Keith, expensively dressed from his silk tie to the tips of his shiny black wing tips, requested that an order of service be admitted as evidence.
It was recorded. And then the attorney approached his witness.
“Do you recognize this?”
“I do.”
“Please tell the court what it is.”
“The program for this year’s combined service.”
“And what is the date printed at the top?”
Bobby Donahue leaned forward to read it, as though he didn’t already know the answer.
“March 9, 2008.”
Slowly approaching the jury, Keith gave each of them a chance to read more than just the date on the program he held out for them to see. There followed a listing of well-known Christian songs that were slotted to be sung. Scriptures to be read.
A sermon to be heard.
“Tell me, Mr. Donahue, do you log the attendance at these church gatherings?”
“Yes, we do.”
“And did you that day?”
“Of course.”
Keith pulled out another exhibit. Had it admitted. When asked, Ms. Gilbert didn’t object, but she looked as though she wished she could.
“Is this that log?” Keith held a black, leather-bound book open to a page halfway through.
“Yes.”
“And what is the last name on the entry?”
Again Donahue leaned forward. “Kenny Hill.”
“Were you present when Mr. Hill signed this register?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because I offer it personally to every member to sign.”
“Doesn’t that take a long time?”
“Not really. I stand at the door and the brethren sign in before entering the sanctuary. I greet each and every member upon arrival. I make it a point to be accessible to everyone.”
Or did he make it a point to keep everyone firmly under his domination?
Donahue lifted one shoulder slightly. And Hannah shivered. “In Kenny’s case, I remember distinctly because he came late. He signed in alone. On a break.”
Another piece of evidence was admitted. A small envelope. The kind many churches distributed to their members for offerings. This one was signed and dated by Kenny Hill. And then a cancelled check, dated the same day with the same signature was produced.
It had a Monday, March 10th bank stamp on it. All the evidence was circumstantial. When Julie crossed, she’d be able to point out the possibilities of forgery, money dropped off before or after the church service. But if she left the shadow of a doubt in the mind of even one juror, Hill would go free. That was the risk she took when she slapped a capital charge on the case. It was the only charge that required the jury to be convinced beyond the shadow of doubt.
Any other charge would have carried only reasonable doubt stipulations.
The prosecutor knew that. She’d been confident. Hannah wasn’t as confident. And maybe Julie wasn’t either, now, judging by the look on her face. Hill was going to walk. He’d brutally murdered a young man who’d done nothing more than make love with a girl who loved him back. Cortes had spent the last six hours of his life being tortured in ways a human being shouldn’t even know about.
And Hill was going to walk free, out into the streets to act again.
“Mr. Donahue, did you see the defendant speaking with anyone that night?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Donahue mentioned a couple of other names from the witness list Keith had submitted at the pretrial conference.
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
Julie Gilbert did her job well—the car accident notwithstanding. But then maybe she’d remember to confim the accident without a written reminder. She could bring the information up later if it helped her case. Or maybe she’d already heard this part of the testimony during her own interview with the witness. Maybe she’d already confirmed it.
And maybe Hannah needed to quit worrying and stick to doing her job. She was no longer a prosecutor.
No longer charged with bringing the bad guys down, but rather, with protecting the rights of everyone who entered her courtroom—victims and defendants alike.
Bobby Donahue didn’t leave the stand for another hour and a half. And not until after it was established that the church registry could have been forged. The check dropped off anytime that day. But Bobby Donahue was absolutely positive he wasn’t mistaken about Hill’s presence in church at the time of the murder. He assured the court that he could produce more than 200 other witnesses to the same.
Before the afternoon was over, Hannah could pretty much read her jury.
The defense had managed to establish a shadow of doubt. The state was going to lose.
Society was going to lose. And there wasn’t a damn thing Hannah could do about it.
Kenny Hill gave her a barely discernible smile. Hannah felt it clear to the bone. And shuddered.
Was her name already on a retribution list?
2
Brian missed the Sun News interview. In fact, he forgot all about it until he saw Hannah’s number flash on the screen of his cell phone at six o’clock that evening. As always when he was at work, the phone was on silent. Glancing at the blinking light on the corner of his desk, wishing he could answer the call and escape into friendships and gentler topics, he focused, instead, on the middle-aged couple across from him.
“As far as I can tell from this preliminary test, it’s in the early stages,” he told Felicia Summers’s parents, sliding a box of tissues toward the petite, slightly graying woman sitting there clasping her husband’s hand.
Lou Summers, a technician at a local helicopter manufacturer, didn’t make the kind of money that would support the care his toddler was going to need, but he had insurance benefits that would cover it just fine—unlike many of the guardians of Brian’s young patients.
“Is she going to die?” Lou asked.
It was the question he’d been dreading. A question no one was ever prepared for.
“Possibly,” he said, his gaze direct as he met first Lou’s and then Mary’s worried scrutiny.
