albert Williams hit Teddy?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see him cause any other injury to the boy?”
Mrs. Underhill raised her chin.
“Answer the question, please,” said Galloway. “Yes or no?”
“No.”
Galloway nodded. “And did you ever see him taking drugs with your granddaughter, Angela?”
“I know a junkie when I see him.”
“Yes or no?” asked Galloway.
“No.”
“You do know that for the entire time he and your granddaughter lived together, Albert Williams held down a full-time job?”
“I’d heard that. From Angela.”
“She was alone with Teddy all those hours that Albert spent at his job, wasn’t she?”
“I only know that the times she came to see me, it was always when he was working.”
“So it was when Albert Williams was working that you saw your great-grandson had been injured, every time?”
That got an objection from Bost.
“Withdrawn,” said Galloway. “Angela always wanted money on those visits, is that right? Money you presumed she would spend on drugs?”
Mrs. Underhill bowed her head. “Yes.”
“In fact, your granddaughter as much as offered to sell you her own child for drug money, didn’t she, Mrs. Underhill?”
“I don’t—”
“
And isn’t it true that Teddy’s injuries first appeared when his mother, Angela, began using drugs?”
Mrs. Underhill didn’t answer.
Galloway kept on. “In fact, you have no idea who hurt Teddy, do you? For all we know, Angela beat him just to soften you up whenever she needed more cash.”
Hetzler jumped up this time. “Objection!”
“No more questions, Your Honor.”
Hetzler waited for Galloway to get back to the table and take
her seat.
He stood up slowly, taking time to button his jacket before he approached the witness stand.
His first question surprised me. “You’re a widow, Mrs. Underhill?”
“I am.”
“How long were you married?” he asked.
“Twenty-five years. Edward passed just after Angela was born.”
“Did you and your husband know who Angela’s father was?”
Mrs. Underhill dropped her eyes. “We suspected.”
“Your husband was greatly displeased when he found out your daughter was pregnant with Angela, wasn’t he?”
“He was disappointed. We raised our daughter in the church.”
“In fact, when he found out he threw her out of the house, didn’t he?” asked Hetzler.
Mrs. Underhill looked away.
“How old was your daughter at the time?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen years old. Pregnant. Living in the street. Is that when she started using drugs?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t do that to her baby.”
“As far as you know,” said Hetzler.
“She loved that child.”
“But she got into drugs later?”
“It was with that man, Butchie. He got her started.”
“A lot of families have been ravaged by drug abuse, haven’t they?”
Mrs. Underhill nodded. “In those days, it was heroin. Now it’s the crack.”
“How old was Angela when she came to live with you?”
“She was nine years old.”
“What kind of impact did her mother’s death have on her?” asked Hetzler.
“She was devastated. She didn’t speak for two months. I kept her home from school.”
“Do you think she ever fully recovered following that tragedy?”
“Would you have recovered, Mr. Hetzler, if you’d lain with your dead mother’s body all night in the dark, wondering whether her killer was going to come back gunning for you?”
“No, Mrs. Underhill,” he said. “I can’t imagine that I would have.”
Elsie nodded. “My granddaughter was a gentle child. She never meant anyone any harm. But that man didn’t just kill her mother, he killed a part of Angela, too. Something inside her was gone after that. Butchie died in prison, but his damage still had her by the neck, and it wasn’t ever letting go.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Mrs. Underhill. I have no more questions.”
Hetzler walked back to the defense table.
Bost stood up. “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
“Court is adjourned for the day,” said the judge. “We’ll hear from the defense starting tomorrow morning.”
It was dark in the living room at home. I was curled up on our sofa this time, talking quietly to Dean, long distance.
“How’s Texas?” I asked.
“Actually, I finished there early. I’m in Canada.”
“Okay, then how’s the great white north?”
“Cold,” he said. “Boring. Not so great.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, Bunny. I wish I could come home.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, I’d better go forage for dinner before they roll up the sidewalks here on the boulevard Ducharme.”
“What’s the cuisine in fashionable La Tuque? Escargots à la Gretzky?”
He sighed. “PFK.”
“PFK?”
“ Poulet Frit Kentucky,” he said.
Given my yelp of laughter, it was a profound blessing that I did not happen to have a mouthful of beverage at that moment. It would’ve shot straight out my nose.
“That’s what I treasure most about you, Bunny,” said Dean. “Your compassion.”
Yeah, like you’ve asked me anything about the trial. Or even remembered it’s happening.
I shook that off. I didn’t want him to know. Or ask. He had too much at stake to worry about me.
