“What exactly led you to my client, Detective O’Dowd?” Cotzee asked.
O’Dowd, who’d stayed up all night rehearsing his testimony, then compensated for the lack of sleep by drinking a pot of coffee and three shots of espresso, explained in a jittery voice how witnesses from the saloon had led them to Beauchamp’s fingerprint.
“And what was it witnesses noticed about my client?” Cotzee followed up.
“They thought his behavior was unusual.”
“Unusual how?”
“He sat at the end of the bar, drinking alone. At first people thought he must be waiting for someone, but nobody came, and he didn’t budge from his stool the whole night.”
“Anything else?” Cotzee asked.
O’Dowd understood from Cotzee’s tone how thin their path to Beauchamp must seem.
“Just that it isn’t the kind of place people wander into,” he said quickly. “It’s off a small country road. Only locals know about it.”
“And my client told you that a local recommended the place to him. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Have you ever had drink alone in a bar, Detective O’Dowd?”
“I guess so.”
“And you weren’t breaking the law, were you?”
“Of course not. That’s not what—”
“Did any of your witnesses place Mr. Beauchamp at Mrs. Hood’s cabin later that night?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“How about in the vicinity of the cabin?”
“No.”
“Anywhere on the property other than saloon?”
“No.”
“Were you able to establish any connection whatsoever between Mr. Beauchamp and Mrs. Hood?”
“Only that they spent most of that night in the same place.”
“As did any number of people. Tell me, what was my client’s motive for killing Mrs. Hood and shooting her lover? In your opinion.”
“We think Mr. Beauchamp went to the saloon looking for a mark—someone to rob. He followed Mrs. Hood back to her cabin. He didn’t expect to find Mr. Manuel there. Things went bad, and he panicked.”
“You think? That all sounds awfully murky to me. I hate to use the term ‘witch hunt,’ but it fits here. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” O’Dowd said. “I wouldn’t.”
“Really? You couldn’t find a viable suspect, so you went after the one person the locals called strange, though really there was nothing at all strange about his behavior. It happens all the time: He doesn’t fit in, so he must have done it. That kind of logic has landed more than one innocent man in prison, and of course it’s the taxpayers who foot the bill.”
“Mr. Beauchamp had a history of—”
“Of robbery, Detective O’Dowd. Mrs. Hood and Mr. Manuel weren’t robbed, though their valuables, including a sizeable wad of cash, were lying in plain sight. So I’ll ask again: do you have any physical evidence whatsoever linking my client to Mrs. Hood’s murder? I mean apart from a fingerprint found a half-mile away from the crime scene.”
O’Dowd hoped he didn’t look as beaten as he felt. He hadn’t expected to be put through the wringer by a public defender.
“Please answer the question, Detective O’Dowd,” Cotzee said.
O’Dowd cleared his throat.
“We also had an eyewitness,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” Cotzee said. “An eyewitness who saw a ‘tall, shadowy figure.’ An eyewitness who offered police no description of his assailant until after you’d made an arrest. We’re all very familiar with Mr. Manuel. Like I said, what we have here is more witch hunt than investigation.”
Jim watched O’Dowd leave the stand and exit the courtroom. As he turned back toward the judge, he locked eyes with Beauchamp. Neither man blinked or looked away until the next witness was called.
* * *
A few days later, it was all over. The jury deliberated for just an hour. When it was time for the verdict to be announced, Jim sat in his habitual front-row seat, flanked by his in-laws. The jury foreman, a retired postal worker in her mid-sixties, held up a piece of paper and took as long as humanly possible to read the phrase: “We the jury find the defendant…” After an equally lengthy pause, she added the phrase: “Not guilty.”
Bonnie’s mother let out a long wail that seemed to silence all other grumblings in the courtroom. Jim put hand on her shoulder; she swiped it away and recoiled into her husband’s arms.
Jim turned to watch Beauchamp’s reaction. He had Cotzee in a bear hug and was crying and smiling at once. Beauchamp spotted Jim watching and turned to face him. His smile dropped away. He had the look of a school bully who’s spotted his prey from across the cafeteria. Jim locked eyes with his wife’s killer for a second time. To his surprise, he felt more anger than fear.