It has always been tough to picture him as a murderer, this tiny boy with the bright, quick smile and dimples the size of gumdrops. As he romps across the floor of his home on Chicago's South Side, he looks like one of Barney's little friends. Too early, though, this nine-year-old fully understands that when you're poor and black and accused, real friends can't be found in a purple dinosaur or anywhere else in TV land. Indeed, for the past year his best friend has been the stately gentleman sitting quietly in the living room wearing a starched white shirt, gray...
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