PART 7
The fireplace tool became the center of the first major hearing.
Julian’s attorney argued that he simply described the object incorrectly.
Heavy.
Iron.
Black.
Brass.
Aluminum.
What difference did material make during a frightening incident?
The prosecutor answered with sequence.
Julian had helped me donate the old iron set.
He knew it was gone.
He described the nonexistent object before officers entered the house.
He specifically claimed Mom attacked him with it.
The replacement tool had no damage.
No biological material.
No indications it had been swung violently.
Then there was Mom’s body.
Her bruises.
His hand-shaped marks.
The scratches on Julian’s neck were superficial.
Mostly parallel.
Consistent with self-inflicted fingernail marks.
Not proof by themselves.
But combined with everything else, powerful.
Then came the 911 call.
Julian told dispatch.
“She’s losing her memory.”
No one had asked.
He volunteered it.
Why?
Because he was preparing the audience.
The prosecution argued exactly that.
He was not describing an attacker.
He was constructing one.
Mom sat beside me in court.
Her hands shook.
I placed mine over them.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
“Good answer.”
She looked at me.
Then laughed weakly.
The judge allowed the case to proceed.
Julian looked at us while leaving.
For the first time, he did not look perfect.
He looked angry.
Not at what he had done.
At losing control of the story.
