Chapter 8 - The Verdict
The jury deliberated for less than two hours.
When they returned to the courtroom at four o'clock on a cold November afternoon, the atmosphere was electric. The families of the victims held hands in the front rows of the gallery, their faces pale with anticipation.
I sat between Gabi and Detective Miller in the row reserved for state witnesses.
"Please rise for the verdict," the bailiff announced.
Brandon stood between his attorneys. He was handcuffed at the waist now, wearing heavy leather restraints over his suit coat. His face was blank, gray, devoid of any expression.
The jury foreman, a tall man with a thick beard, held the paper slip in his hand.
"In the matter of the State of Illinois versus Brandon James Carter," the foreman read, his voice clear and resonant. "On count one, first-degree murder in the death of Sarah Lin, we find the defendant... guilty."
"On count two, first-degree murder in the death of Rebecca Vance, we find the defendant... guilty."
"On count three, first-degree murder in the death of Maria Santos..."
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
The word repeated sixteen times—covering every count of murder, kidnapping, concealment of a homicidal death, and financial fraud. Sixteen counts of absolute, unassailable guilt.
Sobs broke out in the gallery. Sarah Lin's mother fell forward against the wooden bench, weeping uncontrollably as her husband wrapped his arms around her. Beside me, Gabi let out a long, shaky breath, wiping a single tear from her cheek.
Brandon didn't move. He didn't cry. He didn't even look at his lawyer.
The judge sentenced him immediately under Illinois' mandatory sentencing guidelines for multiple homicides: sixteen consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole, to be served at the Pontiac Maximum Security Correctional Center.
As the guards prepared to lead him out through the side door reserved for condemned prisoners, Brandon stopped. He turned his head slowly, looking back over his shoulder toward the gallery.
His eyes found mine.
He didn't look angry anymore. He looked empty—a hollow vessel of a human being whose elaborate castle of lies had finally been crushed into dust. He opened his mouth, forming two words silently with his lips before the heavy steel door closed behind him.
Thank you.
May you like
It was his final attempt to play the victim, his final sick effort to pull me into his narrative, to imply that somehow, by exposing him, I had granted him the dramatic conclusion he secretly desired.
I turned my back on the door, grabbed Gabi’s hand, and walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
