Chapter 505 - 235: Court Trial
Philadelphia Circuit Court, Third Tribunal.
The gallery was packed with reporters, stenographers, legal representatives from insurance companies, and citizens who had managed to get in through various means.
They were crammed together, their breathing weaving into a low, oppressive hum.
The towering dome gathered and amplified these faint sounds, turning them into a dull drone that weighed on everyone’s heart.
In the defendant’s box, Luigi Randall sat with his hands on his knees.
He was very quiet.
Ever since he entered, he had done nothing but stare at the dark brown table before him.
Beside him, Elias Wayne was adjusting his tie.
The tie remained loosely knotted, and there was even a small coffee stain on his shirt collar.
This lawyer, hired by the Saint Claude Foundation for a hefty sum, currently showed none of the gravitas of a top attorney.
Across from him, at the plaintiff’s table, sat three Philadelphia district attorneys.
The lead prosecutor was Eric Hart.
Hart was very confident.
The case was clear, the evidence solid. The only fingerprints on the gun belonged to Luigi.
For him, this was merely a procedural conviction, a formality.
"Silence."
From the bench, Judge Harrison banged his gavel, instantly silencing the whispers in the courtroom.
Judge Harrison was a white man in his sixties with a stern face and a cold gaze.
He was a notorious conservative, known for handing down severe punishments for violent crimes that challenged the social order.
"Counsel for the defense, you may begin your statement."
Judge Harrison looked at Wayne, a hint of impatience in his eyes.
Wayne stood up.
The legs of his chair scraped noisily against the floor.
He walked directly to the front of the jury box, leaned forward with his hands on the rail, and positioned himself less than half a meter from the front-row jurors.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Wayne began to speak.
"We don’t need to waste any time."
Wayne turned and pointed to Luigi, who was sitting behind him.
"My client, Luigi Randall, fired the gun."
A low wave of gasps spread through the courtroom.
A defense attorney’s first move was usually to challenge the chain of evidence. It was rare to see someone like Wayne admit guilt right from the start.
Hart frowned, his pen hovering in mid-air.
"He bought the gun, he planned the route, and he pulled the trigger, aiming at Arthur Vance’s chest."
Wayne’s voice was steady as he stated the facts.
"Three shots. Very accurate. Arthur Vance died at the scene."
"This is a fact."
"We do not deny it, we do not dispute it, and we do not shy away from it."
Wayne spread his hands.
"From a purely physical and legal standpoint, he killed a man."
Wayne paused.
His gaze swept across the twelve faces of the jury.
There were housewives, retired factory workers, and elementary school teachers among them.
"But the purpose of the law isn’t just to determine who pulled the trigger."
Wayne’s tone shifted, becoming sharp.
"The purpose of the law is to seek the truth."
"It is to investigate the deeper chain of cause and effect hidden behind the trigger."
Wayne began to pace in the center of the courtroom.
"Why would an honors student who couldn’t even bring himself to kill a chicken, a genius with a limitless future, turn into a murderer?"
"The question we should be asking is: Who put the gun in his hand?"
"Who turned pulling the trigger into his last resort?"
"Objection!"
Hart shot to his feet.
"Your Honor, counsel for the defense is engaging in baseless speculation and emotional manipulation. This has nothing to do with the facts of the crime in this case."
Judge Harrison nodded.
"Objection sustained. Mr. Wayne, please focus on the case itself."
Wayne paid no attention to the judge’s warning.
He didn’t even glance at the judge.
"The case itself?"
Wayne scoffed.
"Fine. Then let’s talk about the case itself."
Wayne walked back to the defendant’s table and pulled a photograph from a messy pile of documents.
He held up the photograph, showing it to the jury, to the gallery, and to the camera at the back of the courtroom.
It was a photograph taken from the "Wailing Wall."
The photo showed a baby named Erin, lying in a crib, her body covered in tubes.
"I would like to call my first witness."
Wayne announced loudly.
"Ms. Natalie Quinn."
"The mother of the deceased, Erin Quinn."
Natalie walked in.
She wore a faded black sweater, her face was pale, and her eyes were red and swollen. In her hand, she clutched a claim denial notice.
All eyes in the courtroom focused on this woman.
"Objection!"
Hart’s voice became shrill.
He strode quickly to the judge’s bench.
"Your Honor, this witness has no connection to the murder of Arthur Vance! She was not at the crime scene, nor does she know the defendant or the victim."
"Her testimony holds no legal weight. This is a complete waste of the court’s time and a form of emotional blackmail!"
Judge Harrison looked at Natalie, then back at Wayne.
His expression darkened.
"Objection sustained."
The judge banged his gavel.
BANG.
"Counsel for the defense, this court does not accept witnesses irrelevant to the case."
"The witness will please leave the courtroom."
Natalie froze on the spot.
She looked up at the judge on his high bench, her eyes filled with helplessness.
Wayne didn’t let Natalie leave.
He stepped between the bailiff and Natalie.
"Irrelevant?"
Wayne’s voice suddenly rose, and a long-suppressed madness began to flicker in his eyes.
He pointed at the photograph in his hand.