Page 92 of The First Gentleman

All of us in the courtroom obey, like a church congregation.

The twelve jurors and four alternates come in and take their seats. I’m a little surprised to see three faces of color—two middle-aged Black women and one young Asian man. That’s more diversity than I expected in New Hampshire.

From here on in, they’ll be sequestered in an information bubble, isolated from news about the trial. But bubbles burst every day.

Superior court judge Walter Dow strides in from chambers. I can see a blue shirt and red necktie peeking from beneath his black robe. Dow is sixty, tanned, with close-cropped white hair and black-rimmed glasses. He settles into his large leather chair on the bench and nods to the room. “Please be seated.”

I’ve already got three pages of notes on Walter Dow for the book. Born in Michigan. High-school basketball star. BU undergrad. Cornell Law School. Worked in the New Hampshireattorney general’s office for a decade. Has been on the superior court for sixteen years.

Since Dow was assigned to this case four months ago, his personal life has been dissected in the press. Divorced, now remarried, son and daughter in college. He enjoys mountain climbing and takes his Coca-Cola with ice cubes.

When theNew York Timesreported that Judge Dow was considered a moderate in New Hampshire, theWashington Postfired back that a moderate in New Hampshire would be considered to the right of Genghis Khan in more progressive states.

I could not care less about the judge’s politics. I just want a fair trial. And in my heart of hearts, I’m hoping for a conviction so airtight that it can’t be overturned on appeal.

Dow turns to the clerk. “Mr. Begley, please swear in the jurors.”

The clerk faces the jury box. “If you would please stand and raise your right hands.” The jurors obey. “And when the oath is concluded, respond, ‘I do.’” The clerk stands up straight and asks the long-winded question: “Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will carefully consider the evidence and the law presented to you in this case and that you will deliver a fair and true verdict as to the charge or charges against the defendant?”

There’s a chorus of “I do” from the jury box, some muttered, some full voice.

The judge adjusts his glasses. “Mr. Begley, you may read the indictment.”

The clerk turns to the defense table. “The defendant will please stand.”

I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment—ever since the day Garrett told me about the rumors swirling around Cole Wright since his college days. I may never be able to pin Garrett’s murder on the First Gentleman, so seeing him sent away for Suzanne Bonanno’s will have to do.

Cole Wright stands up behind the table. I see Tess Hardy placeone hand on his back—a show of support for her client and a bit of theater for the rest of us.

My brain fogs out for a few seconds during the reading of the charges.

Focus, Brea!

I clench my fists. The fog clears. I hear the next part clearly.

The important part.

“Cole Wright, with force and arms, did commit the crime of second-degree murder, RSA six-thirty, one-b, in that Cole Wright caused the death of Suzanne Bonanno, age twenty-two, under circumstances manifesting an extreme indifference to the value of human life, to wit, strangling Suzanne Bonanno in a manner resulting in her death. Said acts being contrary to the form of statute, in such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the State.”

I think of Suzanne being wrapped in a sheet and dumped in that miserable hole in the dirt. If there was ever an act against peace and dignity, that was it.

The next few minutes are all legal housekeeping. Dow reminds the jury of what being sequestered means. They are not to talk among themselves or to members of the news media or even with their families, and they are not to do any independent research on the case.

In his instructions to the jury, one part stands out.

“The fact that the defendant has been arrested and charged is not evidence of guilt. It is up to you and you alone to reach a verdict based on the evidence presented here.”

I hope these jurors pay attention. I hope they hear the truth. All of it.

Dow nods to the deputy AG. “Counselor, we’re ready for your opening.”

Nobody’s more ready than I am.

CHAPTER

88

Thank you, Your Honor,” the prosecutor says as he steps up to the lectern. He sets down the thick blue binder in his hands and walks over to the jury box.

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