Chapter 23: Verdict

The county courtroom held two hundred people, and three hundred had come.

They stood along the back wall and sat on the radiators.

The doors stayed open to the corridor so the overflow could hear.

I sat in the second row with my mother on one side and a pillow on the chair.

The obstetrician had let me out on a promise.

The judge was a stout woman in her sixties with reading glasses on a chain.

She read the first docket number, and a side door opened.

Wesley came in between two troopers in an orange jumpsuit, with his hands in front of him.

He had shaved, and it made him look younger.

He did not look at the gallery.

"Wesley Langford," the judge said. "You are charged with murder in the second degree and with attempted murder. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he said.

It came out in a small, flat voice.

"The state asks that bail be denied," said the prosecutor. "The defendant fled by boat from a bank meeting."

"On what else?" the judge asked.

"He confessed on a live broadcast, Your Honor. We have film of the act."

"Bail is denied."

A murmur ran around the room.

Wesley's father stood at the next table in an orange jumpsuit of his own.

"Forgery, conspiracy and false imprisonment," the judge read. "Denied."

He did not speak.

His eyes found me across the room, and I looked back at him until he looked away.

"The Harbor Board accepted Mr. Langford's resignation at eight this morning," the prosecutor added.

"And the county sheriff has been placed on leave."

Someone at the back began to clap, and the clerk silenced it.

Whitney came next.

She wore a plain blue dress and no jewelry, and she stood without a lawyer beside her.

"Accessory in the death of Tilda Reeve Langford," the judge said, "and in the attempted murder of Hallie Winslow Langford. How do you plead?"

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