And here Verna McCullough turned her pale blue eyes on those of Margery O’Hare, and to those nearest it was possible that the faintest smile played around her lips. “It was a book by the name of Little Women.”
The court exploded into a wall of noise, so that the judge was forced to bang his gavel six, eight times before enough people noticed—or could hear enough—to quiet it. There was laughter, disbelief, and shouted fury from different parts of the court, and the judge, his brows an overhanging ledge, grew puce with anger.
“Silence! I will not have this court held in disrespect, do you hear me? The next person to make a sound will be in contempt of court! Silence in the court!”
The room quieted. The judge waited a moment to be sure that everyone had got the message.
“Now, Counsels, will you approach the bench?”
There was some muttered conversation, this time inaudible in the court, under which a low hum of whispers had begun to escalate dangerously. Across the courtroom, Mr. Van Cleve looked like he was about to combust. Alice saw him get up once, twice, but the sheriff turned and physically forced him to sit down. She could see Van Cleve pointing, his mouth working, as if he couldn’t believe he, too, didn’t have the right to go up and debate with the judge. Margery sat very still, disbelieving.
“Go on,” muttered Beth, her knuckles white where she gripped the bench. “Go on. Go on.”
And then, after an age, the two lawyers made their way back to their seats and the judge banged his gavel again.
“Can we call the physician back, please?”
There was a low murmur as the physician was recalled to the witness box. The public gallery was full of people shifting in their seats, pulling faces at each other.
The defense counsel rose.
“Dr. Tasker. One further question: in your professional opinion, would it be possible that the bruising to the victim’s face might have been caused by the weight of a large hard-backed book falling onto it? For example, if he had slipped and fallen backward.” He motioned to the clerk and held up the copy of Little Women. “One the size of this edition, for example? Here—I’ll let you feel the weight of it.”
The physician weighed the book in his hands and considered this for a moment. “Why, yes. I would imagine that would be a reasonable explanation.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
It took the judge two more minutes of legal conversation to conclude. He banged his gavel to quiet the court. Then, abruptly, he rested his head in his hands, and stayed like that for a full minute. When he raised it, he eyed the court with what seemed to be an impossibly weary expression.
“It seems to me in the light of this new evidence I am minded to agree with the defense counsel that this can no longer be positioned with any certainty as a murder trial. All solid evidence seems to suggest this was . . . an unfortunate accident. A good man set out to do a good deed, and due to the, uh, prevailing conditions—shall we say?—suffered an untimely end.”
He took a deep breath and placed his hands together.
“Given the Commonwealth evidence in this case is largely circumstantial, and heavily dependent on this one book, and given the witness’s clear and unwavering testimony as to its prior whereabouts, I am moved to strike this trial and instead record a verdict of accidental death. Miss McCullough, I thank you for your efforts in doing your . . . civic duty, and I wish to convey my public and heartfelt condolences, once again, for your loss. Miss O’Hare, you are hereby free to leave the court. Clerks, if you could release the prisoner.”
This time the court did erupt. Alice found herself suddenly enveloped by the other women, who were jumping up and down, yelling, tears streaming from their eyes, arms and elbows and chests pressed together in a giant hug. Sven vaulted over the barrier of the public gallery and was there as the jailer undid Margery’s handcuffs, his arms closing around Margery just as she began to sink to the floor in shock. He half walked, half carried her swiftly out of the back exit, Deputy Dulles shielding them before anyone could really work out what was happening. Through it all, Van Cleve could be heard yelling that this was a