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“Quick sweep,” says Fane.
“Jesus! How many times have you been in there?”
Schott glances at Fane. He nods. “Twice a day,” she says, “starting the day you arrived.”
So much for myDO NOT DISTURBsign.
I walk to my room. My eyes are burning. My head is throbbing. I feel like crashing. But my cell phone is ringing.
“Hello?”
“Brea? It’s Ron Reynolds!” He’s practically shouting into the phone over loud music and a noisy crowd.
“Hi, Ron. What’s up? Where the hell are you?”
“I’m in a bar in Brentwood. A woman here knows one of the bailiffs. Be at the courthouse first thing tomorrow. They’ve reached a verdict!”
CHAPTER
130
Rockingham County Courthouse, New Hampshire
Early the next morning, the demonstrators are already in place, sipping from thermoses and hauling their signs. The TV crews are working out of their vans, setting up lights and platforms for their stand-ups. There are more cops and troopers and Secret Service agents surrounding the building than I’ve ever seen.
I hear the squawk of a siren behind me. I turn and see Cole Wright’s caravan coming up the road. There’s a state police car in the lead, lights flashing, followed by two black SUVs with tinted windows. Two motorcycle cops bring up the rear. They all turn right at the parking lot and I watch them until they’re out of sight behind the courthouse.
The line for the gallery starts early, and there are more cops than usual at the metal detector. One is holding a huge German shepherd on a thick leash. The dog gives everybody a sniff as we file past. The bag search is extra-thorough today.
When I get inside and take my seat, I see Ron Reynolds in theback row. He’s in the middle of a scrum of reporters, all whispering and gesturing. Totally wired. Ready to witness history.
Cole Wright and his lawyers are already at the defense table. Cole is in his blue suit again. He’s gotten a haircut. Tess Hardy looks confident, but the way she taps her pen on her legal pad betrays a hint of uncertainty. A fast verdict isn’t always a good sign.
At exactly nine o’clock, the clerk stands up and calls, “All rise!”
Judge Dow walks out from chambers and motions for everybody to sit down. He turns to the bailiff. “Bring in the jury.”
A side door opens and the jurors file in and take their usual seats. Like everybody else in the room, I’m studying their faces, trying to read them. Do they look worried? Excited? Determined? But I’m getting nothing.
Dow scans the gallery. “I’m going to remind everybody again that I will not tolerate any outbursts in the courtroom.” He turns to the jury box and looks at a stout woman in glasses seated in the front row. “Madam Foreperson, I understand that the jury has a verdict.”
The woman stands. She’s clutching a folded sheet of paper. “We do, Your Honor.”
“Please hand the verdict form to the bailiff.”
The bailiff takes the folded sheet and hands it to Dow. The judge unfolds the paper and looks at it for a few seconds. No reaction. He looks over at Cole Wright. “The defendant will please rise.”
The First Gentleman stands up. Tess Hardy stands up beside him, her shoulder practically touching his. Solidarity.
Dow hands the paper to the clerk. “The clerk will now read the verdict.”
The clerk turns to face the gallery. His eyes do not wander from the paper.
“In the matter before this court, on the charge of murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Cole Wright… guilty.”
There are no shouts, but there’s a visceral reaction. We all just about jump out of our seats. I spin around and catch Ron’s eye. He nods. I know he’s thinking of Garrett. I am too.
The judge asks Tess Hardy if she wants the jury polled.