“What about other evidence?” Mary asked. “Is there other evidence against him? Other witnesses? Or DNA evidence? Something like that?”

Carrie shook her head. “No. Nothing of consequence.”

“Well, he won’t go to prison on the strength of one person’s say-so, will he?”

“He might,” Carrie said. “It’s happened before.”

Mary Ross drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She might have been a smoker at one time, with the way she blew the air out through her lips, as if calming herself.

“Listen. Evelyn was telling the truth about the assault. She didn’t lie about that. But that doesn’t make her a good person. She’s lied about other things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. Evelyn lies to get her way. She lies because she’s bored. She lies because she thinks it’s funny.”

Carrie held herself very still.

“I think that’s why he chose her, that teacher. Evelyn already had a reputation by then, around the school. For lying, for attention-seeking. He probably thought he could do what he liked, because no one would believe her.” Mary took another sip from her tea. “And he was right about that.”

“You believed her.”

Mary inclined her head. “I did,” she said. “Mattie did, too. For all the good it did us.”

There was no emotion at all in Mary’s face as she looked at Carrie. It was like everything had been leached out of her, leaving her dry as a piece of driftwood lying pale and abandoned on a winter beach. Carrie stared at her, trying to understand what Mary was telling her, trying to read the truth. She was sure there was a longer story here. Mary Ross was a broken woman, and Carrie would’ve bet a year’s rent that her daughter had gotten her there.

“Why do you think Evelyn was like that?” she asked. “Why did she lie?”

Mary shook her head slowly. “We never hurt her, never denied her. She came to us late in life, and we loved her. I’m sure there’d be some who’d blame me. Blame the mother for what her indulgence created. But they’d be wrong,” she said. “Some children are just born bad.”

Carrie took a breath. She knew her next move was risky, but she’d already come so far. “Would you be willing to give evidence in court, if necessary? About Evelyn’s character? I mean, to give the court your view that she’s not . . . uh, reliable?”

“No,” Mary said. She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. I know this must be difficult. But you have to understand: Robert Collins is twenty-two years old. He’s facing a life sentence.” Carrie thought about the way she’d all but laughed at Aifric when she’d first come home talking about innocence, and cringed inwardly.

“I promised Mattie,” Mary said. “He died from cancer, here in this house, and it wasn’t painless or easy, I can tell you. When he got sick, Evelyn was indifferent. She lived her life as if nothing had changed. She flew into a rage one night, when I wouldn’t take her out in the car. I lost my temper and said things I had never said before, things I had kept inside me for years. Mattie heard us. How could he not, when we were screaming at each other? He was very upset. He made me promise that I would always take our girl’s side. That I would always be here for her. He said a mother should never say those things about her own daughter. He said I let her down and I let him down, and I promised I would never do it again. And I won’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t do it.”