Chapter 9: The Weight of What Comes Next
Three weeks passed.
Sandra's attorney filed a motion arguing that the videos showed a pattern of play, not harm.
The motion was denied within forty-eight hours.
The judge cited Lily's own recorded statement to the caseworker.
Daniel — Uncle Danny — was charged with receiving and distributing material depicting the @buse of a minor.
He called Marcus once from his attorney's office.
Marcus let it ring.
There was no voicemail.
Evelyn entered a guilty plea to child endangerment.
Her attorney had advised her that a trial would be worse.
She was sentenced to two years of supervised probation, mandatory counseling, and a permanent no-contact order with Lily.
She sent a letter to Marcus through her attorney.
He read the first paragraph.
It began with the word "I" six times in five sentences.
He folded it and put it in a drawer he didn't open again.
Greg Paulson's deal fell through when his attorney overplayed it.
The district attorney declined to reduce the charges.
Paulson was indicted on four counts, including one felony.
His name appeared in the local news on a Thursday.
Marcus read the first paragraph and set his phone face-down on the desk.
He didn't read the rest.
Sandra's case took longer.
Her attorney was skilled and methodical.
There were continuances, motions, counter-motions.
Marcus sat through two hearings in a gray suit with his hands folded in his lap and answered every question put to him in a clear, steady voice.
Patricia Odom testified.
Detective Reyes testified.
The caseworker who had first reviewed the phone testified.
Sandra sat at the defense table in a blue blazer and did not look at Marcus once.
On the day the verdict came in, Marcus was sitting in the second row.
The jury foreperson stood.
Guilty on all counts.
Sandra's attorney put his hand on her arm.
She looked straight ahead.
Marcus looked at his own hands in his lap.
He had expected to feel something large — relief, or anger, or the satisfaction of a door finally closing.
Instead he felt something quieter.
A kind of stillness.
Like a room after a long noise has stopped.
He stood up when the judge called a recess.
He walked out into the hallway.
Detective Reyes was waiting.
"How are you doing?" she said.
"I don't know yet," he said honestly.
She nodded.
That was the right answer and she seemed to know it.
May you like
"Go home to your daughter," she said.
He did.
