old courthouse. The main one was enormous with its own balcony where the black folks often used to stand and watch their kinfolk railroaded, but the other two were very small.
Oakville had grown in population and in criminals, and the old courthouse could no longer handle the volume of traffic coming and going through its doors, so the county commission and the city council pooled their resources and built a new, modern complex with ten courtrooms, all similar in size and shape, all with the same bland gray walls and pine veneer tables, benches, and judges’ dais, so that you could not tell one courtroom from the other. They were small, too, with five or six rows of benches in each to fit the observers who wanted to come and watch a trial. That was usually enough and, in most cases, more than enough. On a normal day, the benches in every courtroom would be empty except for criminals waiting to have their cases called, or loved ones.
The old courthouse was not torn down, however, only because it had become a historic landmark and could not be destroyed. Although in plain sight, it simply became invisible like an old man who had lived out his usefulness to society and stood on the corner of the street every day, confident that his presence would go unnoticed.
Judge Holbrook, being from the north end of the county, didn’t have an office in downtown Oakville, nor a courtroom for that matter. It wasn’t a major problem. There was usually a courtroom empty for hearings, and an office had been located for the judge and his secretary while he was in town. However, the judge was eventually going to be trying Jack Tobin’s murder charge and nobody knew how long the trial was going to last. It would be difficult to tie up one of the other judges’ courtrooms for an indefinite period of time. Besides, none of the new courtrooms were equipped to handle the crowds that were anticipated for the trial of Jack Tobin.
The hearing on the motion was on a Monday morning in late May. The sweltering heat and humidity of the summer had not yet arrived but even though it was an overcast day, it was still in the eighties and humid. Tom had received a call late Friday afternoon advising him that the hearing was going to be in the main courtroom of the old courthouse.
“What do you think that’s about?” he asked Jack. The two men had been through so many trials that they knew every little change could have some significance.
“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “He’s a visiting judge. Maybe they don’t have a courtroom for him.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s letting us know this is going to be one of those old-fashioned lynchings with a trial thrown in just to dress things up, like in the old days.”
“Maybe so,” Jack said. “But they can’t get away with things today that they used to be able to get away with in the old days.”
“You’re right, but it won’t stop them from trying. They’ve gotten this far.”
They found a parking spot close to the courthouse, which was unusual since they arrived only minutes before the hearing was scheduled to begin.
They weren’t surprised by the legion of reporters and television cameras. Both men knew this was going to be a media circus—a prominent lawyer on trial for murdering a serial killer. It didn’t get any better than that. However, they were surprised by the small number of people in attendance and the lack of any signs supporting one position or another.
“No wonder we got a good parking spot,” Jack said.
“Let’s hope that’s just the beginning of our good luck,” Tom replied. “Get ready. We’re going to plow through this slew of reporters ahead.”
I’ve been in Tom’s position so many times in my life, Jack thought to himself as they started side by side to push through the crowd of media people shouting questions and snapping pictures. Now it’s my turn to be the client, to rely on my lawyer and the system. God help me.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Robert Merton was already in the courtroom when Tom and Jack arrived. He greeted them both amiably as if they were business rivals who had just arrived for a negotiation. Anyone looking at the tall, handsome defendant and his even taller elder statesman lawyer would have thought the State had no chance based on appearances alone. Merton was a short, thick, unattractive man with olive skin and