Page 92 of Vicious Hearts

I can't see Roxy anywhere, but I expected that. She's in a waiting room, preparing to be called. Counting down the minutes until she gets to say her piece.

To my surprise, I see Hillard ahead of me, talking to an officer in the doorway to the courtroom.

"Hey, Tate," I say. "Can you get me in here? Roxy is about to give a statement."

"Benedikt." Hillard gives me a terse nod. "I'm just trying to get in here myself." He turns back to the officer. "Come on. We'll stand at the back. I can argue with you all day."

The officer rolls his eyes. "Goddammit. Fine. But I was never here."

Hillard and I dart past him and take up our positions along the back wall just as the bailiff raises his voice.

"All rise."

* * *

Roxy

I don't look to my left, where the public and the press are sitting. My eyes are fixed on Oliver Buckley.

Not Buckley. Hisrealname isCoffey. Oliver Alexander Coffey, the killer of countless children over many years.

It disgusts me to imagine the things those owl-like eyes have seen. He's gained weight while in custody, and his jowls rest on his shirt collar. He's not looking at me. Instead, he's looking around the room, enjoying his audience. No doubt, he plans to parcel out his confessions whenever he feels like drawing attention to himself in the future.

"Miss Harlowe," the judge says. "The jury has heard professional representations regarding the matter at hand—whether Oliver Buckley is guilty of seven counts of first-degree homicide or guilty but insane. Before I instruct them to retire and consider the question, I invite you to make a statement."

While I waited for my call, I wrote some prompt cards to help me. I reach into my pocket for them but change my mind.

I'll wing it. If there was ever a time to be authentic, it's now.

"Thank you, Your Honor." I draw a deep breath. "I've spent a lot of time considering the nature of madness. What makes a person crazy? Can they be treated? What if they're just bad, right to the core? Can some people be essentially good but have a vicious streak, and vice versa?"

I feel Oliver staring at me. I don't want to catch his look, and instinctively, I glance to my left.

My eyes meet the clear blue gaze of the man I love, and he smiles at me.

Ben is here.

I didn't tell him I was doing this. Because as much as I'm talking about Oliver, I'm talking about Ben, too.

I clear my throat. "I don't believeanyoneis irredeemable, but I also believe that the individual has towantto be a better person. Nothing that is donetothem will make a difference. They must come to terms with the person they are and the things they have done before they can positively change their outlook and behavior." I see a couple of jury members nodding. "Deviance exists on a spectrum, and we are all capable of terrible acts. This doesn't make us crazy. It makes us human. Some people are wired up strangely, but it doesn't mean they are destined to harm others. They just havequirks."

"Oliver Buckley is, in my opinion, perfectly sane. He has a rationale for his actions and feels entitled to understanding and appreciation. If he were mentally ill, he would not have been able to fool the world for as long as he did. Nor could he coordinate not one buttwoattempts to frame innocent men forhiscrimes."

"Too fucking right," a voice shouts from the gallery. I look across and see Ali frantically shushing Leo. The judge glares at them both, then looks at me again.

"Please continue, Miss. Harlowe."

Ben is watching me, smiling. He gives me strength. I stand up straight and raise my head, staring Oliver down, and he shrinks back in his seat.

"Buckley doesn't deserve to be in a hospital," I say, my eyes fixed on Oliver's. "He's not crazy, and he's not exceptional. He's just aloser."

Oliver Buckley was the model of compliance and good manners throughout his hearings. Now, as his reckoning draws near, he can take no more.

"You stupid cunt," he says.

The judge bangs her gavel on the bench. "That's enough." She turns to me. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"No, thank you, Your Honor," I say. "I'm done."

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