“I remember that when things got real bad for Abigail—like, she had to take showers under the hose outside, and had to use the port-a-potty, and Mom put her in the closet all the time—when it got like that, we weren’t supposed to talk to Abigail. We were supposed to ignore her. The word Mom used was ‘shun.’ We were supposed to shun Abigail. But then, this one time, I went to the closet when Mom and Dad weren’t home and I unlocked the door. And we sat there on the floor next to the closet door, and I told Abigail I was sorry about how things were. And she said, No matter how they treat me, I won’t surrender. They can’t break me no matter what they do. And she said, she said to me, she said, Stand with me. And I said I wanted to but that I was scared. And then Abigail said, You could make a new fairy house. You could make a new fairy house and hide it good this time, way out where nobody can see you. So I made a new fairy house in a secret place, and nobody found it, and I told Abigail, and she said, Did any fairies come and use it yet? And after she died, I felt guilty and tried to kill myself.”

  * * *

  —

  There was a recess. Rebecca needed one, Lincoln Stevens said, so the judge gave her fifteen minutes. Then Rebecca took the stand again and told the court, over the course of an hour, that she’d witnessed, with her own eyes, everything—the whippings, the beatings, the outdoor showers, the port-a-potty, the haircuts, the locked closet. She’d seen Abigail spanked both standing up and bent over, spanked on the soles of her feet while on the floor, spanked by hand, with a belt, and with “Mom and Dad’s spanking tools.” She’d heard Abigail plead “no” between spankings, and heard her father, whip in hand, yell, “Don’t lie, obey!” “At first,” she said, “they locked Abigail in the closet only at night, but then Mom started locking her in the closet for the whole day. And Abigail slept there and ate there, most of the time it was cold spaghetti, she loved spaghetti, but Mom would give it to her cold, and Mom would play the Bible on a cassette player she had outside the closet door, trying to get Abigail’s brain to think differently, but that didn’t work, and Mom got tired of it, and she said to us she didn’t want to be around Abigail anymore, because she wouldn’t cooperate and wouldn’t obey, and she said she didn’t like Abigail, she didn’t like Abigail but she loved her, she loved her because she was a human being made by God, she said that to us, ‘Abigail is a human being made by God,’ but also she said it to the air sometimes.”

  “I know this is hard,” Lincoln Stevens said, “but now I want to talk about the night Abigail passed away. Do you recall that?”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “Start in the day. Start at the beginning. Start in the morning, the beginning of the day. What happened?”

  Rebecca: “We were doing our schoolwork.”

  Stevens: “Where?”

  Rebecca: “In the kitchen.”

  Stevens: “And was Abigail there?”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “Was she doing schoolwork?”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “And did she stop doing schoolwork at some point and go outside?”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “Did she decide to go outside on her own?”

  Rebecca: “No. Mom told her to.”

  Stevens: “Just Abigail? No one else?”

  Rebecca: “She went by herself.”

  Stevens: “Why was that?”

  Rebecca: “Because Mom punished her.”

  Stevens: “For what?”

  Rebecca: “For not doing her homework right.”

  Stevens: “Did she make a mistake?”

  Rebecca: “She gave Mom her math problems. And all of them were wrong. And Mom said, ‘Abigail, you know how to do these problems. You got them wrong on purpose.’ And then she gave Abigail the same math problems again, and Abigail got them wrong again, and Mom said, ‘Abigail, this is rebellion, I want you to come over here and stand right in front of me.’ ”

  Stevens: “Then what?”

  Rebecca: “Abigail went to Mom. She stood in front of her. But then she took one foot and moved it over, and then she took the other and moved it, too, so then she wasn’t standing in front of Mom.”

  Stevens: “And then?”

  Rebecca: “Then Mom told Abigail to go outside and stay there, and that she could only come back if she apologized for her disobedience, and Mom said she would go out and check on her in an hour to see if she was ready to apologize.”

  Stevens: “Do you remember what the weather was like that day?”

  Rebecca: “It was cold and it was raining.”

  Stevens: “Did Abigail have a coat on?”

  Rebecca: “No.”

  Stevens: “And how long was she outside?”

  Rebecca: “She was outside the whole time, until she died.”

  Stevens: “Did you or your siblings go outside and talk to her?”

  Rebecca: “Mom told us not to. But, secretly, I did.”

  Steven: “You went outside.”

  Rebecca: “I went outside and I talked to Abigail. And I told her she should come inside, because it was raining and cold.”

  Stevens: “How did she answer?”

  Rebecca: “She said she could take the rain and cold. And then she said, ‘Rebecca, stay out here with me.’ ”

  Stevens: “And what did you say?”

  Rebecca: “I said I wanted to but that I couldn’t, because I was scared.”

  Stevens: “So then what?”

  Rebecca: “So then I went in. And it got dark. And she was still out there.”

