Jim’s in-laws were back in court for the trial, dressed to the nines and sitting in the front row. Jim could feel their eyes boring into the back of his skull; he imagined Bonnie’s mother smiling each time the DA scored a victory. And for the prosecution, the victories kept coming.
Forensic experts supported Davis’s theory of the crime scene: whether or not Beauchamp was left-handed, the impact of his fall would have knocked the gun from his hand, and the gun itself would have been spattered with blood.
A forensic accountant testified that Camp Nelson was a “money pit,” costing the Hoods hundreds of thousands of dollars, a loss Jim would have recuperated through his wife’s $500,000 insurance policy. He further testified that Jim’s own real-estate holdings were spread so thin that he was more paper tiger than tycoon: “If things were to continue as they are now,” the accountant told the DA, “he’d be bankrupt in a year.”
Jim’s team of celebrity attorneys couldn’t stem the tide: it took the jury just under three hours to convict.
* * *
At sentencing, Jim was led into the courtroom in shackles and an orange jumpsuit. He scanned the front row and found Bonnie’s parents in their usual place.
They’d left Mindy and Jim Jr. at home, just as they always did: why risk painting Jim as the single father of two bereft children when there was a good chance he’d go away for life?
The judge, a sixty-something man with slicked-back hair and glasses that looked more like goggles, called the session to order, then read a few preliminary remarks before asking Jim if he’d like to address the court. Jim stood and looked around the room. He forced himself to make eye contact with Bonnie’s mother, then turned to face the judge.
“I just want to say how truly sorry I am,” he began.
He’d rehearsed the speech in his cell, the way he’d rehearsed his 911 call in front of the bathroom mirror at home. But he hadn’t made that call in front of an audience. Here, in the courtroom, he was keenly aware of all the people staring at him, rooting for him to fail.
“I shot Mr. Beauchamp in self-defense,” he continued, “but if I could take it back, I would. Whatever the circumstances, I killed a man, and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
It was like he was standing outside of himself, watching and critiquing his own performance. He was wooden, unconvincing. His voice rose and fell in all the wrong places. He’d practiced crying, but now the tears wouldn’t come. And now that he’d stopped talking, he couldn’t seem to start up again. He’d planned to give an outpouring of remorse, to throw himself at the judge’s mercy, to beg for the Widow Beauchamp’s forgiveness, but instead of pushing on he simply sat back down and hung his head.
The judge, unimpressed, sentenced him to twenty-nine years. The courtroom erupted in tears and applause. Jim kept his eyes on the ground as the bailiff led him away.
* * *
It was a long three months before Bonnie’s father brought Mindy and Jim Jr. for a visit. Jim sat on one side of a thick glass wall, the kids on the other. They spoke through headsets. Mindy, Jim’s tomboy, now wore a bright pink dress with a matching ribbon in her hair. Jim Jr. was suffering his first outbreak of acne. Both children put their hands up to the glass. Jim’s father-in-law stood back beside one of the correctional officers. He hadn’t so much as nodded to Jim.
“I wish I could bring you real clothes,” Mindy told her father.
“This outfit is plenty comfortable,” Jim said. “It’s like wearing pajamas all the time.”
Looking at them now, he regretted every harsh word, every instance when he’d lost his temper or refused to play one of Jim Jr.’s board games. More and more he wondered why he’d fought so hard against Bonnie’s version of the future. A quiet country life spent watching his kids grow up…what else had he wanted?
“You look bigger, Daddy,” Jim Jr. said. “I bet everyone here is afraid of you.”
Jim smiled.
“It’s not muscle,” he said. “It’s all the delicious meals they’ve been feeding me.”
In fact, prison food had put a good twenty pounds on him. His face was bloated, and for the first time in his life his gut jutted out over his waistband.
“We saw you on the news,” Mindy said.
Jim winced. He’d hoped his in-laws would shield the kids from media coverage. There was a difference between knowing the truth and being slapped with it day in and day out.
“I guess I’m famous now,” he smiled.
“It isn’t true, is it?” Mindy asked.
“What isn’t true, honey?”
He regretted the question almost before he’d finished asking it. Better, he thought, to issue a blanket denial: No sweetie, none of it is true. Even the police make mistakes.
“They said that you didn’t really have any money and that you hired that man to shoot Mommy and then you shot him because you couldn’t afford to pay him,” Jim Jr. blurted out.
Jim fought off a sharp pang in his gut.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t do any of those things. Your father’s innocent.”
But looking through the glass at his children, he accepted for the first time that he wasn’t innocent. He’d spent his months in prison scheming, denying, searching for a way out. But there was no point in struggling: he was exactly where he belonged. His children would have better lives without him.