Page 91

“He’s being railroaded!”
A few more steps and I’m finally out of the drizzle and into abright corridor. I pass through a metal detector and a bag search station. Then I’m in.
That’s when it really hits me.
All the months of pretrial hearings, motions, and counter-motions are over.
Multiple requests for change of venue denied. One superior court judge recused himself; another was assigned.
I closely followed the many evidentiary hearings and motions to dismiss and the bail hearing that ended in Cole being allowed to wear an ankle monitor while living in the White House instead of having to wait for his trial in a cell like every other murder suspect. At first, I couldn’t believe it. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. Power means privilege.
Now all the preliminary legal bullshit is over.
The jury and alternates have been seated.
Today it begins.
The end of Cole Wright.
CHAPTER
86
The courtroom is humming with energy.
I spot Garrett’s formerBoston Globecolleague Ron Reynolds sitting among the reporters in the back row. He gives me a little wave. Ron was one of the first people to reach out after Garrett died. When I worried that I could never finish the book on my own, he gave me a shot of confidence and a little tough love. “Don’t let Garrett down,” he said.
I won’t. I can’t. It’s what keeps me going.
A wooden barrier separates the gallery from the business end of the courtroom—the tables for the defense and prosecution, witness stand, lectern, jury box, and judge’s bench.
I look around for the couple I think of as my watchers, but they’re nowhere in sight. Ever since Garrett and I started investigating, I’ve seen these same people over and over. I keep wondering who sent them. Tony Romero? Burton Pearce? Cole Wright?
If they want to kill me, I don’t know why they haven’t done it yet. They’ve had plenty of chances. But maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment. If so, I hope I don’t see it coming.
Two people who should be here in the courtroom are noticeably absent: Felicia and Teresa Bonanno. As a witness for the prosecution, Felicia is barred from the proceedings. I don’t know where Teresa is.
I’m several rows behind Cole Wright, who is sitting at the defense table with his lawyers. His hair is thick and full, and his shoulders are broad. Even in middle age, he still projects the aura of a jock, the career that made him famous.
I can’t stand the sight of him.
Beside Cole sits Tess Hardy from Virginia, his lead defender. She’s one of the country’s most powerful and influential defense attorneys. The judge decided to allow cameras in the courtroom, which plays to her strengths, as she’s a legal analyst on CNN and a regular guest on Sunday-morning news shows.
By state law, only members of the New Hampshire Bar can appear in court here, but Hardy has apro hac viceadmission, meaning she’s been sponsored by a local attorney. That attorney is Carole Clifford, sitting to her left. The optics deliver an obvious message: If these smart, accomplished women trust Cole Wright, then the jury should too.
I hope the jury is smart enough to see through it.
At the prosecution’s table on the opposite side, the deputy attorney general, Hugh Bastinelli, is busy stacking binders. He’s handsome. Distinguished-looking. Even sitting down, he’s taller than the two other attorneys sitting beside him.
Compared to camera-ready Tess Hardy, with her statuesque figure, perfect makeup, and chic short blond hair, Bastinelli seems unenthusiastic about facing the media. But he’s got a good reputation as a prosecutor. And he has a high conviction rate.
That’s the only statistic I really care about.
CHAPTER
87
At some silent signal, the clerk near the judge’s bench gets up from his chair and commands, “All rise!”