Technically, that was how it was supposed to work.
But this was a legal matter. There were always workarounds.
Ken Coin would argue that Miranda did not matter because Kelly had voluntarily made the recorded statements. There was one giant legal hurdle in his way. In order for the video to be admissible, Coin had to prove that a reasonable person—fortunately, not Kelly Wilson herself—would assume that Kelly was not in police custody when the statements were recorded. If Kelly believed that she was under arrest, that handcuffs and fingerprint impressions and a mugshot were imminent, then she was entitled to the reading of her rights.
Ergo, no Miranda rights, no film shown to the jury.
At least that was how it was supposed to work.
There were other weak links in the system, including the mood of the judge. Very rarely did you find a completely impartial figure on the bench. They tended to lean toward the prosecution or the defense. No judge liked to be appealed, but as a case moved higher up the chain, it became increasingly more difficult for a defendant to argue that a mistake had been made.
No judge liked to reverse a lower judge.
Sam closed her notepad. She glanced behind her. The Wilsons sat with Lenore. Sam had talked with them for less than five minutes before the general public was allowed into the courtroom. Cameras clicked as photographers caught Sam making eye contact with the killer’s parents. Video cameras seemed to be banned from the courtroom, but there were plenty of reporters recording every moment with their pens.
This was not the appropriate setting for a reassuring smile, so Sam nodded to Ava, then to Ely. Both nodded back, their jaws clenched as they clung to one another. Their clothes were stiff with newness, the creases from hangers and folds pronounced on their arms and shoulders. The first thing they had asked Sam after establishing Kelly’s disposition was when they would be able to return to their home.
Sam had been unable to provide a definitive answer.
The Wilsons took the lack of information with a type of resignation that seemed ingrained in their souls. They were clearly part of that forgotten swath of poor, rural people. They were accustomed to waiting for the system to play out, usually not in their favor. The hollowed looks in their eyes reminded Sam of the images of refugees in magazines. Perhaps there were parallels. Ava and Ely Wilson were completely lost, forced into an unfamiliar world, their sense of safety, their sense of peace, everything that they cherished from their life before, was gone.
Sam reminded herself that Lucy Alexander and Douglas Pinkman were gone, too.
Lenore leaned over and whispered something to Ava. The woman nodded. Sam noted the time. The hearing was about to begin.
Kelly Wilson’s entrance was announced by the distant jingle of chains, as if Santa Claus and his sleigh were on the other side of the wall. The bailiff opened the door. Cameras clicked. Murmurs filled the courtroom.
Kelly was ushered in by four armed guards, each of them so large that the girl was lost in a sea of flesh. She was reduced to shuffling her feet because they had put her in four-point restraints. The guard on the right held her by the arm. His fingers overlapped. The man was so muscular he could have picked up Kelly one-handed and placed her in the chair.
Sam was glad that he was standing beside Kelly. The moment the girl saw her parents, her knees gave out. The guard kept her from falling to the floor. Kelly began to wail.
“Mama—” She tried to reach out, but her hands were chained to her waist. “Daddy!” she yelled. “Please!”
Sam was up and across the room before she could think about how she had managed to move so quickly. She grabbed Kelly’s hands. “Look at me.”
The girl would not look away from her parents. “Mama, I’m so sorry.”
Sam squeezed Kelly’s hands harder, just enough to cause pain. “Look at me,” she demanded.
Kelly looked at Sam. Her face was wet with tears. Her nose was running. Her teeth chattered.
“I’m here,” Sam said, holding firm to her hands. “You’re okay. Keep looking at me.”
“We all right?” the bailiff asked. He was an older man, but the hand resting on the butt of his taser was steady.
Sam said, “Yes. We’re all right.”
The guards unlocked the chains from Kelly’s ankles, her wrists, her waist.
“I can’t do this,” Kelly whispered.
“You’re okay,” Sam insisted, willing her to be so. “Remember how we talked about people watching you.”
Kelly nodded. She used her sleeve to wipe her nose, holding firm to Sam’s hands.
Sam said, “You need to be strong. Don’t upset your parents. They want you to be a big girl. All right?”
Kelly nodded again. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re okay,” Sam repeated.
The chains hit the floor. One of the guards leaned down and gathered them in one hand.
Sam leaned into the girl’s shoulder as they walked to the table. Sam sat down. The guard pushed Kelly down into the chair beside her.
Kelly looked back at her parents. “I’m okay,” she told them, her voice quivering. “I’m okay.”
The door opened to the judge’s chamber.
The court clerk said, “All rise for Judge Stanley Lyman.”
Sam nodded to Kelly, indicating that she should stand. As the judge walked to the bench, Kelly grabbed Sam’s hand again. Her palms were soaked with sweat.
Stan Lyman appeared to be Rusty’s age, absent the avuncular spring in his step. Judges were a varied breed. Some were confident enough to simply take their place at the bench. Others sought to establish their dominance the moment they entered the courtroom. Stan Lyman fell into the latter category. He scowled as he scanned the gallery, the overflowing prosecution table. His gaze stopped on Sam. He performed an almost mechanical assessment of every section of her body, as if processing her through an MRI. She had not been so thoroughly inspected by a man since her last physical.
He banged his gavel, his eyes still on Sam. “Be seated.”
Sam sat, pulling Kelly down beside her. The unwelcome butterflies returned. She wondered if Charlie was watching from the gallery.
The clerk announced, “This is case number OA 15-925, Dickerson County versus Kelly Rene Wilson, for arraignment.” She turned to Ken Coin. “Counsel, please state your name for the record.”
Coin stood and addressed the judge. “Good afternoon, Your Honor. Kenneth C. Coin, Darren Nickelby, Eugene ‘Cotton’ Henderson, and Kaylee Collins for the county.”
Lyman gave a stern nod. “Good afternoon.”
Sam stood again. “Your Honor, Samantha Quinn for Miss Wilson, who is present.”
“Afternoon.” Lyman nodded again. “This arraignment will qualify as a probable cause hearing. Miss Quinn, if you and Miss Wilson will stand for arraignment.”
Sam nodded for Kelly to stand beside her. The girl was shaking again. Sam did not hold her hand. Kelly would be in and out of courtrooms for the next several years. She needed to learn to stand on her own.
“Miss Quinn.” Lyman stared down at Sam from the bench. He had gone off-script. “You will remove those sunglasses in my courtroom.”
Sam was momentarily bewildered by the request. Her lenses had been darkened for so many years that she hardly remembered. “Your Honor, these are my prescription glasses. They’re tinted for a medical condition.”
“Come up here.” He waved her to the b
ench. “Let me see them.”
Sam felt the mad thumping of her heart in her chest. One hundred sets of eyes were on her back. Cameras were clicking. Reporters were noting every word. Ken Coin coughed into his hand again, but said nothing to vouch for her.
Sam left her cane in her purse. She burned with humiliation as she limped toward the judge. The cameras sounded like dozens of grasshoppers rubbing together their legs. The images they captured would be printed in newspapers, perhaps shown online where Sam’s colleagues would see them. The stories that accompanied the photos would likely delve into why she needed her glasses. The locals in the gallery, the ones who had been around for years, would gladly provide the details. They were scrutinizing Sam’s gait, trying to see how much damage the bullet had done.
She was a veritable freak at the circus sideshow.
At the bench, Sam’s hand trembled as she removed her glasses. The harsh fluorescent light stabbed into her corneas. She told the judge, “Please be careful with them. I didn’t bring a spare.”
Lyman took the glasses, roughly, then held them up for inspection. “Were you not told to dress appropriately for my courtroom?”
Sam looked down at her outfit, the same variation on the black silk blouse and flowing black pants she wore every day. “I beg your pardon?”
“What are you wearing?”
“Armani,” she told the judge. “May I have my glasses returned, please?”
He placed them on the bench with a hard tap. “You may take your place.”
Sam checked the lenses for smudges. She slipped on the glasses. She turned back around. She searched for Charlie in the crowd, but all she could see were the vaguely familiar faces, older now, of people she recognized from her childhood.
The walk back was longer than the walk to the bench. She reached out for the table. At the last minute, she saw Ben sitting in the gallery directly behind Ken Coin. He winked at her, smiling his encouragement.
Kelly took Sam’s hand as they stood together. She repeated Sam’s encouragement back to her. “You’re okay.”
“I am, thank you.” Sam let the girl hold her hand. She was too rattled to do otherwise.