Chapter 25

The defense's case relied upon three primary suppositions.

The first was that though William had some kind of connection to all four of the women, there was little that linked him to their bodies.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know about you, but we like to rely upon facts in this courtroom, and the fact of the matter is that there is no evidence that William Thompson ever touched any of these women," the lawyers said.

The second was evidence that suggested that a different yet unknown person had been in the presence of the women. These were small things. Blue fibers that were found on both Anna Leigh and Emma's bodies that didn't match any items of clothing that William owned. Hair from the same cat found on Emma and Kimberly when William was allergic. The fact that no rope was found in William's house, car, or office and that his car had never been spotted in the vicinity of the ravine.

"It's easy to make assumptions," the lawyers told the jury. "Convenient to point a finger at the first person who appears and say, ‘Case closed! We're done!' The easy thing to do, however, is not always the moral thing to do. It is our moral obligation to look at every last piece of evidence and ask ourselves, ‘Does this point to guilt, or does this point to innocence, or do we not know?' Those times that we don't know, well, is it not a moral imperative to presume innocence?"

The last supposition was based upon William himself, namely that he was a good person. It was difficult to pinpoint the level of goodness inside of someone. Unlike intelligence, there were no tests that claimed to make such a measurement, and if there were, being accused of serial murder almost certainly disqualified William from the label. Nevertheless, the defense attempted to construct a kind of proof on the matter by presenting a series of character witnesses.

I entered the latter half of the trial filled with anticipation about seeing Bentley at the courthouse after our night of bonding. Bentley, however, wasn't at the trial as the defense started to present their case. I looked for him in the security line and scanned the courtroom after I was seated.

"Who are you looking for?" Lauren asked.

"No one," I replied.

Bentley was nowhere to be found.

I tried not to be disappointed. After all, there was no reason for disappointment. Bentley and I were only barely acquaintances and it seemed like my desire for a closer friendship was one-sided.

The first witness was William's nanny from when he was a child, an older Black woman. William had never mentioned her by name, though he frequently referenced the nanny that raised him in lieu of a mother.

"Can you tell us how many children you've cared for over the course of your career?" the defense attorney asked.

"Dozens," said the nanny. She had the soft demeanor of someone who'd spent years caring for children.

"And can you tell us what William was like as a child?"

"He was a sweet little boy. Very bright. Always doing things for other people."

"Can you give us some examples of those things?"

"Oh yes. He knew I liked flowers and one day he went in the backyard and picked a bunch of flowers for me. I don't think that the landscapers were particularly pleased about that."

"Did you ever witness any violence from William?"

"I think that all little boys are violent at times. You know, play fighting, stuff like that."

"What about animals? Did you ever see William interact with any animals?" the lawyer continued.

"Well, his mother never allowed animals in the house. The only time I saw William around animals was when we went to the park. He loved dogs."

The next witness was William's fourth-grade teacher, a woman who requested she be called "Miss B.," as she was by the children. Miss B. was long retired and looked frail.

"Can you describe what William was like as a student in your class?"

"It's been a long time since I had William, but I still remember him. He was always very sensitive. He loved to read. I looked through my old files and found his note that said ‘a joy to have in class.' That's how I would describe him as, a joy."

"And how did he get along with the other students in the class?"

"If I remember correctly, William was very popular."

"Any fights? Trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. William was a good boy. Not all of them are good boys. I've certainly had my share of troublemakers, but he wasn't like that. I can't imagine that he—"

The defense attorney cut Miss B. off before she could continue. There was a script that each witness was expected to follow. Together, they were building a depiction of a man out of clay.

We broke for lunch and I grimly examined the smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my purse before getting in line for the taco truck. By that point, the owners of the food truck knew my name and my order and greeted me like a friend. The familiarity almost made me feel like I belonged.

I sat at a picnic table with Dotty and Lauren. Dotty's lunch, per usual, consisted entirely of a bottle of Diet Coke, while Lauren ate a vegetarian burrito. She stopped eating meat as a child because she couldn't bear the thought of animals suffering.

