Her
injuries could only have been from abuse, not from
falling down."
"You don't understand." Mrs. Greenwood's mouth
twisted as she tried to think of how to make them
understand. "Marylou was a headstrong, whiny child.
You don't know how it was for me"
"Mrs. Greenwood," said Lindsay, taking a step
toward her. "There is no circumstance you could possibly have been in that would justify the treatment
Marylou received. There is no behavior Marylou
could have exhibited that would justify her being maltreated so severely that it showed deep in her bones."
"You don't know what my life has been like."
"It doesn't matter what your life has been like. You
cannot use it as an excuse to abuse your daughter or
allow her to be abused. There is no acceptable reason
to abuse a child. Your daughter suffered horrendously
during her short life. I doubt there was a time she was
not in pain."
Mrs. Greenwood stared at Lindsay with liquid cow
eyes. "She's got no right to talk to me that way"
"Mrs. Greenwood," broke in the sheriff. "Who were
you living with at the time Marylou disappeared'?"
"No right a'tall. You don't come to a body's house
with news their child is dead, then talk to them like
that. It ain't right."
"Who were you living with when Marylou disappeared? Was it her father?"
"Him? He disappeared before she was born, and
good riddance."
"Did you live by yourself, or did you live with
someone? That fellow we just met. Did he live with
you at the time?" the sheriff persisted.
"No. He come about a year ago. Twelve years is a
long time." She looked down at her hands. "I've been
grieving for 12 years. How can I remember?"
"You need to try," said the sheriff. "Who helped
you look for her, for instance?"
"Oh, yeah, that'd be Bobby, Bobby Whitaker. But
he's been gone a long time. He didn't like all the
police hanging around back then. Say," she brightened, "you don't think he's the one who hurt my
baby? He sure hurt me a lot."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No. His folks live down at Flint Rock."
"Thank you, Mrs. Greenwood. We'll be in touch"
"What about my baby. If you've found her, she
needs a Christian burial."
"I'll be in touch as soon as possible, Mrs. Greenwood."
The sheriff and Lindsay left Mrs. Greenwood sitting alone in her small clapboard house, twisting her
fingers in her lap.
They were quiet on the drive back. The sheriff concentrated on driving. Lindsay watched the trees going past and pressed the bridge of her nose trying to drive
back a headache. Suddenly, she asked the sheriff to
pull over. He found a wide space in the road and
stopped. Lindsay jumped out of the car, ran to the
woods, and threw up. She stood with a hand on a tree,
taking deep breaths. The sheriff handed her his handkerchief. It was wet and cold.
"I always carry a cooler in the trunk," he said.
Lindsay put it on the back of her neck for a few
seconds, then wiped her face.
"Thank you."
The sheriff opened a cold drink and handed it to
her. She took several sips. "I can't believe I talked to
that poor woman like that. I was appalling. It's a good
thing I didn't have a rubber hose."
"We did a pretty good job with the good cop/bad
cop routine," said the sheriff, smiling.
"We should have asked a neighbor to stay with
her," Lindsay said.
"She'll be all right. She's the kind of woman who's
good at suffering."
"I should have been kinder."
"She probably abused her daughter. It's hard to be
nice to someone who hurts her kid. The woman I go
out with is a teacher. Teaches kids the same age as
Marylou. Dee may have taught Marylou. She sees
them come to school with black eyes, bruises, sore
arms. Some are thin and hungry, wearing only a
sweater in the middle of winter. They always say they
ran into a door, or fell down the steps, or forgot their
coat. Dee finds them winter coats, enrolls them in the
free lunch program, and reports them to the welfare
folks. But nothing much ever happens. She gets
injuries could only have been from abuse, not from
falling down."
"You don't understand." Mrs. Greenwood's mouth
twisted as she tried to think of how to make them
understand. "Marylou was a headstrong, whiny child.
You don't know how it was for me"
"Mrs. Greenwood," said Lindsay, taking a step
toward her. "There is no circumstance you could possibly have been in that would justify the treatment
Marylou received. There is no behavior Marylou
could have exhibited that would justify her being maltreated so severely that it showed deep in her bones."
"You don't know what my life has been like."
"It doesn't matter what your life has been like. You
cannot use it as an excuse to abuse your daughter or
allow her to be abused. There is no acceptable reason
to abuse a child. Your daughter suffered horrendously
during her short life. I doubt there was a time she was
not in pain."
Mrs. Greenwood stared at Lindsay with liquid cow
eyes. "She's got no right to talk to me that way"
"Mrs. Greenwood," broke in the sheriff. "Who were
you living with at the time Marylou disappeared'?"
"No right a'tall. You don't come to a body's house
with news their child is dead, then talk to them like
that. It ain't right."
"Who were you living with when Marylou disappeared? Was it her father?"
"Him? He disappeared before she was born, and
good riddance."
"Did you live by yourself, or did you live with
someone? That fellow we just met. Did he live with
you at the time?" the sheriff persisted.
"No. He come about a year ago. Twelve years is a
long time." She looked down at her hands. "I've been
grieving for 12 years. How can I remember?"
"You need to try," said the sheriff. "Who helped
you look for her, for instance?"
"Oh, yeah, that'd be Bobby, Bobby Whitaker. But
he's been gone a long time. He didn't like all the
police hanging around back then. Say," she brightened, "you don't think he's the one who hurt my
baby? He sure hurt me a lot."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No. His folks live down at Flint Rock."
"Thank you, Mrs. Greenwood. We'll be in touch"
"What about my baby. If you've found her, she
needs a Christian burial."
"I'll be in touch as soon as possible, Mrs. Greenwood."
The sheriff and Lindsay left Mrs. Greenwood sitting alone in her small clapboard house, twisting her
fingers in her lap.
They were quiet on the drive back. The sheriff concentrated on driving. Lindsay watched the trees going past and pressed the bridge of her nose trying to drive
back a headache. Suddenly, she asked the sheriff to
pull over. He found a wide space in the road and
stopped. Lindsay jumped out of the car, ran to the
woods, and threw up. She stood with a hand on a tree,
taking deep breaths. The sheriff handed her his handkerchief. It was wet and cold.
"I always carry a cooler in the trunk," he said.
Lindsay put it on the back of her neck for a few
seconds, then wiped her face.
"Thank you."
The sheriff opened a cold drink and handed it to
her. She took several sips. "I can't believe I talked to
that poor woman like that. I was appalling. It's a good
thing I didn't have a rubber hose."
"We did a pretty good job with the good cop/bad
cop routine," said the sheriff, smiling.
"We should have asked a neighbor to stay with
her," Lindsay said.
"She'll be all right. She's the kind of woman who's
good at suffering."
"I should have been kinder."
"She probably abused her daughter. It's hard to be
nice to someone who hurts her kid. The woman I go
out with is a teacher. Teaches kids the same age as
Marylou. Dee may have taught Marylou. She sees
them come to school with black eyes, bruises, sore
arms. Some are thin and hungry, wearing only a
sweater in the middle of winter. They always say they
ran into a door, or fell down the steps, or forgot their
coat. Dee finds them winter coats, enrolls them in the
free lunch program, and reports them to the welfare
folks. But nothing much ever happens. She gets
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