The preliminary court hearings began in early summer.

I attended the first session with Rachel, who insisted on walking into the courthouse under her own power.

She wore a blue blouse and carried a small notebook of questions.

The courtroom was plain, with fluorescent lights and wooden benches that squeaked whenever anyone moved.

There was nothing cinematic about the proceedings.

Kyle sat beside his attorneys.

He looked older than he had at the funeral, and for a moment I remembered him as a teenager helping Rachel fix her first bicycle.

Then he turned and saw us.