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The prosecutor continued. “I put it to you that Mr. Hamlin’s violent jealousy was such that he even resented the affection shown to Miss Gilletti by a small boy.”
A look of pain crossed Charles Braemar Murphy’s face. Then, to Toni’s astonishment, he said. “That may be true.”
What? Of course it isn’t true!
“Billy may have resented Nicholas.”
“Indeed he may have! In William Hamlin’s paranoid, drug-warped mind, Nicholas Handemeyer wasn’t an innocent, seven-year-old child at all, was he? He was a threat. Just like you.”
“Maybe.” Charles shook his head, as if willing it not to be so.
“A threat that needed to be disposed of. Neutralized. Annihilated.”
“I hope not.” Charles shuddered, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Good God, I hope not.”
Bastard! Toni thought. Billy would never have hurt Nicholas and Charles knows it. He’s just trying to get back at Billy for coming on to me.
“Billy’s a good guy.” Charles twisted the knife. “But he was out of his depth at Camp Williams.”
“In what way?”
“In every way. Socially, economically, educationally. The truth is, I felt sorry for him. We all did. He couldn’t stand the fact that Toni chose me over him.”
This was too much for Billy.
“Liar!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. His face was red with anger and the veins on his forehead and neck protruded as if they were about to explode. “Toni loves me, and I love her!”
The jury
was not impressed. Billy looked like a madman, his hair a mess, arms gesticulating wildly, the flames of his obsession with Toni burning in his eyes. Toni felt like crying. Charles had provoked him, and Billy had fallen right into his trap. Worse, his lawyer had fallen with him.
“And that’s without drugs in his system,” the prosecutor said, sotto voce, accurately voicing the jurors’ thoughts. “Thank you, Mr. Braemar Murphy. No further questions.”
The next two days were about damage control.
Leslie Lose wheeled out various witnesses from Billy’s former life to attest to his good character: teachers, coaches, neighbors. The consensus was that the Billy Hamlin they knew would not knowingly have hurt a fly.
Jeff Hamlin pleaded to be allowed to take the stand, but Leslie Lose wouldn’t allow it.
“You’re too emotional. It won’t help.”
“Then let Billy speak for himself. He needs a chance to show people what he’s really like.”
That had been the original plan—for Billy to be his own secret weapon, for his affable charm and natural humility to change hearts and minds. But after Charles Braemar Murphy’s evidence, that ship hadn’t so much sailed as sunk without trace.
“The less Billy says the better,” said Leslie. “From now on we focus on facts.”
The facts were still in Billy’s favor.
Had Billy Hamlin been negligent in taking his eye off a seven-year-old boy at the beach? Yes, he had.
Was he wrong to have used drugs and alcohol while working as a camp counselor responsible for young children?
Of course he was.
But had William Hamlin murdered Nicholas Handemeyer? Had he willfully caused the boy’s death? Notwithstanding his disastrous outburst of jealous rage earlier, there was no proof that he had. There wasn’t even any compelling evidence to suggest it.
Leslie Lose finished his summing-up with the words:
