Thomas Hopkins came to the sheriff’s office with $3,000 in cash, an astronomical sum during the depression, and demanded his son’s release.

“The bail for murder is not negotiable,” Sheriff Bentley said.

“He hasn’t been charged with murder,” the attorney countered.

“Only suspicion.

Under Virginia law, he’s entitled to reasonable bail.

” Reluctantly, the sheriff had no choice but to release both boys after the bail was posted.

But as a condition of their release, Roy and Shorty were placed under house arrest and forbidden to leave their properties.

The Roan’s family didn’t have the same resources as the Hopkins, but they scraped together enough for a modest attorney, a young lawyer from Bristol named Marcus Webb, who had a reputation for defending underdogs.

Meanwhile, the Hood family prepared to bury their daughter.

Bertha’s funeral was held on November 6th, 1930 at the Free Will Baptist Church.

The small building couldn’t accommodate everyone who came to pay their respects.

People stood outside in the cold, hats in hand, heads bowed.

The simple wooden coffin sat at the front of the church, surrounded by wild flowers that neighbors had gathered from the last blooms of autumn.

Bertha lay inside wearing her navy blue dress, cleaned and mended where the bullet had torn through with her hands folded across her chest.

Martha Hood sat in the front pew, supported by her sister Elizabeth on one side and her son James on the other.

She wore black and had aged 10 years in less than a week.

Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes hollow from sleepless nights.

William Hood sat beside her, stiff and silent.

He stared at his daughter’s coffin, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white.

He hadn’t cried since the day they found Bertha.

His grief had hardened into something cold and unyielding.

Reverend Clayton delivered the eulogy, his voice breaking multiple times.

Bertha Anne Hood was a light in this community, he said.

She was kind, generous, faithful, and full of promise.

Her death is a tragedy that cuts to the very heart of who we are as a people.

We ask ourselves how such evil could touch one so innocent.

We have no answers, only questions and pain.

He paused, looking out at the sea of grieving faces.

But we must also remember that Bertha is not truly gone.

She is with the Lord now, free from pain, free from the cruelty of this world.

And one day, when our own time comes, we will see her again.

After the service, the congregation followed the coffin to the small cemetery on the hillside behind the church.

The grave had been dug that morning, the red Virginia clay piled beside it.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Martha Hood let out a whale of such profound grief that it seemed to tear open the sky itself.

William stood motionless, his face like stone as shovelfuls of dirt fell onto his daughter’s coffin, each thud like a hammer blow to his heart.

When it was over, the mourner slowly dispersed, leaving the Hood family alone at the graveside.

William knelt beside the fresh mound of earth and placed his hand on it.

“I promise you, Bertha,” he whispered.

“I will find who did this, and they will pay.

” Over the following weeks, the investigation continued, though progress was slow.

Both Roy and Shorty maintained their innocence, and without a murder weapon or a confession, the case remained circumstantial.

But tensions in Wise County were reaching a boiling point.

Rumors spread like wildfire.

Some said Roy had been obsessed with Bertha and killed her in a jealous rage when she rejected him.

Others claimed Shorty had accidentally shot her and was covering it up.

Still others whispered of a conspiracy that both boys had planned the murder together.

Families took sides.

The Hoods had the sympathy of most of the community, but the Hopkins family had money and influence.

They used both to wage a public relations campaign, insisting on Shorty’s innocence and pointing the finger at Roy Roans.

“It’s that Roian’s boy,” Thomas Hopkins told anyone who would listen.

“He’s got a violent temper.

Everyone knows it.

My son would never hurt anyone.

” The Roins family, lacking resources and social standing, could do little but protest their son’s innocence and hope the truth would emerge.

As Christmas approached, the case seemed to stall.

Both defense attorneys filed motion after motion, delaying the trial.

The prosecution, led by Commonwealth attorney Douglas Hail, struggled to build a case without physical evidence.

But then, in January 1931, a break in the case came from an unexpected source.

A young man named Billy Thompson came forward with new information.

Billy was 16, a friend of both Roy and Shorty, and he claimed to have information that could solve the case.

I know what happened that night, Billy told Sheriff Bentley.

And I can’t keep quiet no more.

Billy’s testimony was explosive.

He claimed that on the evening of November 2nd, he had been hunting rabbits in the woods near the railroad tracks when he heard voices.

He recognized them as Roy, Shorty, and Bertha.

