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“Billy Hamlin isn’t a murderer. Nor is he a monster. He’s a normal teenage boy and a loving son. Let’s not allow one family’s tragedy to become two.”
As he sat down, the lawyer was aware of Senator Handemeyer staring at him. His skin prickled uncomfortably beneath his wool suit.
He prayed it was enough.
The court adjourned for the night. Walter Gilletti spoke to his attorney outside the courtroom.
“What do you think?”
“Acquittal. No question. He didn’t help himself with his outburst, but the prosecution hasn’t proved a thing.”
Listening in from a few feet away, Toni exhaled with relief. Her father’s attorney was the best money could buy. Billy would be a free man by tomorrow. Of course, once he got out she’d have to talk to him about this marriage nonsense. Toni was fond of Billy and she owed him a lot, but matrimony was distinctly not on her agenda. Still, these would be good problems to have.
Her father was still talking.
“Good.” Walter Gilletti’s voice reverberated with authority. “If it’s a done deal then I’d like to leave tonight. The sooner we’re out of this circus the better.”
“I can’t leave, Daddy,” Toni blurted. “I have to stay for the verdict. Billy needs me here.”
Walter Gilletti turned on his daughter like a snake about to strike. “I don’t give a damn what Billy Hamlin needs. We go when I say we go,” he snarled.
In the end, the Gillettis stayed another night in Alfred.
On balance, Walter Gilletti decided it might look bad for business if they didn’t.
Chapter Seven
Superior-court justice Devon Williams took his seat, surveying the sea of faces in front of him. A big man in his early seventies with a neatly clipped, white beard and a snowy ring of hair around the tonsurelike bald spot on the crown of his head, Judge Williams had presided over many difficult cases. Thefts. Assaults. Arson. Murders. But few were as harrowing as this one. Or, in the end, as futile.
Nicholas Handemeyer’s death was a tragedy. But it was plain to Judge Williams that no murder had been committed. Here, clearly, was an example of a case where public hysteria and outrage, fueled by one family’s private grief, had gotten the better of common sense. Senator Handemeyer wanted heads to roll—the Hamlin boy’s head in particular—and truth be damned. Once the emotion was stripped away, however, what mattered in this case—in every case—was the law. And the law was clear: if Billy Hamlin was guilty of murder, Judge Devon Williams was a monkey’s uncle.
Of course, the law could not be taken in the abstract. It must be interpreted by the twelve men and women of the jury. Judge Williams watched them now as they filed back into court two. Ordinary men and women: ten white, two black, mostly middle-aged, mostly overweight, a snapshot of the great American public. And yet today these ordinary people bore an extraordinary responsibility.
Normally Judge Williams enjoyed the challenge of predicting a jury’s verdict. How would this juror respond to that witness, or that piece of evidence. Who would react emotionally and who rationally. Whose prejudices or personality would carry the day. But as he called on the foreman to address the court, he felt none of the usual excitement or tension, only sadness.
A little boy had died. Nothing could bring him back. And now the unedifying spectacle of a murder trial that should never have made it to court was about to come to an end. It was obvious which way the coin would fall.
“Have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, your honor.”
Ruth Handemeyer squeezed her daughter’s hand. She was so tense she was barely breathing. Beside her she could feel her husband’s anger and hatred coiled inside him like a spring. She had no idea how to defuse it, or what to say to comfort him. Since Nicko’s death, they’d become strangers, separated by an ocean of grief.
The teenage girl squeezed back.
“Whatever happens, Mommy, we’ll always love him.”
Ruth Handemeyer stifled a sob.
Jeff Hamlin looked to his right. Leslie Lose gave him an encouraging smile.
It’s going to be okay, Jeff told himself for the hundredth time. He blamed himself for sending Billy to Camp Williams in the first place. How foolish he’d been, thinking his son would be able to make connections there to better himself! When the chips were down, the rich, educated classes stuck together. Old Mrs. Kramer, the Gilletti girl’s family, even the Handemeyers, were all birds of a feather, looking for a sacrificial lamb to atone for a child’s death. And who better than a carpenter’s son?
Billy’s in that dock because he’s not one of them.
From the dock, Billy Hamlin looked at Toni Gilletti with eyes full of love.
Tonight he would be a free man.
