Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

Peeking over his right shoulder, he glanced back toward the shore. He had to make sure no one could see what he was about to do and peg him as a scaredy-cat. No one was looking so Cecil bent down just enough to quickly check out the circular posts, the heavy wooden pillars, at least two feet or so in circumference each that supported the boardwalk.

Now he felt better.

He was even more reassured when, at a second glance to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, he saw another gator lover milling around at the entrance. Perfect. He could get help with his digital camera. The pictures would be so much better than shots that were so obviously selfies or even worse, taken with a selfie stick.

With visions of all the pics he’d soon be posting on Facebook and Twitter dancing through his head, he was even more emboldened. He’d watched at least a half dozen videos gator fans posted during and after the Night Time Adventure and it was like a big gator party! Thinking it through, maybe he’d Periscope as it was happening! That would be extremely cool. He instinctively felt in his Steve Irwin vest’s hidden pocket and identified the calming presence of the hard edges of his iPhone. After, he’d post the rest from his car before he hit the road back to Savannah.

This was the moment he’d been waiting for ever since he found out he’d won the drawing. He was ready, too. He clutched the bucket of raw chicken in his hand. This would be totally awesome! The words he read online came floating back to him as he gazed out at the smooth, black water. “An alligator feeding frenzy occurs when mammoth reptiles, feeding in pools, suddenly engage in a savage free-for-all, viciously clashing over prey.”

This was it. Showtime!

He headed out toward the far end of the boardwalk. The water was quiet, dark, and beautiful. Infused with bravery, Cecil ventured onto one of the four winding wooden walkways deep into the dominion of Florida’s most notorious beast, the mighty gator. Clutching his trusty flashlight and a bucket of raw chicken, Cecil made his way into the gator breeding flats.

He heard a gentle rustle of feathers somewhere in the night sky. Water rippled. He was not alone. He swatted at the back of his right shoulder; somehow a darn mosquito had taken a bite out of him, bug spray or no bug spray. And right through his shirt and the vest, too.

Cecil turned just in time to see that it was no mosquito. It was the gator lover from the shore. He saw the glint of moonlight on a syringe. In a split second and before Cecil even knew what was happening, a hard shove to his chest made him lose his balance.

There was hardly a splash when Cecil Snodgrass hit the water, and even if there had been, there was no one to hear.

After the long-awaited Cuban sandwiches with Finch followed by a hot bath at the hotel, Hailey slept through the night for the first time in weeks. She was so tired, she didn’t even close the heavy hotel curtains; and the next morning, she woke up to bright sunshine pouring across the Savannah River and into her room.

The hotel halls were quiet and the traffic far below was muted. She suddenly wanted to go home, not to her apartment in Manhattan but home to her parents’ brick house at the top of a long, winding driveway in Macon, south of Atlanta.

It was surrounded by azaleas, dogwoods, tea olives, and purple wisteria hugging the brick and situated in the middle of nothing but soybean fields and tall pine trees as far as the eye could see. It was a place where, in Hailey’s childhood, she could ride her bike all afternoon after school, free from fear of stranger danger or maniac traffic, only returning home when the chimes in the little Methodist church steeple nearby rang out that it was six o’clock. By then her mom would be home from work, and supper would likely be on the table.

Lying in the center of the hotel bed with the morning sun on her face, she knew it wasn’t just the place of home that she was longing for… it was the feeling of home. Glancing at the bedside clock, it was only 6 AM, too early to call her parents.

What would she ever do without them? They’d been there through thick and thin… Will’s death, law school, dozens and dozens of high-stakes prosecutions… she pushed the thought from her mind and, as if to get away from it, swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower.

Hailey grabbed her iPhone and her old, trusty BlackBerry as she passed the bedroom desk where they’d charged all night plugged into a lamp outlet. Can’t I even walk to the shower without multitasking? Hailey thought to herself but then smiled. No… I can’t .

She reached into the huge shower, turned the shiny silver controls, and stood waiting for the water to heat up. Leaning against the faux marble bathroom counter, Hailey glanced down at her emails and texts from overnight. There were several from Billings and Fincher from this morning. The last one from Finch had a red flag beside it to mark it as urgent.

She read that one first. “Heading home to Atlanta to see the family.”

Home? He was leaving the trial? What? Then it hit her… she scrolled back to the home screen. It was Saturday! No court!

A sense of relief poured through her body. She’d been on autopilot for so many days in a row, she literally didn’t even know what day it was! She went back to read the rest of Finch’s message. The words glowed at her, “Sleep late! You look tired!”

Ha, thanks Finch .

She skimmed down to Billings’s message. Similar, except no mention of her looking tired, and he asked her to lunch. Hmm.

The hot shower began to steam up the room so Hailey jumped in. She was just rinsing conditioner out of her hair when she thought she heard someone at her hotel door. Quickly grabbing a towel, Hailey called out, “Yes?”

No answer.

Padding back into the bedroom, Hailey looked through the peephole. Nobody. Opening the door, she looked down. At her feet was a neatly folded copy of the Savannah Morning News . Hailey leaned down to get it and came face-to-face with a huge shot of Todd Adams’s mom, her eyes lolled back in her head, stumbling forward down the steps to the witness stand.

Above the fold.

Hailey picked it up and began to read the story. The banner read “Heartbroken Mom Tish Adams at Son’s Murder Trial.”

The banner headline started a slow burn in Hailey’s chest. Heartbroken mom? What about Julie’s mom? What about her? And her heartbreak? Had the whole community forgotten about Julie’s body washing up on Tybee Island followed by her unborn baby girl, Lily? What about that?

But looking back at Tish, Hailey felt a pang of sadness. She was heartbroken at the thought of losing her son. All of this was Todd Adams’s fault. He had single-handedly left behind a wake of pain that would not soon subside.

Hailey could only hope the Todd Adams jury didn’t get a look at this. They were already concerned enough about Tish Adams after seeing her pass out in court.

Empathy for Mrs. Adams lasted just a brief moment because when Hailey unfolded the lower half of the paper, it got worse. There, under the fold, was a shot of Hailey Dean! It was a shot of her walking down the courthouse steps with Mike Walker from Snoop magazine thrusting a microphone in her face. And Finch had been right… she did look tired… especially in black and white. In the background and also coming down the courthouse steps, Tish Adams could be spotted. She was looking directly down at Walker and Hailey, and Hailey was convinced it gave the distinct message that she, Hailey, was somehow responsible for Tish’s suffering.

Nothing could be further from the truth.