  Stevens: “What do you remember happening?”

  Rebecca: “Mom called all of us kids to the window. And we looked out there, and Abigail was stumbling around and falling. And then Mom turned on the patio light, the patio spotlight, and opened the window. And then she called out to Abigail, ‘Okay, Abigail, go ahead, give us a big show!’ And then she told us we should all laugh at Abigail because she was rebelling. So then we did that. We all laughed. And then Mom turned off the patio light and turned her back on the window and said that we should all turn our backs. So we did.”

  Stevens: “And then what?”

  Rebecca: “I went back to the living room. But then one of my brothers said, ‘Look, Abigail just flopped onto the patio.’ So then I came back and looked out the window and I saw her run into this big post we had. Then she got up and she walked a few more steps, and then she fell down again, right on the patio.”

  Stevens: “The light was on?”

  Rebecca: “No. I turned it on. The patio spotlight. I turned on the light and looked out the window.”

  Stevens: “Then what?”

  Rebecca: “I told Mom about it.”

  Stevens: “About what?”

  Rebecca: “How Abigail had run into the post and fallen down.”

  Stevens: “And what did she say to that?”

  Rebecca: “She said I should check on her every ten minutes. Look through the kitchen window every ten minutes to see what she’s doing.”

  Stevens: “Did you do it?”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “So you checked through the window every ten minutes.”

  Rebecca: “Yes.”

  Stevens: “And what did you see?”

  Rebecca: “The third time I looked, she’d taken her clothes off.”

  Stevens: “In the cold and rain?”

  Rebecca: “Yes. She had her clothes off.”

  Stevens: “What was she doing at that point? Do you remember?”

  Rebecca: “She was lying on the ground. Not moving. With no clothes on.”

  Stevens: “Was she on her back, or facedown, or faceup, or on her side?”

  Rebecca: “Facedown.”

  Stevens: “So what did you do at that point?”

  Rebecca: “I told Mom.”

  Stevens: “What did your mom say?”

  Rebecca: “To go out and check on her. ‘Don’t check on her through the window. Go outside and check this time.’ That’s what Mom said.”

  Stevens: “And what did you do then?”

  Rebecca: “I went out and checked on her. And then I came back and told Mom she wasn’t moving. I said I’d asked Abigail if she was okay, but Abigail didn’t answer.”

  Stevens: “What next?”

  Rebecca: “Me and Mom went outside together.”

  Stevens: “So you and your mother went outside to where Abigail was lying on the ground with no clothes on, facedown, and nonresponsive—not talking or moving. And what did you do?”

  Rebecca: “Mom tried to talk to her.”

  Stevens: “What did she say?”

  Rebecca: “She said, ‘Abigail, come on, now, this is enough.’ But Abigail didn’t answer. And Mom got scared.”

  Stevens: “How could you tell that your mother was scared?”

  Rebecca: “Because she got down on the ground and she rolled Abigail over, and we could see right then that Abigail wasn’t breathing, and that she had mud in her mouth.”

  Stevens: “So then what?”

  Rebecca: “We tried to take her inside.”

  Stevens: “How did you try to do that?”

  Rebecca: “We tried to pick her up, but we couldn’t lift her.”

  Stevens: “So what did you do—you and your mother?”

  Rebecca: “We got the boys, and they carried her in. But first Mom got a sheet and put it over her.”

  Stevens: “Why?”

  Rebecca: “So the boys wouldn’t see her naked body.”

  * * *

  —

  In the course of the proceedings, I’d acquired a friend, a woman named Georgette who was newly retired and, in sorting out what to do with her free time, had hit on this—attending a murder trial. Georgette had leaned in my direction on occasion to share her thoughts in whispered fashion (“That officer up there looks to be about sixteen years old, but, then, I can never tell these days”) and during recesses had engaged me in conversation—to the effect, for example, that the Skagit County Fair had started, and that she’d gone to it and gotten tired there; that pink salmon were currently running in the river; that pink salmon were also known as humpies; that her husband, every year, got excited about humpies and fished for them from a drift boat, and was fishing as we spoke; that tonight, at the Moose Club, she and her husband would attend a barbecue as part of an annual membership drive; and that all that work going on along the riverfront was phase two of a revitalization project that Mount Vernon’s voters had approved by a narrow margin and that she had voted for, because she liked the idea of a boardwalk with flowers and hanging plants and evening lights, and it was about time the town did something like this, because the area along the river was in decline.

