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When the evidence against Skakel appeared, it was all circumstantial. The murder weapon, a Toney Penna six-iron, came from a set owned by Michael and Tommy's mother. Witnesses--a family friend, a hairdresser, a chauffeur--came forward with suspicious remarks Michael had made over the years. Neighbors remembered the young Skakel whacking the heads off squirrels with a golf club for fun.
Prosecutor Jonathan Benedict extracted reluctant testimony from Skakel's sister and played a tape Skakel made in the mid-'90s, when he was working on his autobiography. Both cast doubt on Skakel's alibi but without demolishing it. Classmates from a private school Skakel attended in Maine--really a glorified rehab clinic where Skakel was sent after a drunken-driving arrest--said he talked about the murder. The accounts ranged from helpless uncertainty--he was drunk, he blacked out, he couldn't remember what had happened--to dumb arrogance: "I'm gonna get away with murder. I'm a Kennedy."
It was Benedict's summation that turned the tide. A tweedy, silver-haired George Plimpton type who shuns the limelight, Benedict was soft-spoken for most of the trial. (At one point a member of the jury even had to ask him to speak up.) But his closing argument was a tour de force. Orchestrating a barrage of tapes, photographs and flashing transcripts, Benedict wove dozens of disparate facts into a simple scenario as chilling as any thriller: Skakel, jealous because Moxley flirted with Tommy, beat her to death in a drunken rage, masturbated over her body, then crept back to his bedroom.
After the verdict, Judge John Kavanewsky denied Skakel bail and refused his request to address the court. Outside the courthouse, no one was celebrating. Martha's brother John called the victory hollow, saying: "It doesn't bring Martha back." Mickey Sherman, Skakel's lawyer, declared himself "bitterly disappointed" and discussed grounds for appeal. Said brother David: "Michael is innocent. I know this because I know Michael like only a brother does."
No trial ever ends with the verdict. On July 19, Kavanewsky will hand down a sentence, which could be as short as 10 years or as long as the rest of Skakel's life. The court will ask the Moxley family for its view. The Moxleys feel that since they waited 27 years for justice, Skakel should get at least that much time. They hope he gets more.
Barring a successful appeal, Skakel, now 41, will go to prison for the crime of the feral 15-year-old he once was. A last thread remains unresolved: Did he act alone, or did he have an accomplice? "I think it's unlikely he cleaned his mess up by himself," said Benedict after the trial. "That's about all I would venture to guess." Which goes to show there are some messes that will never be cleaned up and some secrets time will never tell.