Chapter 45

Over the next few days, other women went up to the stand and testified that the place my sister was talking about—The Birthing Center—was indeed rat infested, unsanitary, and frightening. “A house of horrors,” one called it.

Mr. Shlumpy was in his element, pacing the court like a caged tiger, much to the frustration of Mr. Slick, who wore a scowl on his face. Every time Mr. Shlumpy, the prosecutor, asked one of the witnesses if she recognized the man in the orange jumpsuit, she cried out, “It’s him! Dr. Yzak Milov.”

Following several more testimonies, court recessed while the jury deliberated the fate of the man in the orange jumpsuit. At the time, I didn’t really understand what was going on.

Every day that week Mama took me to church with her and told me to pray that the man in the orange jumpsuit got the death penalty. He deserved to die like my sister and her baby…and all the other poor girls he’d butchered to death.

A week later we were summoned back to court. Every seat was taken. The pretty lady, who always sat in front of us, was there too. She was wearing a pink suit with a matching pair of shiny leather heels and a small gold-frame handbag. The man in the orange jumpsuit sat emotionless next to his lawyer, Mr. Slick. I clutched my dolly in one hand. Mama squeezed the other as the priest-cum-judge read the verdict. His face somber. “The jury unanimously finds Dr. Yzak Milov guilty on all counts…four counts of second-degree murder, six counts of involuntary manslaughter, twenty-six counts of illegally prescribed drugs, and thirteen counts of practicing medicine without a license…and is sentenced to life in prison without parole.”

I had no clue what all that meant, but it didn’t sound like he was going to die. The victimized women and their families were each awarded settlements of $250,000. I had no idea what that meant either, but it sounded like a lot of money.

Weeping, Mama leaped up from her seat. “He deserves the death penalty! All the money in the world won’t bring back my Mabel and her baby!”

Amidst an uproar, court was dismissed.

Mr. Shlumpy marched out of the courtroom, carrying his overstuffed briefcase. With a smug smile, he fisted his free hand and air punched his victory.

The man in the orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed, his feet shackled with chains, stood, his expression grim, his shoulders hunched. He made eye contact with the woman in the pink suit. Her face didn’t move a muscle. Not a blink. Not a tear. Yet, I saw a deep connection between the two of them.

Then, he was ushered out of the courthouse by two mean-looking policemen, Mr. Slick by their side.

Gripping my hand, my still weeping mother slogged up the aisle, the lady in pink behind us. Just before she exited into the horde of paparazzi and reporters, all awaiting the outcome of the sensationalized, high-profile trial, my mother turned to the woman and spat in her face.

“You’re a murderer, too,” she cried out, tears dripping down her face. “You knew and let them die!” She spat at the woman again. “May God strike you down!”

That evening, Mama took me up to the roof of our twelve-story tenement where she used to like to watch the sunset. Still dressed in my pretty dress I wore to court and clutching Baby Reborn, I stayed close behind her because I had a fear of heights. I thought she was admiring tonight’s beautiful sunset, the darkening sky painted with streaks of pink and purple.

Turning around, she slipped off her rosary necklace with the locket that held a tiny photo of her and my sister. And handed it to me.

“Never forget us, my sweet Marley. Always keep us close to your heart.” She took a shaky breath. “And never forgive the terrible people who are responsible for our deaths.”

Confused, I watched as she climbed on top of the ledge and stood with her arms outstretched, as if she’d sprouted angel wings.

“Mama!” I cried out until I could cry no more.

Mama was taken from me. I became a ward of the state and was put into the system. My life was changed forever.

Dr. Yzak Milov went to prison.

Felony charges were never brought against privileged, rich, white boy Ned Sinclair.

He got away with murder.