Genblade was arrested in late September of the murder of more than thirty people; among them Detective Carl Dent and local high-school football star Jamie Dawkins. Genblade originally pled guilty to the charge of murder in the first degree, but has since officially recounted his confession.
“Adam Genblade may deserve many things, but murder is not one of them,” said Natasha Mayer, in her official press release upon taking the case. “He is a sick man who needs our help, not our judgment. It is my greatest hope that the judge appointed will see reason and remand him into the custody of a state sanctioned mental institution.”
When approached for comment, prosecutor Megan Greene had this to say: “The opposition is a joke. Insanity is a joke. I submit that Genblade knew exactly what he was doing when he killed those children and would willingly do so again if allowed. I will personally not rest until he has a needle in his arm or a mask on his face.”
Local police have said that while the evidence mounted against Genblade is insurmountable, a large portion of it is circumstantial and resides with the attorney’s ability to sway the jury.
Megan Greene made headlines last July when she had three-time murder suspect Ian Char arrested on gang-related charges, leading to the capture and seizure of almost eighty kilograms of cocaine.
When questioned, local high-school student Calla McFadden said that she was looking forward to the prosecutor’s victory. “I’ve never been happier in my life. He killed so many people I know that I can’t even sleep most nights. I can’t wait to see him fry.”
Advocates opposing the death penalty have begun vigils in the town hall away from the penitentiary out of respect for those who lost family members in the past few months.
Don sighed, leaning back on his chair and running his fingers through his hair. His head ached above both temples, and something in the back of his left eye throbbed. Each word had been agonizing to force out. Something about it just seemed wrong. He licked his lips as he re-read it, deciding that it was fine enough... it just lacked that pop. That thing that would really grab the attention of the people.
-thunk-
He turned around in his chair and gazed back out into the still silence if his home. Light from upstairs made halos around the couch and the basement door handle, the only sources of light in the shadowed room. His eyes moved around the darkness for a moment before he frowned and turned back to the screen. The light burned at his retinas even more after getting used to the darkness for a moment, and he cursed.
Scowling, he turned back toward his notes and looked for something he could add to give the story more weight. He’d been trying for hours to reach a protestor of the death penalty that would give a quote, but nobody would. Even people staunchly against capital punishment didn’t want to be seen as allied with Adam Genblade. He had also wished there was a little more information on Natasha Mayer to give the story a slightly more evened feel, but her legal career had been less flashy than Greene’s. He picked up her press release and scanned down through it once more.
pleased to represent... is murder like any other... needs our help not our judgment... personally responsible.
Defense attorney - Natasha Mayer
Legal Aid - Nathan Summers
Legal Aid - David Chow
Legal Aid - Alexander Drew
Legal Aid - Thomas Shirk
Don stopped, blinking once as his eyes did a double-take, scanning back up the list. Legal Aid - Alexander Drew.
He raised an eyebrow and smiled, placing the release on a paper stand next to the keyboard. This was going to break this story wide open. He could feel it.
Cathy closed the bathroom door behind her as she walked back out into the hall, switching off the light and wiping the last few drops of water on her hands into her jeans. She tiptoed down the hallway as quietly as she could, her teeth on edge with every step she made as she passed by the spare bedroom. The door was open just a crack and she peered in, watching as Mike shuffled happily in his sleep.
“That’d better be me you’re dreaming about, Harris,” she whispered to herself playfully, watching for just another moment before continuing on.
She turned and looked at each of the family photos that lined the wall as she went. She’d seen them all before of course, even had smaller versions of one or two of them at home. There was one that she’d always loved of Xander smiling big and bright that she’d scanned it and cropped on her computer so that it was just a bust of him. She’d always thought it to be the best picture of him ever taken.
She turned to go down the stairs when she stopped. Her nose twitched slightly when it caught a strange smell, like tin cans getting scorched in a fire. “Xander?” she called out in a hushed voice, stepping back off of the stairs.
She turned toward his bedroom door and saw that it was open, just a little. Squinting, she stepped closer. With every inch closer she got the smell seemed to get thicker and thicker, until it was like she was swimming in it instead of walking through it. Biting her lip, she placed the palm of her hand flat against the door and gave it one hard shove.
“This is not healthy,” Cathy said, tossing the broken leg of Xander’s chair down onto the kitchen table. It rolled until it hit the stack of potato chips and stopped.
Xander looked down
