Chapter 48
Erika
There are reporters outside the courthouse, so we follow Landon’s instructions and go around to the back. Thank God they can’t use Liam’s name, but I’m not sure where the restrictions end. Certainly if the entire Internet knows who he is, the reporters do too. They’re not by our house, but maybe soon they will be. And if Liam gets tried as an adult, which Landon says is a strong possibility, I’m worried all of those protections will vanish.
The last time I was in a courtroom was when I served on a jury nearly a decade ago. There are rows of benches in the back for people to sit. A wooden table for the defense and one for the prosecution, and then a bench at the front where the judge presides. As Jason, Hannah, and I slide into the bench in the back, I’m reminded vaguely of going to church. It’s been longer since I’ve been in a church than a courthouse.
Maybe we should have been more religious. Maybe that would have saved Liam.
The judge is already seated in the front of the room. The Honorable George Maycomb. He’s old—old enough to be my father, with a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. Landon said that Judge Maycomb tends to be lenient, although when it comes to the murder of a young girl, all bets are off.
After about ten minutes, a bailiff leads Liam into the courtroom, and I get my first look at my son since the police took him away. He’s wearing a wrinkled orange jumpsuit that’s a size too big on him, and he looks awful. His cheekbone is still purple from where Tyler hit him, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night. He looks so bad, Hannah lets out a gasp when she sees him.
For a moment, he doesn’t look like a sixteen-year-old, on the verge of adulthood—he looks like a scared little boy. My little boy. The same boy who sported a gap-toothed grin for a whole year and would hold up fingers to tell his age. I want more than anything to run up to him and throw my arms around him. I want to protect him from this.
But I can’t. I did my best, and I failed.
We don’t even get a chance to talk to him. Liam is led straight to his seat, but he sees us. He doesn’t wave, but he nods his head—I suppose an enthusiastic hello would be unbecoming coming from an accused murderer. I cringe as I recall that the last thing I said to him was to beg him to tell us where Olivia is. How could I have said that in front of the police? Yes, I meant it, but it was the wrong thing to say. I wonder if he hates me.
Landon explained to us what would happen today. There will be no jury, but the charges will be listed, Liam will enter his not guilty plea, then Judge Maycomb will set bail. If there’s bail. Given he’s accused of murder, there’s no guarantee.
The prosecutor is a woman named Cynthia Feinstein, who is around forty, with black eyes and an angry frown permanently etched on her lips. She looks like she wants to strap my son into the electric chair personally. When she stands up to speak, her voice is deep for a woman—intimidating.
“Your honor.” She addresses the judge, her black eyes darkening further. “There is ample evidence that Liam Cass is responsible for Olivia Mercer’s disappearance. He was confirmed by multiple other students to be dating her. He was seen at her house at two in the morning, and she was witnessed entering his vehicle. Her hair and her blood were both found in the trunk of the vehicle when it was searched later. There are no other suspects in the case or persons of interest. Olivia Mercer has been missing for three days now, and given the blood in his vehicle, there is compelling reason to believe that he has killed her and hidden the body.” Feinstein pauses. “Given the seriousness of these charges and the overwhelming evidence, the defendant has ample reason to leave town to avoid conviction.”
When the prosecutor says it like that, it sounds very convincing. If I were the judge, I wouldn’t give Liam bail. I look at my son, who is sitting quietly at the defense table, his shoulders rigid, staring straight ahead.
I wish I knew what he was thinking.
Landon gets to his feet. “Your Honor, every piece of evidence that the prosecution has is circumstantial. We don’t even know at this point if Olivia has run away. Yes, they were together that night and there was evidence she was in his car. But is that so surprising if she was his girlfriend? Moreover, the defendant is a sixteen-year-old child. He’s just a boy.”
At Landon’s words, every eye in the courtroom goes to Liam. I’m glad he’s in the rumpled jail jumpsuit and not in a suit. In a suit, he would have looked older. But now, he barely looks sixteen. He looks like a scared little boy.