Murder with Pictures

FOLEY, THE RED-FACED, uniformed deputy on duty in the hall, peeked through one of the glass ovals inset in the leather-covered courtroom doors and said: "Hey, the jury's comin, out!" A concentrated and irritable sigh from the group of news-photographers lounging in the hall greeted the announcement. There was an intangible flurry of movement, a casual shifting of stances. Brant, of the News, sighed wearily. "Boy, it's about time." Tobacco smoke, the residue of a four-hour harvest from an apparently inexhaustible supply of cigarettes, choked the air with a stale stuffy smell and hung suspended in a hazy, pale-blue blanket that shrouded the arched ceiling. Cigarette butts, matches, crumpled paper holders littered the ash-strewn floor. Cameras and bulky black plate-cases were stacked in a row along one wall. Foley said: "It won't be long now," and kept his eye glued to the little glass window. Brant sighed again. ...