The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,22
gun at the Porsche and fired, spraying the hood with pellets. Kate joined in, smashing the windshield with her golf club.
“You have to arrest her.” Jackson was becoming unglued.
“She destroyed her own car. I can’t arrest her for that. It might be wise for you to go. I’ll give you a ride into town.” Gabe looked back at me. “No more guns. Lay off the noise. You have neighbors.”
Kate stepped in between us and offered her hand to Gabe.
“Thanks for coming by. Don’t be a stranger. We have lots of donuts.”
Gabe shook her hand out of politeness and escorted Jackson to his vehicle.
“Smooth, Kate.”
We turned to walk into the house, glancing back to watch their departure.
“He’ll be back. Nice outfit by the way. You look like a mental patient.”
5
After tidying up our mess, from searching for the gun permit, Kate retreated to her room to take a nap. A shower was necessary to humanize me before trying to tackle the police statement. Seeing Jackson had unsettled me. I couldn’t shake my anger about the fact that he wasn’t angry. I couldn’t understand how he had no emotional attachment for his own child. How is a man like that allowed to draw air?
I loafed around, busying myself with mundane tasks, trying to delay the recollection of that terrible night. I was clean and dressed. The house was tidy and quiet. I finally convinced myself that I had no more excuses.
Walking around downstairs, I tried to determine which room would be suitable for the grueling job at hand. The drawing room was too open and the kitchen too communal. I couldn’t afford distractions. Choosing the study, I closed both doors and sat at my mother’s desk. The frame with her picture inside was welcoming and calming. I took out some parchment paper and began to write.
To Whom It May Concern:
I’m an idiot.
I killed my child.
I’m the one who should be punished.
I’m the one who should have died.
Regrettably,
Julia Grace Spencer
I stared at the words on the page with frustration, finally, crumpling the paper and tossing it to the floor. –Again, deep breath.
To Whom It May Concern:
My name is Julia Grace Spencer. I am an American citizen that moved to Chimbote in December 2008 to serve as legal counsel to the mission and assist its parishioners with free legal aid. This help usually consisted of land transfers, hospice arrangements, managing education funds from donors, contracting endowments, and being a liaison to missionaries in other countries, regarding the needs of the facility.
In February 2009, Maria Costelano, a woman from a nearby barrio, showed up in my office, requesting help. Her husband, Hector, had been beating her and their four children. Before periods of abuse, he would steal the money she had saved from cleaning houses and disappear, leaving Maria with no funds to satisfy her bills or feed her children.
I advised Maria to move into the battered women’s shelter that the mission ran, but she refused, stating that Hector would find and kill her if she left him. He’d threatened to harm the children if she went to the police. I told her to bring her money to me and we would open a bank account without his knowledge. She agreed to leave some money in their quinta, to dispel any suspicion he might have, and would deposit the remainder in the new account for safe keeping.
Hector Costelano continued to beat Maria. In May, she required an overnight hospital stay to assess the probable diagnosis of having a traumatic brain injury from a blow to the head. He waited for her outside of the hospital with the children, in an act of intimidation, to persuade her not to file a grievance with the police, as I had insisted she do. Due to her fragile state and his custody of the children, she agreed to go home with him.
That violent act necessitated the need for a plan to be put into action, making Maria and her children safe. I contacted a doctor I knew in Lima, urging him to allow them to live in his clinic apartment in exchange for cleaning the clinic and cooking his meals. He agreed, after I made a hefty donation to his practice.
We waited until Hector was in a drunken stupor before making the escape. They left all of their belongings and boarded a bus for Lima in the middle of the night, fleeing for safety and harboring dreams of a better future.