Soledad O'Brien

That's Bob Bennett. Back in 1965, Bob was a newly minted lawyer working as a clerk.

That's Bob Bennett. Back in 1965, Bob was a newly minted lawyer working as a clerk.

Bob's a successful lawyer these days, and he knows a thing or two about being part of a noteworthy case. In the 90s, he was one of President Clinton's defense attorneys during his impeachment hearings. But Ray's case was one of the first times he was in a courtroom.

Bob's a successful lawyer these days, and he knows a thing or two about being part of a noteworthy case. In the 90s, he was one of President Clinton's defense attorneys during his impeachment hearings. But Ray's case was one of the first times he was in a courtroom.

Bob was clerking for Judge Howard Corcoran, who'd recently been appointed to the district court bench. President Johnson nominated him, and he was confirmed by the Senate in March. Some thought the judge wasn't ready for such a high-profile murder case. Guess Dovey wasn't the only one out there with something to prove.

Bob was clerking for Judge Howard Corcoran, who'd recently been appointed to the district court bench. President Johnson nominated him, and he was confirmed by the Senate in March. Some thought the judge wasn't ready for such a high-profile murder case. Guess Dovey wasn't the only one out there with something to prove.

Dovey knew he wouldn't suffer fools. She had to be exemplary. Crowds of people gathered in the fourth-floor courtroom. The space was all wood and cavernous. Thankfully, it was air-conditioned, which offset that muggy July heat in the district. There were two tables, one for the prosecutor and one for the defense. Behind the lawyers sat a large crowd who'd come to watch justice be served.

Dovey knew he wouldn't suffer fools. She had to be exemplary. Crowds of people gathered in the fourth-floor courtroom. The space was all wood and cavernous. Thankfully, it was air-conditioned, which offset that muggy July heat in the district. There were two tables, one for the prosecutor and one for the defense. Behind the lawyers sat a large crowd who'd come to watch justice be served.

Throngs of journalists were covering the trial. Stylish Georgetown women like Cicely Angleton came for all 11 days. You'll recall her husband Jim Angleton was the chief of CIA counterintelligence. Ray's mother, Martha Crump, had her church friends there for support. And sitting in front of all of them were Ray and Dovey. Ray wore a new blue suit. His mother bought it for him for the trial.

Throngs of journalists were covering the trial. Stylish Georgetown women like Cicely Angleton came for all 11 days. You'll recall her husband Jim Angleton was the chief of CIA counterintelligence. Ray's mother, Martha Crump, had her church friends there for support. And sitting in front of all of them were Ray and Dovey. Ray wore a new blue suit. His mother bought it for him for the trial.

Ray was only 5'5". He looked sharp in his suit, but he was scared. He was visibly shaking. If he was convicted, Ray could face a death penalty. At one point, he reached out to touch Dovey's hand.

Ray was only 5'5". He looked sharp in his suit, but he was scared. He was visibly shaking. If he was convicted, Ray could face a death penalty. At one point, he reached out to touch Dovey's hand.

Seven women, five men, sat on the jury. According to Dovey, they were black and white in equal number and came from every walk of life. There was a taxi driver, a social worker, a nurse, and a counselor. And then there was the prosecutor representing the state, U.S. Attorney Alfred Hantman.

Seven women, five men, sat on the jury. According to Dovey, they were black and white in equal number and came from every walk of life. There was a taxi driver, a social worker, a nurse, and a counselor. And then there was the prosecutor representing the state, U.S. Attorney Alfred Hantman.

Hantman was a 25-year veteran of the D.C. criminal courts. He knew these kinds of cases better than most trial lawyers, prosecuted dozens of them. He was confident he'd prevail.

Hantman was a 25-year veteran of the D.C. criminal courts. He knew these kinds of cases better than most trial lawyers, prosecuted dozens of them. He was confident he'd prevail.

Chewing gum aggressively didn't exactly win over jurors, or at least annoyed one or two, according to Bennett. It smacked of overconfidence. Hantman took the floor and began his account of what happened that fateful day of October 12th, 1964. He recounted the murder blow by blow, growing louder and louder with each gruesome detail.

Chewing gum aggressively didn't exactly win over jurors, or at least annoyed one or two, according to Bennett. It smacked of overconfidence. Hantman took the floor and began his account of what happened that fateful day of October 12th, 1964. He recounted the murder blow by blow, growing louder and louder with each gruesome detail.

The Washington Post printed all the details of Hantman's opening statement. The assailant shot the victim first in the left temple. Then she was dragged 20 or 25 feet toward the embankment. The witness, Henry Wiggins, heard a scream, God, somebody help me. Mary struggled back across the towpath to the canal's edge. She crawled on her hands and knees, tearing at her assailant.

The Washington Post printed all the details of Hantman's opening statement. The assailant shot the victim first in the left temple. Then she was dragged 20 or 25 feet toward the embankment. The witness, Henry Wiggins, heard a scream, God, somebody help me. Mary struggled back across the towpath to the canal's edge. She crawled on her hands and knees, tearing at her assailant.