"I have news," I told them after shoving my first taco in my mouth, the juice dribbling down my chin. "I hung out with Bentley the other night after the thing at the restaurant."

"Isn't he married?" Dotty asked. She took a sip out of the plastic bottle.

"It wasn't a date. We were just having drinks. And get this—he warned me to be careful around William, said that William is dangerous."

"Of course he's dangerous," Dotty replied. "That's what makes him sexy."

I was disappointed by the lackadaisical response. I expected an enthusiastic gossip session where the three of us unpacked every word that Bentley had said. Instead, Dotty yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. I longed for Meghan, or at least the person she'd been before she was engaged, who was always willing to gossip with me.

"Mr.Thompson and I are getting coffee today after the trial," Lauren said like it was nothing at all.

I stared at her.

"You and Mark?"

Since Bentley had told me about Cindy's suspicions that I was flirting with her husband, I'd done my best to give him space. I tried to watch him from afar, a distance that revealed only smiles and handshakes. Mark Thompson was a master at emotional opacity.

"I was talking to him at the thing we went to and told him that I was thinking about applying to law school and he said that we should get coffee together so that I can pick his brain."

"You don't think that's weird?" I asked.

"No, it's nice. He's a really good lawyer, you know."

I thought about trailing behind Mark as he visited all the locations where the murdered women had last been seen.

"Listen," I said. "I don't know if it's a good idea for you to get coffee with Mark Thompson. I'm not saying that he has bad intentions, but there's something off about him."

"How is me having coffee with Mr.Thompson different from you having drinks with Bentley?" Lauren asked.

"Because Bentley and I are around the same age and we both understood it was a platonic situation. I don't want you to go thinking that one thing is happening and it turns out to be something else."

Lauren rolled her eyes.

"It's platonic between Mr.Thompson and me too. He's married and, like, forty years older than me. I think that he genuinely wants to help me."

She thought I was being stupid and overly cautious. I knew this because I was nineteen once too and convinced that I was never going to die. Lauren's hubris was especially pronounced considering her obsession with serial killers.

"Please just text one of us and let us know that you're safe afterward. You can't be too cautious."

"Sure," she said in the same tone that I used to use on my mother, and finished her burrito.

After lunch the defense questioned a college professor who had taught William in a creative writing course. He'd since left academia for the private sector, but he remembered William, whom he called "one of my favorite students." He still dressed in the role of professor, with his tweed sports coat that he wore despite the temperature outside. He had white streaks in his hair and a gut that poked out from his button-down shirt, though I imagined at one time he had been young and handsome, the kind of guy whom I lusted after in my own creative writing courses in school.

"What year was William in when he enrolled in your course?" the defense attorney asked.

"I believe he was a sophomore. He wasn't a creative writing major, just taking the course as an elective."

"Can you tell me what William wrote about in your class?"

"His big project for the semester was a short story about a man who worked at a factory that his father owned and kept breaking off bits and pieces of the machine until they could no longer produce any goods. He said it was inspired by ‘Bartleby, the Scrivener.'?"

"Did William ever write about anything misogynistic?" the defense attorney asked.

"No. If anything, William got along well with the girls in the class. Creative writing tends to be full of girls. It can be tough to be a man in that setting, but William fit right in."

"Was there anything violent in his writing?"

"No, I mean, as someone who grew up working-class, I think that it's a little unrealistic for him to write a story about someone in a factory, but there was no violence between the characters in the story, if that's what you mean."

Later, I would look up the creative writing professor online. He was savvy enough to post regularly on Twitter, but not savvy enough to realize that serving as a character witness for William was enough to sink him. He hadn't yet put his profile on private, but I suspected he would by the end of the day.

"Only monsters defend monsters," someone wrote underneath one of his posts, and it was liked by hundreds.

Not for the first time, I thought about how limited we are in our conception of the word "victim."