Chapter 21 - MY TESTIMONY
The prosecutor asked my name.
“Helen Carter.”
Age.
“Sixty.”
“Relationship to defendant?”
“My son.”
That almost stopped me.
Then house.
Pneumonia.
Limited authorization.
Care.
HELOC discovery.
No permission.
Then backyard.
I described argument.
Keys.
Purse.
Garden.
Cage.
Hose.
“Did you enter the cage voluntarily?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Marcus you wanted to stay?”
“No.”
“Did you agree to sign documents?”
“No.”
“Why say ‘I am not fine’?”
“Because I was not fine.”
Simple.
Then:
“Do you have dementia?”
“No.”
“Do you ever forget things?”
“Yes.”
A few jurors looked up.
“I forgot a burner once. I lose my glasses while wearing them sometimes.”
Tiny laugh.
Then:
“Does that mean you authorized your son to take control of your finances?”
“No.”
Then defense.
He was polite.
Better.
“Mrs. Carter, your son cared for you during serious illness.”
“Yes.”
“Brought meals.”
“Yes.”
“Managed medication.”
“He helped.”
“Drove you.”
“Yes.”
“Paid bills.”
“Yes.”
“You trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“You told friends he was a good son.”
“Yes.”
Pain.
Then:
“You told him to reimburse himself for groceries.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes without asking each time.”
“For actual groceries.”
“You signed financial authorization.”
“Yes.”
“You did not read every page carefully.”
“I read what I was given.”
“You were recovering from pneumonia.”
“Yes.”
“Depressed after husband’s death.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes forgetful.”
“Yes.”
“Left burner on.”
“Once.”
“Misplaced keys.”
“Yes.”
“Became angry when Marcus suggested driving restrictions.”
“Yes.”
“Threw a mug.”
“Into sink.”
“Broke it.”
“Yes.”
“Slapped his hand away.”
“When he took my phone.”
“Still physical contact.”
“Yes.”
Good.
No escape.
Then backyard.
“You were furious.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened to throw Marcus out.”
“I told him to move.”
“You went outside carrying purse and legal papers.”
“Yes.”
“You were trying to leave while upset.”
“Yes.”
“Had you taken medication?”
“My normal medication.”
“Allergy antihistamine?”
“Not that day.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Did you fall into garden?”
“Yes.”
“Could Marcus have believed you might fall again?”
“He could believe anything.”
“Please answer.”
“Yes, he could worry.”
“Did he tell you to calm down?”
“Yes.”
“Did you resist him physically?”
“I pulled away.”
“Did you scratch him?”
I paused.
Maybe.
“I don’t know.”
Police photo showed small scratch on his wrist.
Could be me.
“I may have.”
Then cage.
“Did Marcus drag you by neck?”
“No.”
“Strike you?”
“No.”
“Kick you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever say, ‘Sign or I’ll leave you here all night’?”
“No.”
Good.
Then:
“He said ‘You could fix this tonight,’ correct?”
“Yes.”
“You assumed he meant paperwork.”
“He later said sign the papers.”
“Exact?”
“As I remember.”
“Video does not capture.”
“No.”
Then financial.
“You told Marcus he could stay as long as needed.”
“I said until he got on his feet.”
“Did you put deadline in writing?”
“No.”
“You discussed helping him with debts.”
“I refused using house.”
“Did you ever say house would eventually be his?”
I stopped.
Yes.
Years earlier.
“You’re my only child. Someday.”
Estate expectation.
“Yes.”
“So he knew he might inherit.”
“Someday.”
“Did he believe protecting house benefited both of you?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
Good.
Then:
“You love your son.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want him imprisoned?”
I looked at Marcus.
First time.
He looked older.
“I want the court to decide what the law requires.”
Defense:
“You don’t want to answer.”
“I don’t know what I want as his mother. I know what happened as the person in the cage.”
Silence.
No speech planned.
It came.
The judge told jury to focus evidence.
Fine.
I stepped down.
Marcus cried.
May you like
So did I.
There are no winners in a mother testifying against her child.