“Dude,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted, “you know my sympathies are totally with you in this dark time of culinary sorrow, but it’s still fucking hilarious.”
“It would be way funnier if it weren’t the only restaurant in town, or at least the only one open within sight of Le Motel Ranch.”
“Le Motel Ranch? What, no vacancies at Le Motel Chunky Blue Cheese?”
“ Vey iz mir,” he said. “Don’t get me started.”
“You’ve been gone so long it feels like forever…. When do you get home?”
“They want me up here at least a week. We’re doing a trial run with one of the BOD machines on their wastewater as part of the sales call. Christoph really wants this account.”
“A week?”
He didn’t answer.
“Not even home for the weekend, you mean?”
“No.”
“Wow.”
“I miss you so much, Bunny. You know I want to be home.”
“What about the wedding?”
Valentine’s Day.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I can’t promise at this point.”
“Hey,” I said, “you should probably go get dinner. I don’t want to keep you.”
The phone rang again an hour later. I picked it up, hoping it would be Dean again, après-PFK.
“Hello?” I said.
“Mad?”
Astrid.
“I’m leaving,” she said. “Tonight.”
“Leaving for where?”
“Wherever. Just leaving Christoph.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
She was pacing again. I could hear her heels clacking back and forth across the floor.
“Astrid, I’ve had a long shitty day and a long shitty week. You want to leave your husband, fucking leave him. I don’t care. Why do you even care about my opinion?”
“I have my clothes packed up,” she said, as though I hadn’t spoken. “And I want you to promise me something.”
Getting packed was new, but it didn’t make me any less exhausted with the whole thing. “Sure. Fine. Ask away.”
“I want you to promise me that Dean will quit tomorrow.”
“Quit what?”
“His job.”
“Astrid, wait a minute—”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m your friend, but that’s not my decision.”
And I didn’t trust that she wouldn’t change her mind and then report back anything I’d said to further her own advantage. God knows I’d been a pawn in enough breakups to know how often that happened.
“If he doesn’t quit tomorrow, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Astrid, please—”
“This is it, Maddie. Dean quits or I’ll know I can never trust you again.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“Fine,” she said, and hung up.
56
The phone’s ring woke me up the following morning. I looked at the clock-radio.
Eight A.M. ? Infidels!
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Maddie, a very good morning to you.” It was Christoph.
Excellent. Not.
“Same to you,” I said.
Was she gone? Did he think she was hiding out here?
“I am hoping I might ask you for a favor,” he said.
Here we go.
“When Dean calls home could you ask him also to ring me?”
“Um, certain
ly.”
“I have a new home number, if you could take it down.”
“Did you move out?” I asked.
“Yes, just this morning.”
Why did he sound so happy?
“I must say it’s lovely here—I finally have room for my little horses, and Astrid is really quite pleased with our new place.”
“She is?”
“Surprising, no?” He laughed. “Who would have thought she’d like New Jersey?”
I refrained from comment. The whole thing just made my brain hurt.
Angela Underhill was wearing another flowered dress, this time with a pink cardigan over it that stretched across her enormous belly. She walked slowly and flat-footed to the witness stand, one hand pressed to the small of her back.
Sworn in, she smiled down at Hetzler. I wondered if she thought her impending nativity could possibly sway the jurors in her favor.
Marty Hetzler didn’t strut as he approached the stand this time. Instead he walked up until he was within arm’s reach of Angela Underhill, circling in quietly as though she were a wounded bird he hoped to catch.
She put her hand over the microphone so he could lean in to pat her on the hand and offer some words of encouragement, his good side angled toward the jury.
“Mr. Hetzler?” prompted the judge.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Marty said, backing away. “We just needed a moment.”
He squared his shoulders a little. My view of him was now straight on from the back, but I pictured him raising a hand to check the knot of his tie before he spoke again.
“Angela, I’d like to talk to you about something Ms. Bost mentioned earlier, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ms. Bost talked about you being raised by your grandmother, but that wasn’t always the case, was it?”
“Only from the time I was nine on.”
“Before that, who did you live with?”
“My mother.”
“And when you came to your grandmother, did your mother come with you?”
“No. I come alone.”
“Can you tell us why?”
“My mother passed.”
“When you were nine years old?”
“Mm-hm.”
“And your father?”
“Don’t know.”
“Angela, how did your mother die?”
“The man she with then, Butchie? He shot her.”
How was it possible that this woman was related to Elsie? It boggled the mind.
Invisible Boy Page 29
