How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 3: The Trial

JANUARY 25TH, 3 YEARS AGO

My head was throbbing and had been for the past hour or so. My hands were clammy, my heartbeat at an uncontrollable pace and despite the chilly wind outside, I had broken into a sweat. There was an unsettling feeling at the pit of my stomach, and it left me feeling sick.

Today was the day; I had been dreading it for the past month and still didn't quite know if I was prepared to face it.

We all rose to our feet as the judge entered the courthouse, silence reigning amongst the gathering. Mum visibly clutched Lily tighter in her arms, as if bracing herself for what was to come.

It all occurred in a blur. The prosecutor, a lawyer named James Courtney, rose. He was a towering man, with a balding head and a crooked nose to suit his inky black eyes. He called the accused to the stand.

My heart dropped in my chest as the man across the hall rose to his feet, upon his command. The man was donned in a business suit and he was a giant, towering over the rest of us with his unnatural height. My gaze instantly fell on his face and when it did, despite having seen it on countless occasions before, all I could do was stare. A light blonde stubble covered his square chin, a mass of short, neatly trimmed golden hair dressing his scalp. His familiar eyes were beady, almost like that of an owl or a viper, and they were a shade of the lightest blue I had ever seen.

I still couldn't quite believe that it was he who was the prime suspect of the murder.

Uncle Morgan.

I didn't even know if I could call him that anymore; I felt the sharp stab of betrayal, an unforgiving blade slicing me from behind.

They called him the CEO of Walker Constructions, but before that, he was my father's best friend. Dad had grown up with this man as children, entered college together, dropped out of it together and chased after their then-ridiculous dream of becoming business entrepreneurs together. He'd been the man my father requested to be best man at his wedding, the man who had followed later to be my godfather.

My fists clenched by me, and I fought to swallow the building lump in my throat.

How could it be him... Morgan, out of everyone else, who stood before us, accused of murdering my father in cold blood?

That was when the prosecutor began his case, uttering his words slowly, allowing the gravity of it to sink into the jury seated before him, "Members of the jury, Anthony Green was a loving father to his two children, a caring husband and a hardworking businessmen. He was a man, who worked tirelessly day and night to support his family. Now let's go back to the 24th of December 2010, the day when one man decided he was going to take all that away from Anthony Green. That morning, Anthony leaves for work as usual. He kisses his children goodbye before he walks out his front door, promising to be back to celebrate Christmas Eve with them, like he has every year before."

"But that day, at exactly 4. 16pm as phone records show, he gets a call from his friend Morgan Walker, our defendant today. Walker asks him to meet up with him at the Red Hill's motel in Wrightwood. As you'd expect, Anthony agrees. He waits, like the good friend he is, in a room on the third floor and at around 10 o'clock, Morgan drives into the motel. According to witnesses, Morgan was drunk and delirious. He slams his hand down on the bonnet of his SUV angrily before storming into the motel and marching right upstairs."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fearing what he would describe next, my hands clamping over my ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the prosecutor's voice.

It did not help. The incidents that he would describe would be etched into my mind.

The prosecutor paused, gazing right at the jury, his face morose and his words uttered slowly with purpose, "Upstairs, Walker ties his friend up and beats him until Anthony has black and blue bruises all over his body."