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.
...