settled in this torn and marshy stretch of the North Carolina coast, the Crown had declared it the county seat and built the original courthouse in 1754. Later, even though other towns such as Sea Oaks became more populated and developed, Barkley Cove remained the official hub for county government.
Lightning struck the original courthouse in 1912, burning much of the wooden structure to ashes. Rebuilt the next year on the same square at the end of Main Street, it was a brick two-story with twelve-foot windows trimmed in granite. By the 1960s, wild grasses and palmettos, and even a few cattails, had moved in from the marsh and taken over the once-groomed grounds. A lily-choked lagoon flooded in spring and, over the years, had eaten part of the sidewalk.
In contrast, the courtroom itself, designed to replicate the original, was imposing. The elevated judge’s bench, made of dark mahogany with a colorful inlay of the state’s seal, stood under multiple flags, including the Confederate. The half wall of the jury box, also of mahogany, was trimmed in red cedar, and the windows that lined one side of the room framed the sea.
As the officials entered the courtroom, Tom pointed to the stick figures in his drawing and explained who they were. “That’s the bailiff, Hank Jones,” he said as a lanky man of sixty with a hairline that receded past his ears, making his head almost exactly half bald and half not, walked to the front of the room. He wore a gray uniform and a wide belt, hung with a radio, a flashlight, an impressive set of keys, and a holstered Colt six-shooter.
Mr. Jones called out to the crowd. “Sorry, folks, but y’all know the fire marshal’s rules. If ya don’t have a seat, ya gotta leave.”
“That’s Miss Henrietta Jones, the bailiff’s daughter, the court recorder,” Tom explained as a young woman, as tall and thin as her father, walked in quietly and sat at a desk near the judge’s bench. Already seated, the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Eric Chastain, unpacked note pads from his briefcase. Eric, a broad-chested, redheaded man of nearly six feet, dressed in blue suits and wide bright ties purchased at Sears, Roebuck in Asheville.
Bailiff Jones called, “All rise. This court is in session. The Honorable Judge Harold Sims presiding.” Sudden silence fell. The chamber door opened and Judge Sims entered and nodded for everyone to sit, and asked both the prosecuting and defense attorneys to approach the bench. A large-boned man with a round face and bold white sideburns, he lived in Sea Oaks but had officiated over Barkley Cove cases for nine years. He was generally considered to be a no-nonsense, levelheaded, and fair arbitrator. His voice boomed across the room.
“Mr. Milton, your motion to relocate this trial to another county on the grounds that Miss Clark cannot get a fair trial due to prejudices against her in this community is denied. I accept that she has lived in unusual circumstances and been subjected to some prejudice, but I see no evidence that she has endured more prejudices than many people on trial in small towns all across this nation. And some large towns, for that matter. We will proceed here and now.” Nods of approval eased through the room as the attorneys returned to their seats.
He continued. “Catherine Danielle Clark of Barkley County, North Carolina, you are charged with murder in the first degree of Chase Lawrence Andrews, formerly of Barkley Cove. First-degree murder is defined as a premeditated act and, in such cases, the state is allowed to seek the death penalty. The prosecutor has announced that they will do so if you are found guilty.” The room murmured.
Tom seemed to have inched slightly closer to Kya, and she didn’t deny herself that comfort.
“We will begin the jury selection.” Judge Sims turned toward the first two rows filled with potential jurors. As he read off a list of rules and conditions, Sunday Justice jumped down from the windowsill with a thud and, in one fluid motion, leapt onto the judge’s bench. Absentmindedly, Judge Sims stroked the cat’s head as he continued.
“In capital cases, the State of North Carolina allows a juror to be excused if he or she does not believe in the death penalty. Please raise your hand if you will not or cannot impose the death sentence if a guilty verdict is delivered.” No hands were raised.
“Death penalty” was all Kya heard.
The judge continued. “Another legitimate reason to be excused from