As soon as Green finished, the jury retired to deliberate. I thought I’d be in for a long wait, but in less than thirty minutes, I saw the bailiffs and clerks bustling around, a sure sign the jurors had made their decision.

Five minutes later, they filed back into the courtroom. Green turned his palm upward and raised his right hand as though he were a symphony conductor coaxing a crescendo from the woodwinds. The foreman rose, an uncertain look on his weathered face.

“I understand you’ve reached a verdict,” the judge said.

“We have, Your Honor.”

“Pass it to the bailiff.”

A uniformed deputy crossed the courtroom to the jury box, took the folded piece of paper from the foreman’s hand, and delivered it to Judge Green. The judge dramatically unfolded the paper, looked at it with raised brows, refolded it, and handed it to the bailiff. The bailiff then walked the form back across the room to the foreman.

“Mr. Foreman,” the judge said, “on the first count of the indictment, premeditated first-degree murder, how does the jury find?”

“We find the defendant not guilty.”

“On the second count of the indictment, especially aggravated kidnapping, how does the jury find?”

“We find the defendant not guilty.”

“On the third count of the indictment, aggravated burglary, how does the jury find?”

“We find the defendant not guilty.”

I watched Dockery pat his lawyer on the back and walk out the door arm in arm with his mother.

The son of a bitch had gotten away with it again.

Wednesday, August 27

I fumed all the way home, muttering to myself about what an idiot Alexander Dunn had been. When I pulled into the driveway, the garage door was open.