Chapter 7 - The Search HistoryGreg’s defense attorney tried to explain the internet searches.
That realization made the recording almost unbearable to hear.
She had hidden her phone behind a row of canned goods in the pantry.
The camera captured only darkness.
But the audio was clear.
Greg’s voice.
Emily’s voice.
A kitchen chair scraping.
The argument began over money.
Then Emily said she had seen the videos.
Greg denied them.
She mentioned Rebecca.
He stopped denying.
Emily threatened to leave with Leo and call police.
Greg laughed.
“You think anybody’s going to care about some animals?”
“They’ll care about what you’re doing.”
“You don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I saw the freezer.”
Silence.
Then Emily said something that told us she had discovered even more.
“I found your plans for Leo.”
When Martinez played that line, I stopped breathing.
Greg’s answer came softly.
“He’s not my kid.”
Emily shouted, “He is my son.”
“He’s a problem.”
“You touch him and I swear—”
A crash interrupted her.
Then Greg said, “You swear what?”
The recording became muffled.
Emily screamed.
Another impact.
Then nothing for six seconds.
Greg’s breathing was audible.
When Emily spoke again, her voice was weak.
“You’re going to prison.”
Greg answered, “Only if somebody finds you.”
The recording ended three minutes later.
It did not capture the fatal blow clearly enough to determine exactly what happened.
But it destroyed Greg’s claim that Emily’s death had been an innocent fall.
More importantly, it proved he had contemplated harming Leo before Emily died.
The trial changed overnight.
Prosecutors no longer needed Leo’s memory to carry the entire case.
They had video.
Physical evidence.
Rebecca’s testimony.
Emily’s recording.
My medical testimony.
Dr. Cole’s surgical findings.
DNA evidence from the shed.
The broken needle.
And Greg’s attempt to flee the hospital.
Still, Greg refused to plead guilty.
His trial began seven months after the night Leo entered my ER.
By then, Leo lived with Rachel.
He had changed schools.
His face had healed.
He was seeing Dr. Brooks weekly.
He had begun playing baseball.
His nightmares were less frequent.
He also hated court.
The courthouse smelled like floor wax and old paper.
I testified on the third day.
The prosecutor asked me to describe the moment I examined Leo.
“What did you observe?”
“Significant unilateral facial swelling.”
“What happened when you palpated the area?”
“I felt movement beneath the skin.”
Several jurors shifted.
“And the defendant’s reaction?”
“He became visibly distressed and attempted to leave the hospital.”
The defense attorney stood.
“Objection. Characterization.”
“Sustained.”
The prosecutor rephrased.
“What did Mr. Dalton physically do?”
“He moved toward the exit, stated they were leaving, then ran from the department.”
That was allowed.
The defense attorney’s cross-examination was sharp.
“Dr. Morgan, you’re not a parasitologist.”
“No.”
“You’re not a forensic psychologist.”
“No.”
“You were not present when my client allegedly injured Leo.”
“No.”
“You cannot testify to his intent.”
“No.”
“You cannot say with medical certainty who introduced the larvae.”
“Not from examination alone.”
He smiled.
“So your testimony does not prove Greg Dalton caused this condition.”
“My examination alone doesn’t.”
“Thank you.”
“But the broken needle—”
“Doctor, I didn’t ask about—”
The prosecutor stood.
“Your Honor—”
The judge raised a hand.
“Counsel opened the subject. The witness may finish.”
I looked at the jury.
“The larvae were localized along tracks associated with puncture trauma. A needle fragment was surgically removed from the same region. Those findings were inconsistent with a typical accidental environmental exposure.”
The defense attorney’s smile disappeared.
“No further questions.”
Outside court, Rachel hugged me.
“You crushed him.”
“I answered questions.”
“You crushed him politely.”
Leo was not present that day.
Prosecutors had delayed the decision about whether to call him.
Rebecca testified next.
She cried constantly.
Some jurors appeared sympathetic.
