The end of Cole Wright.

CHAPTER
86

The courtroom is humming with energy.

I spot Garrett’s former Boston Globe colleague Ron Reynolds sitting among the reporters in the back row. He gives me a little wave. Ron was one of the first people to reach out after Garrett died. When I worried that I could never finish the book on my own, he gave me a shot of confidence and a little tough love. “Don’t let Garrett down,” he said.

I won’t. I can’t. It’s what keeps me going.

A wooden barrier separates the gallery from the business end of the courtroom—the tables for the defense and prosecution, witness stand, lectern, jury box, and judge’s bench.

I look around for the couple I think of as my watchers, but they’re nowhere in sight. Ever since Garrett and I started investigating, I’ve seen these same people over and over. I keep wondering who sent them. Tony Romero? Burton Pearce? Cole Wright?

If they want to kill me, I don’t know why they haven’t done it yet. They’ve had plenty of chances. But maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment. If so, I hope I don’t see it coming.

Two people who should be here in the courtroom are noticeably absent: Felicia and Teresa Bonanno. As a witness for the prosecution, Felicia is barred from the proceedings. I don’t know where Teresa is.

I’m several rows behind Cole Wright, who is sitting at the defense table with his lawyers. His hair is thick and full, and his shoulders are broad. Even in middle age, he still projects the aura of a jock, the career that made him famous.

I can’t stand the sight of him.

Beside Cole sits Tess Hardy from Virginia, his lead defender. She’s one of the country’s most powerful and influential defense attorneys. The judge decided to allow cameras in the courtroom, which plays to her strengths, as she’s a legal analyst on CNN and a regular guest on Sunday-morning news shows.

By state law, only members of the New Hampshire Bar can appear in court here, but Hardy has a pro hac vice admission, meaning she’s been sponsored by a local attorney. That attorney is Carole Clifford, sitting to her left. The optics deliver an obvious message: If these smart, accomplished women trust Cole Wright, then the jury should too.

I hope the jury is smart enough to see through it.

At the prosecution’s table on the opposite side, the deputy attorney general, Hugh Bastinelli, is busy stacking binders. He’s handsome. Distinguished-looking. Even sitting down, he’s taller than the two other attorneys sitting beside him.