There is inauspicious weather on the 12 of June, 1969, as the exorbitant deal offered by the prosecution is turned down, in favour of taking a chance in court.

There is a newly refurbished courtroom, visited on the 17 of May, 1970 by an eminent prosecutor, and unknown defendant, and an impartial judge.

There is an impious reporter sitting alone on the front steps of the courthouse, waiting and watching the trees' shadows creep along the ground.

There is but one expounding witness, a lady of 93, and a distinct lack of immutable evidence to back up the unsubstantiated account of the witness.

There is an abundance of incorporeal tension filling the courtroom that grows as the unorthodox case continues; the conviction remaining elusive, the attorneys still indefatigable.

There are questions unremitting, and the eccentric defendant begins to tire, growing redundant as the intrepid prosecutor continues their relentless assault: though they lack evidence, they make up for it in energy, the 52 year old prosecutor appearing rejuvenated as the trial progresses.

There is a growing feeling of discomfort: the case is unparalleled, an anomaly, and when the decision is finally made, it will not be revoked or challenged.

There is a sudden revitalization of the defendant, as they return from a 10 minute recess: they have learned something and now have a greater chance of winning.

There is a moment of nothing: no movement, no sound, no life, in the courtroom as the defendant uncovers a fatal flaw with the witness.

There is a feeling of relief as the trial ends: the defendant is extricated, and leaves the courtroom unscathed, rejoicing.

There is a feeling of emptiness for the judge, as the prosecutor and witness file out; he knows they will be accosted by the reporter, who he knows is still waiting, in a moment as they leave the courthouse.

There is a feeling of comfort, as life returns to normal after the long day, and the judge return home to see their partner, the reporter.