Nancy Grace: Murder in the Courthouse

“But Mom…”

“No ‘buts.’ Everything will work out, you’ll see, my precious boy. Now… let’s talk about what you should wear tomorrow for court. That’s all you have to worry about. Do you understand?”

He nodded, shutting up so his mom could talk, like always. It was easier that way.

“It’s all going to be OK. You just wait and see. You’ve got the best lawyer money can buy. Listen to me… listen to your mother. Now I’m going to get those photos for you to put up in your room.”

“It’s not a room, Mother, it’s a cell. A jail cell .”

“I know that, dear, but I prefer to refer to it as your room. And that’s how you should think of it too, like a dorm room.”

“A dorm room? Are you crazy?”

“Calm down, son. No need for the sheriffs to hear you agitated, is there? Remember, I went to nursing school before I married your father and had you. Want me to get a doctor’s order for a sedative?”

“You never finished.”

Tish gave her son a look that would’ve scared anyone else into cold silence before she spoke. “Thank you for reminding me that I gave up a career for you and your father. And no, dear… I’m not crazy. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation and that’s what you need to do, too. Now let’s get those pictures of Julie Love up in your room.”

“My cell.”

“The power of positive thinking, Todd, positive thinking.”

“Mother. I’m behind bars on two murder one counts. My trial starts in the morning. They had to bus jurors in from another county. What’s positive about that?”

Todd Adams’s voice took on a whining quality. His mother didn’t notice.

“What’s positive? The fact that the world will hear what a wonderful son and husband you are. They’ll hear about your golf scholarship, your job, your degree, your beautiful home and family… that’s what’s positive.”

“And I don’t want those pictures up in my cell.”

“Room.”

“OK… room… whatever! I don’t want those pictures up in my room !”

“But why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because…” He paused. “They make me depressed. I’m already miserable in this place. Crappy food, hardly any TV, and it’s not even cable…”

“But photos of you and Julie Love will remind you of all the happy times-”

“No they won’t. They’ll remind me that I’m here in jail because she’s dead. They’ll remind me of home… of what I’m missing.”

“Shut up!” It came out like a hiss. Tish turned in her seat to look back at the guard at the door. He was pale and wimpy. The way he’d kept peering in through the glass door, glaring through a hideous set of thick glasses… she was positive he’d eavesdropped on every single word she and her son had so stupidly uttered.

His mother’s tone made him sit up straight in his chair and stop the whining.

“How will it look in front of a jury when they find out you don’t have a single photo of Julie Love up in your room?”

“Cell. My cell, Mother.”

The two sat in sulky silence, each staring the other down. Finally, Tish Adams broke the silence.

“Your father and I didn’t work our fingers to the bone to have our son arrested, much less convicted for first-degree murder. This absolutely will not happen to our family. Now you listen to me and you listen good. You will put up these photos and you’ll keep them up. And remember, no friends. Nobody in this facility is your friend, not the guards, not the inmates, not even the chaplain. You have one friend, Todd, and that’s me. Your mother.”

He wouldn’t look up, instead gazing down at his knees like a corrected schoolboy.

“Now wipe that look off your face. Your father’s about to come in to visit and then DelVecchio. I’ll get the photos. Understood?”

Todd Adams wouldn’t answer.

“I said, understood ?”

“Understood, Mother.”

“Good. You’ll see, sweetheart. And don’t worry about the Cynthia girl. That will have no bearing on this whatsoever. It was just a stupid mistake on your part, really just careless. It was ancient history… all the way back to high school. Nobody cares about that. And, truth be told, if you hadn’t been married to someone… someone like her … you’d have never sought a shoulder to cry on. That’s all it was really, just a shoulder to cry on. This will all turn out just fine. You’ll be out of here in no time and back home where you belong. With your father and me.”

Todd Adams said nothing.

Undeterred by her son’s lack of enthusiasm, she went on. “Mark my words, son, we will hold our heads up high in this town again. We will show our faces at church the very first Sunday you are out of this… this dungeon, and we will march right up the center aisle and onto the front row. You’ll see.”

“Mom, if you hate this town so much, why don’t we just move once this is over?”

The look she gave him should have killed him, but it didn’t. In fact, it seemed to have no impact at all.

Looking deftly over her shoulder, she plowed forward a little more loudly and a lot more cheerfully. “I’ll bring the pictures of Julie over in the morning. The wedding photo, in particular, will look perfect right over your bed. On second thought, maybe we should go with, I mean, you’d probably want the sonogram.”

He looked up at his mother blankly. “The what?”

“The sonogram… of the baby … from the doctor’s office, you dolt.” The words came out in another hiss that caused the guards to look toward them.

Tish Adams straightened her spine, smoothed down the pale yellow skirt of her matching Talbots sweater and skirt set, and pulled up the corners of a smile. She methodically gathered together her purse, papers, and a gorgeous set of faux tortoiseshell Chanel sunglasses. She stood up to leave. Brushing past the guards, she smiled brightly. “Hello, gentlemen! How nice to see you this morning! Have a blessed and wonderful day, you two.”

Hailey lowered the window to let the breeze blow onto her face and rush through her hair. It was the exact opposite of the canned, recirculated air on the plane. Leaving the airport exit, grass on either side of the I-95 waved gently in the breeze. A lonely seagull flew just ahead of the Crown Vic, floating on a current against a blue sky.

The hot afternoon was interrupted when squawks on Fincher’s police radio ripped into a steady stream, the brief jumble of numbers repeatedly followed by an address or a truncated sentence.

Police spoke in a language of numbers, each one signaling a different police call: car accident, burglary, stolen car, and so on. The numeric talk was so pervasive on the job it became second nature, and they often used it in regular speech.

“Turn it up, Fincher.”

“No, little girl, this is none of our business. This isn’t Atlanta.”

“Come on. Turn it up. I can’t help it. I have to know!”

“OK. But curiosity killed the cat…”

“And satisfaction brought it back!” She had a comeback ready. Fincher reached his right hand across and turned up the volume on his police radio.

“Repeat… 48-4… 50-48. 48-4… 50-48.” The voice from dispatch sounded urgent.

“Hailey, that’s a-”

“I know what it is. Person dead.”

Dispatch interrupted again. “… 3443 Randolph Drive… corner Randolph and Armory.”

“All units in the vicinity, signal 63. Repeat… signal 63. Code 3. Repeat signal 63.”

Hailey felt a shock go down her body and turned quickly to Fincher. “It’s a 63, Fincher.” A sick feeling burned in the pit of her stomach. 63 meant officer down.