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She hung her head and closed her eyes. “You can’t help.”
The quiet lingered between the three of us while I tried to figure out another angle. But as it turned out, I didn’t need to. When Mrs. Morales looked back up, she also opened the door.
“But I guess it won’t hurt to hear what you came to say, as long as you understand that this is my house, and if I ask you to leave, you will.”
“We understand,” I agreed.
She gestured us inside, and Lucian’s hand squeezed mine as we entered and sat down on the small sofa. The house was dark with all the windows blocked off, but it was clean and tidy. Mrs. Morales lived a simple life, and the meager possessions she owned were evidence of that.
“I tried to provide Emmanuel with a good home,” she told us as she sat down opposite and looked around. “I wanted to believe it would overcome the badness in him. I did everything I could to raise him right and keep him on a straight path, but I always knew this day would come.”
Lucian’s brows pinched together as he leaned back, examining her carefully. “What badness are you referring to, Mrs. Morales?”
She rocked back in her chair and stared off into the distance as she explained. “I never knew his father. He came at me in the dark one night on my way home from work. Couldn’t even tell you what he looked like, truly. But I suppose, he must look like Emmanuel. Or at least that’s what I wondered every time I looked at him.”
Lucian went rigid beside me, and even though I wasn’t a lawyer, I knew this wasn’t good. I suspected something like this could be used against Emmanuel at trial. If the media got wind of it, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Is it your belief that Emmanuel has been predisposed to violence because of his genes?” Lucian asked.
“I read books on it,” she answered. “Studies. I kept trying to tell myself that it didn’t matter. As long as he never knew, it would be okay. But in the back of my mind, I feared something like this would happen.”
“Has he ever shown any violent tendencies prior to this?” Lucian questioned.
“No,” Mrs. Morales said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean anything, does it? What happened can’t be undone.”
Lucian folded his hands together and leaned forward. “Mrs. Morales, first and foremost, I want you to know that I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you had to carry that burden for so many years on your own.”
Her face was blank, and she didn’t issue a response. It was evident that she had sealed away her feelings from that time, and she wouldn’t be divulging them now.
Lucian retrieved a pen and notepad from his briefcase. “If you were to remove Emmanuel’s genetic makeup from the picture, would you still feel that he was capable of violence based on what you know of him as a person and your son?”
Mrs. Morales clutched her hands together in her lap, her chair creaking as she gave it some thought. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Lucian nodded, giving her a moment before he moved on to his next question. “Can you tell me what time Emmanuel came home that day? The day of the murder.”
“It was around three o clock,” she answered. “I know that because my shows were just starting.”
“And he was here all night with you?”
Her foot bobbed up and down as she stared at the carpet. “I thought he was. But the police said he snuck out and went back to that girl’s house. They told me he was stalking her.”
“You never heard him leave?” Lucian pressed.
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t hear him leave. It doesn’t mean he didn’t, though.”
“Had you ever noticed him sneaking out of the house at night before?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I guess not.”
Lucian handed me the pad of paper, silently prompting me to take notes.
“Based on this knowledge, would you consider the possibility that your son might be innocent?”
Mrs. Morales shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“From what he’s told me,” Lucian went on, “he was shy. A quiet kid who didn’t have many friends. If I have any chance of proving his innocence, I need character witnesses who can testify on his behalf. Would you be willing to do that as his mother?”
Her eyes focused on Lucian, studying him as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. “What makes you so certain he’s innocent?”
Lucian looked at me as he answered. “Because I was in his shoes once. I was accused of a crime I didn’t commit, and I understand that sometimes things aren’t always as clear cut as they may seem.”
“I suppose that might be true,” Mrs. Morales agreed. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I wouldn’t be any good on the stand. I can’t find it within myself to lie, even for my own son. As horrible as it might sound, I think that he’s probably right where he’s meant to be now. Somewhere that he’s safe. And those out here can be safe too.”
