The Manhattan Hunt Club Read Online Free PDF

helpless, she sat stoically in her wheelchair. Her husband stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as if to shield her from any further harm. One of Cynthia’s hands covered her husband’s, the other was clasped by her father, who sat on the bench next to her chair. All three were staring at Jeff with such coldness that he shivered. Still, as he walked to the defense table, he held Cynthia’s gaze, praying that even now she might remember what had really happened, might see in his eyes that he’d never intended to do anything but help her.
    All he saw was her hatred of him.
    He lowered himself into a worn wooden chair, only to rise again as the bailiff’s voice began to drone and the door from the judge’s chambers opened. A moment later, as Judge Otto Vandenberg settled himself behind the bench, Jeff sank back into his chair.
    Vandenberg, a large, gray-haired man whose body seemed even more enormous in his black robes, began shuffling through the stack of papers that lay before him. Finally, he peered over his half glasses at Jeff. “Defendant rise,” he said in a voice so low-pitched that people had to strain to hear it, yet carrying such authority that no one ever missed a word he uttered.
    Jeff rose to his feet, Sam Weisman at his side.
    “Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?” he asked.
    Jeff hesitated. Should he try one more time to convince the judge that he was innocent? What good would it do? The jury had already decided. But there was one thing he had to say—one thing he’d never had a chance to say during the trial. He turned and once more met Cynthia Allen’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there a few minutes earlier, so maybe none of this would have had to happen to you at all.” He held her gaze until she looked down into her lap. Then he turned back to face the judge once more.
    Otto Vandenberg gave no sign that he’d heard Jeff’s words.
    “I’ve listened to all the testimony in this case, and I’ve read the recommendations of both the prosecution and the defense. While the crimes of which you’ve been convicted are very, very serious indeed, and certainly are not to be taken lightly, I have also chosen to take into account the fact that this case—as do so many—comes down to one person’s word against another’s. I also have to take into account that prior to this case you have been an exemplary citizen, and that none of your psychological evaluations indicate that you are anything other than a perfectly normal young man.”
    The flame of hope in Jeff flared up again.
    “I therefore remand you to the custody of the Department of Correction for a term not to exceed one year, including time already served.”
    Seven months! He would be out in just seven more months—maybe even less!
    “I was right!” Jeff heard Sam Weisman whispering exultantly. “I had a feeling, and I was right! He believed you, Jeff!”
    But then he heard another voice, which rose furiously from the back of the courtroom.
    The voice of Cynthia Allen’s husband.
    “A year?” he bellowed. “After what he did, you give him a year? I swear to God, I should kill him myself!”
    Jeff whirled around to face the furious man.
    “That’s what you deserve,” Bill Allen went on. “You should be dead.” Before anyone could react to his words, Bill Allen turned his wife’s chair around and pushed it out of the courtroom.

    “W hat do you mean, you don’t want to do anything about it?” Keith Converse asked. Though his voice remained steady, the tension in his face betrayed the anger he was feeling at the sentence the judge had read moments ago.
    “Keith, you have to calm down,” Mary said, nervously eyeing the vein throbbing in Keith’s forehead. “Losing your temper won’t help.”
    Keith’s eyes moved around the crowded conference room. Jeff sat at the end of a worn table with Sam Weisman flanking him on one side, Heather Randall on the