nervously glanced at the clock. It was one fifty. At two o’clock every afternoon, Sherry walked four blocks to her daughter’s school. The bell rang at two fifteen and Sherry never wanted six-year-old Ashley to have to wait, to wonder if her mother forgot.
Especially today.
“Sherry, sweetheart, Theodore would never hurt us. He couldn’t hurt anyone. It was just a big mistake.”
For nearly seven years, Carl and Dorothy Glenn had been saying the same thing. There was a mistake. Theodore wouldn’t hurt a fly. It was all just a big misunderstanding.
And for nearly seven years, Sherry had tried to convince them that yes, in fact, their son and her brother had killed four women, that the police had been right to arrest him, and she had been right to testify against him.
Her brother had shown a far darker side to her than to anyone else in their family.
“Mom, you don’t know what he’s capable of. Don’t let him in the house. Promise me you’ll call the police if he shows up.”
“The police have already been here. They have a police car down the street. What will the neighbors think?”
It was useless trying to convince her mother that Theodore was anything but an angel. “I need to pick up Ashley. I’ll call you tonight. Please don’t let him in the house.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn himself in. He just wants to set the record straight,” Dorothy Glenn said.
Sherry couldn’t take any more of this conversation. “’Bye, Mom.” She hung up, angry and sad. She just wanted her parents to see who Theodore was—the person he really was. It wasn’t their fault they only saw good in their son. Carl and Dorothy were loving parents. Gave their children everything they could without spoiling them. A nice house, good neighborhood, a top school. Paid for two college educations and Theodore’s law school.
Why couldn’t they see the monster in Theodore? Sherry did. Her entire life she’d walked on eggshells around her brother. Testifying for the prosecution had been cathartic. Telling the world that she’d always known he was bad. He’d hurt Sherry for the sole purpose of hurting her. Because he could.
Most of her testimony had been thrown out. The most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life—harder even than getting clean after years of drug use—was facing Theodore in that court and telling the jury how he had tormented her when they were younger. About the time he’d broken her kitten’s neck in front of her.
Crying, he’d told their parents it was an accident.
But Sherry had watched him squeeze the life out of Muffin. She’d heard the snap of breaking bones. She’d buried the poor creature’s little body in the backyard and cried. Sherry had cried not only for the helpless dead animal, but because no one would believe her.
It was an accident, Theodore sobbed.
He did it on purpose! Sherry screamed.
He’d played everyone so well. Everyone but her. And he relished that only she had seen his true nature. Played with her, tormenting her until she ran away from home just to get away from him . She’d been branded a problem child and was in and out of juvenile homes. None of it was fun, but it was better than living with her brother.
At his trial, Theodore had objected. Nothing she said had any relevance to the murders. And the judge agreed with him. Did she have firsthand information about the murders? No, she didn’t. The nice woman from the District Attorney’s office insisted that Sherry’s testimony was important because it went to Theodore’s character. The judge didn’t agree.
Theodore had called their parents to the stand. They told the court what a wonderful child Theodore had been. A straight-A student. Graduated top in his law school. Kind, thoughtful, a good son.
“He never gave us any trouble,” her father had said to the jury.
The D.A. refused to cross-examine, and Ms. Chandler told her later that it would do more damage to their case if they went after two