  Once, at the end of a day of testimony, after Georgette and I had pushed through the courthouse door and were standing at a stoplight waiting to cross—both of us seeking to get our bearings in the white dazzle of late afternoon sun—a passing train, its endless coal cars heaped, made a grating cacophony. A teenager snaked past on a very short skateboard. From one of the cars held in check at the train crossing, a dog strained at an open window. “Out here, life goes on,” observed Georgette, “like none of what goes on in there”—she pointed with her thumb at the courthouse behind us—“is real.” Then she said I wouldn’t see her the next day, because she and two friends were going on an excursion to the Glen Echo Botanical Garden in Bellingham, and had made a reservation for lunch at an Italian restaurant not far from the garden, with a view of the water.

  Now, in the aftermath of Rebecca Harvey’s testimony, Georgette turned to me and said, “Let me get this straight. This woman’s daughter is facedown in the yard, naked. It’s night. The girl’s unconscious. It’s an emergency. And what does this woman do? She goes inside and finds a sheet and spreads it over her daughter so her sons won’t see her naked body. So her sons won’t see her naked body!” Georgette touched my arm to emphasize her incredulity. “I’m sitting here,” she said, “trying to put myself in this woman’s shoes. I go out there and my daughter’s face is in the dirt and it’s midnight and rainy and she’s got no clothes on. And the way I do this,” Georgette explained, “is I imagine it’s my own daughter, because I have a daughter. I have two daughters. I imagine it’s my daughter, and I’m out there. I imagine that and I ask myself: Would I go inside and get a sheet? Get a sheet and put it over my daughter because my sons might see my daughter naked? What would be the thinking for me? Let’s see. Do something for my daughter who’s on the ground like that, or get a sheet so my sons won’t see her naked? That’s not a tough one,” Georgette said. “I wouldn’t even have to think about it. Probably, I couldn’t even think about it. My mind would be going a million miles an hour on ‘Is it CPR or mouth-to-mouth or chest compressions, or call 911, or should I sit down and put her head in my lap?’ Or all of that, because I’d be going crazy with the fright she’s dead. I’d be insane. This would be the worst thing that could happen. It’s my daughter, my daughter, my daughter, my daughter. And there’s these cuts from gravel on her legs, and her clothes are spread around and soaked, and she’s been outside for hours and hours, and, me, this is a nightmare. This is the end of the world. This is the worst thing possible. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. This can’t be. This can’t be. I can’t let my daughter be like this. There’s nothing else on my mind at this point, nothing else to consider or think about. Just my daughter, nothing else. I don’t stand there thinking, ‘Okay, she’s too heavy for me and Rebecca to get in the house, so I have to get my sons to do it because they’re stronger than us, but the problem with that is, when my sons come out here, they’re going to see Abigail naked, and that wouldn’t be good for them, to see her that way, so the answer is, I’ll leave Abigail on the ground here with Rebecca and go inside and get a sheet and bring it back and cover Abigail with it—that way, my sons won’t see what they shouldn’t.’ I don’t think that,” said Georgette. “That never occurs to me. And don’t you think,” she asked, “that everyone would be like me? Wouldn’t that be the normal thing? Wouldn’t that be how a normal person felt? Sure, as a rule, I guess I don’t want boys to see a girl naked, I’m not going to sit here and say I do. I’m not one who goes in for nudist beaches or thinks it’s okay for—you know—for people to see each other naked. I’m not saying that. I’m saying it’s mind-boggling. I’m saying I’m trying to put myself in her shoes, but they don’t fit.”

  * * *

  —

  When Rebecca Harvey was finished testifying, the sergeant in charge of night-service deputies for the Skagit County Sheriff’s Office took the stand. On the night of Abigail’s death, he said, a deputy had called him from Stone Lane to suggest he come out there, which he did right away. At the Harvey residence, he found an ambulance, two patrol cars, and, “around back of the house, a small female out there on a patio, where she was getting CPR performed on her by paramedics.” When the ambulance pulled out with the girl inside, he followed it to the Skagit Valley Hospital, and went inside to “keep tabs on things and monitor and take notes and follow up.” From the foyer, he called the sheriff’s office dispatch center for a copy of the 911 call Betsy Harvey had made and asked a deputy to deliver it to him on a compact disc. While he was doing that, the coroner entered the emergency unit. He followed the coroner into the emergency room and took pictures of the corpse. Then the disc arrived, and the sergeant took it down the hall to an office and, using a computer there, listened to it. When that was done, he went farther down the hall to the family waiting room, which was off the lobby and behind secure doors, and there he found Betsy and Delvin Harvey and a family-support officer. The sergeant explained that he would like to talk to Betsy Harvey privately, because she was the one who had made the 911 call, and then he and Betsy went down the hall to the room where he’d listened to the compact disc and, with Betsy’s permission, he turned on his recorder and interviewed her.

  Lincoln Stevens now entered into evidence the recording of the sergeant’s interview with Betsy Harvey. We heard the sergeant ask Betsy for general information, such as the spelling of her name and her date of birth and address, the number of children she had, her husband’s name and place of work, and the date on which they’d adopted Abigail. Then he asked, “What happened?”