Lyman asked, “Mr. Coin, when can a copy of this hospital video be made available?”
Coin said, “We’ll have to have the film converted, sir. It was made on an iPhone belonging to Sheriff Keith Coin.”
“Your Honor?” Sam felt her teeth grit. Keith Coin was the very definition of male authority. Kelly would have jumped off a cliff for him. “Can I be clear—as you gathered, I’ve been away for a while. Sheriff Coin is Prosecutor Coin’s brother?”
“You know he is, Samantha.” Coin leaned toward the judge, his hand gripping the edge of the table. “Your Honor, I’ve been told we’ll need to get somebody up from Atlanta to make sure the video transfer is done properly. There’s a cloud or something involved. I’m no expert in these things. I’m just an ol’ boy who misses the kind of phones that weighed twenty pounds and cost two bucks a month to rent from Ma Bell.” He grinned at the judge, who was roughly his age. “Sir, these things take money and time.”
“Spend the money, rush the time,” Lyman said. “Miss Quinn, is there anything else?”
Sam felt the euphoria that came from knowing a judge was leaning her way. She decided to push her luck. “Your Honor, on the subject of video recordings, we would also ask for the footage from the security cameras at school to be turned over as quickly as possible so that our experts have time to analyze them.”
Coin rapped his knuckles once on the table, clearly on his back foot. “That’s gonna take a while, too, Your Honor. My own people haven’t viewed that footage. We have a responsibility to the privacy of other folks at the school at the time of the shooting to make sure we are turning over only evidence that the defendant is entitled to per the rules of discovery.”
Lyman appeared dubious. “You yourself have yet to view the footage taken from the middle school yesterday morning?”
Coin’s eyes shifted. “My people have not, no sir.”
“All of your people need to view it?”
“Experts, sir.” Coin grasped at straws. “We need—”
“I’ll put you out of your misery,” Lyman said, obviously agitated. “For your people to view this footage would take one week? Two weeks?”
“I could not hazard a guess, Your Honor. The level of moving pieces is—”
“I’ll expect your answer to my question by the end of the week.” He picked up the gavel, ready to end the hearing.
Sam said, “If I may, Your Honor?”
He rolled the gavel in the air, urging speed.
“Could the prosecutor tell me if I need to retain an expert in auditory analysis as well? It’s often time-challenging to locate qualified professionals.”
Lyman said, “I have found in order to locate a courtroom professional, you need only drag a hundred-dollar bill through a university parking lot.” He smiled as some of the reporters laughed at the purloined joke. “Mr. Coin?”
Coin looked down at the table. His hand was on his hip, suit coat unbuttoned, tie askew. “Your Honor.”
Sam waited. Coin offered nothing else.
Lyman prodded, “Mr. Coin, your answer to the question of audio?”
Coin tapped the table with his index finger. “‘Was the baby killed?’”
No one answered.
“‘Was the baby killed?’” Coin tapped on the table again, one time for each word. “‘Was the baby killed?’”
Sam was not going to stop this, but she gave an obligatory, “Your Honor.”
Lyman shrugged in confusion.
Coin said, “That is what Miss Quinn is after. She wanted to know what Kelly Wilson said in the hallway after she murdered a man and a child in cold blood.”
Lyman frowned. “Mr. Coin. This is not the place.”
“‘The Baby—’”
“Mr. Coin.”
“Was the name used by the Alexander parents to describe Lucy—”
“Mr. Coin.”
“Called that by Barbara Alexander to her students. By Frank Alexander at the high school—”
“Mr. Coin, this is your last warning.”
“Where Mr. Alexander was going to flunk Kelly Wilson.” Coin turned to the crowd. “Kelly wanted to know: was the Baby killed.”
Lyman banged his gavel.
Coin told Kelly, “Yes, the Baby was killed.”
“Bailiff.”
Coin looked back at the judge. “Your Honor—”
“Me?” Lyman feigned surprise. “I didn’t realize you knew I was here.”
There was no nervous laughter from the gallery. Coin’s words had left their mark. The headlines had been set for the next few days.
Coin said, “My deepest apologies, Your Honor. I just came from little Lucy’s autopsy and—”
“Enough!” Lyman’s eyes found the bailiff’s. The man stood at the ready. “As you said, Mr. Coin. This is an arraignment, not the Get Away with Murder Show.”
“Yes, sir.” Coin rested his fingertips on the table, bracing himself, his back to the crowd. “My apologies, Your Honor. I was overcome.”
“And I am over your grandstanding.” Lyman was visibly furious.
Sam pushed again. “Your Honor, am I to understand there is audio attached to the school security footage?”
“I believe that is understood by everyone in this courtroom, Miss Quinn.” Lyman rested his cheek against his fist. He took a moment to consider the implications of what had just happened. The deliberations did not take long. “Miss Quinn, the prosecutor will deliver to your office and the court clerk by tomorrow, five o’clock sharp, the following timelines—”
Sam had her notepad and pen ready.
“The hasty release of the Wilson abode back into their custody. The
release of the full, unedited videotape made at the hospital. The release of any and all security camera footage, unedited, in or around the middle school, the elementary school beside it and the high school across the street.”
Coin opened his mouth, but rethought his objection.
Lyman said, “Mr. Coin, your timelines will astonish me with their speed and specificity. Am I correct?”
“Your Honor, you are correct.”
The judge finally banged his gavel.
“All rise,” the clerk called.
Lyman slammed the door behind him.
A collective breath was released in the courtroom.
The guards came for Kelly. They slowly prepared the restraints, generously allowing Kelly a few moments with her parents.
Coin did not offer the customary handshake. Sam barely noticed. She was too busy writing in her pad, recording for Rusty what exactly he could expect tomorrow afternoon because the court transcript would not be made ready for at least another week. There was a lot the judge had demanded; more than she had hoped for. Sam ended up having to write around some of the earlier notes she had taken when she spoke with Kelly.
Sam stopped writing.
She looked at the transcription, underlined—
It’s just a little upset this time of day.
Sam turned the page. Then the next page. Her eyes skimmed down what Kelly Wilson had told her.
… Tummy was hurting like it does … Usually calms down on its own … Sick same time yesterday … Make up for missing classes last week …
“Kelly.” Sam turned to the girl. Her feet were already chained. The guards were about to handcuff her, but Sam stepped in, drawing her into a close hug. The orange jumper bunched up under Kelly’s arms. Her stomach pressed against Sam’s.
Kelly whispered, “Thank you, Miss Quinn.”
“You’ll be okay,” Sam told her. “Remember what I told you about not talking to anyone.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep to myself.” She held out her thin wrists so that the guards could cuff together her hands. The chain was wrapped around her waist.
Sam resisted the need to tell them not to wrap the chain too tightly.
Lucy Alexander was not the baby that Kelly Wilson had been concerned about.