Others did not.
She described Greg as controlling and violent.
Then admitted she helped produce the animal videos.
Admitted helping restrain Leo.
Admitted concealing Emily’s death.
“Why?” the prosecutor asked.
Rebecca stared at her hands.
“Money.”
The courtroom became very quiet.
“How much?”
“About twelve thousand dollars over six months.”
Emily died.
Leo was nearly killed.
Animals suffered.
For twelve thousand dollars.
The defense attacked her deal.
“You’re hoping to save yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll say anything.”
“No.”
“You’re a convicted liar.”
“I lied before.”
“And now we’re supposed to trust you?”
Rebecca looked at Greg.
“No.”
The attorney paused.
She continued.
“You should trust the recordings.”
That was the strongest answer she gave.
On day seven, the judge ruled that Leo could testify through a closed-circuit system rather than sit directly in front of Greg.
Rachel cried from relief.
Leo still didn’t want to do it.
“I’ll mess up,” he told Brooks.
“You don’t need to remember everything,” she said.
“What if I forget something important?”
“Say you don’t remember.”
“What if they think that means I’m lying?”
“Truth includes saying what you don’t know.”
He looked at me.
“Did you get scared when the lawyer asked you questions?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t look scared.”
“I was.”
“How come?”
“Grown-ups get good at hiding things.”
He frowned.
“Is that bad?”
“Sometimes.”
On the morning Leo testified, he wore a blue button-down shirt Rachel had bought him.
He kept the top button undone because he said it felt like choking.
He sat in a private room with Brooks nearby.
The jury watched on monitors.
The prosecutor began simply.
“How old are you?”
“Ten now.”
“Do you know Greg Dalton?”
Leo nodded.
“Who is he?”
“My stepdad.”
“Do you want to tell us what happened in the shed?”
Leo’s hands trembled.
For one terrifying second, I thought he would freeze.
Then he looked at the camera.
“He hurt my mom.”
Greg’s attorney objected.
The judge allowed questioning to continue carefully.
Leo described the argument.
The truck.
The shed.
The syringe.
He forgot which day it happened.
He couldn’t remember how many times Greg injected him.
He said the sweatshirt Rebecca wore was “dark,” though video showed it was gray.
The defense seized on each inconsistency.
“You said Tuesday before.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You told police three injections.”
“I said maybe three.”
“Now you don’t know?”
“No.”
“So your story changes?”
Leo looked toward Brooks.
Then back at the camera.
“Some parts.”
The attorney leaned forward.
“Because some parts aren’t true?”
Leo swallowed.
“No.”
“How can we know?”
The judge warned counsel about tone.
But Leo answered anyway.
“Because the part I remember most never changes.”
“What part is that?”
Leo’s face tightened.
“Greg telling me nobody would care if I died.”
The courtroom fell silent.
Even the defense attorney stopped.
Leo began crying.
The judge called a recess.
Greg did not look at him.
He stared at the table.
Two days later, the prosecution rested.
Then Greg made another choice none of us expected.
He took the witness stand.
And for the first hour, he was very good.
Calm.
Soft-spoken.
Regretful.
He described Emily as unstable.
Rebecca as manipulative.
Leo as troubled.
He admitted mistakes without admitting crimes.
He presented himself as a man trapped inside other people’s lies.
Some jurors watched him closely.
I began to worry.
Then the prosecutor stood for cross-examination.
She carried one sheet of paper.
“Mr. Dalton,” she said, “you testified that you never intended for Leo to die.”
“That’s correct.”
“Then why did you search the internet for the phrase ‘how long can facial myiasis go untreated’?”
Greg’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
So did the jury.
The prosecutor placed another record on the screen.
Search history.
Dates.
Times.
Queries.
Untreated larval infections.
Sepsis.
Facial tissue damage.
Mortality.
And finally:
How long before child infection becomes fatal?
May you like
Greg stared at the screen.
The courtroom stopped breathing.
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