They were arguing something fierce, Billy said.

Bertha was telling them both to leave her alone, that she wasn’t interested in neither of them.

Roy was getting angry, saying things like, “If I can’t have you, nobody can.

” And Shorty was trying to calm him down.

“What happened next?” Sheriff Bentley asked.

I heard Bertha say she was going to tell her father about them bothering her.

She said she’d had enough.

And then then I heard a gunshot.

Billy’s hands trembled as he continued.

I was scared.

I didn’t know what to do.

I hid behind a tree and watched.

I saw Roy standing there with a pistol in his hand, looking down at something on the ground.

Shorty was backing away, his hands up, saying, “What did you do? What did you do?” And then Roy told Shorty that if he said anything, he’d kill him, too.

And Shorty ran.

Just took off running.

And Roy Roy dragged Bertha’s body off the tracks into the ditch.

And then he ran, too.

“Why didn’t you come forward sooner?” the sheriff demanded.

I was scared.

Billy admitted tears in his eyes.

Roy threatened people.

Everyone knows that.

I thought he might come after me or my family, but I can’t sleep no more.

I see her face every time I close my eyes.

She deserves justice.

This testimony changed everything.

On January 15th, 1931, Roy Roins was formally charged with firstdegree murder.

Shorty Hopkins was charged as an accessory after the fact for not reporting the crime.

But before the trial could begin, something happened that nearly derailed the entire case.

On a cold February night, a group of armed men, vigilantes from the mountains, friends and relatives of the Hood family, gathered at a crossroads outside of Wise.

They numbered about 20 carrying Winchester rifles and Colt pistols, their faces grim with determination.

The law ain’t doing its job.

One of them said that boy killed Bertha Hood and he’s going to pay.

Their plan was simple.

Ride to both the Roians and Hopkins homes, drag the boys out and administer frontier justice, a hanging.

But Sheriff Bentley had heard whispers of the plan.

He and his deputies intercepted the vigilantes before they could reach their targets.

“You men need to go home,” Sheriff Bentley said, his hand resting on his holstered weapon.

That boy murdered an innocent girl, one of the vigilantes countered.

And he’s sitting comfortable in his house while Bertha Hood is cold in the ground.

I understand your anger, the sheriff said calmly.

But we have a trial scheduled.

Justice will be served, but it will be served lawfully.

And what if he gets off? What if some fancy lawyer gets him acquitted? Another man challenged.

Then we deal with that when and if it happens,” Sheriff Bentley replied.

“But I will not allow mob justice in my county.

Now go home before I arrest every one of you for conspiracy to commit murder.

” The men grumbled, but eventually dispersed.

The crisis was averted, but the sheriff knew time was running out.

The trial needed to happen soon before the community tore itself apart.

The trial date was set for April 16th, 1931.

April 16th, 1931 dawned clear and warm, the first true hint of spring in the Cumberland Mountains.

But the beauty of the day was lost on the hundreds of people who converged on the Wise County Courthouse.

The courthouse was a handsome brick building constructed in 1895 with a distinctive ballastrade along the flat roof line and a two-story addition added in 1920.

It sat in the center of Wise, surrounded by a lawn that was now trampled by the enormous crowd that had gathered.

People came from all over Weise County and beyond, from Big Stone Gap, East Stone Gap, Norton, and [clears throat] the remote hollers in between.

They arrived on horseback in wagons in the few automobiles owned by wealthier families.

By 8:2 a.

m.

, the courthouse steps were packed and the lawn was filled with spectators.

Inside the courtroom on the second floor could seat perhaps 100 people, but easily twice that number tried to cram inside.

Baleiff struggled to maintain order, eventually closing the doors and stationing deputies outside to prevent more people from entering.

This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen for a trial, Judge Harold Morrison said to his clerk as he prepared to enter the courtroom.

Judge Morrison was 62 years old, a distinguished-looking man with silver hair and wire- rimmed spectacles.

He had presided over the Wise County Circuit Court for 20 years and was known for his fairness and his non-nonsense approach to justice.

The atmosphere in the courtroom was electric with tension.

On one side sat the Hood family, William, Martha, James, and Samuel, along with extended relatives and supporters.

William wore his only suit, black wool worn at the elbows, and sat ramrod straight, his face an impassive mask.

On the other side sat Frank Roans, looking haggarded and defeated.

He couldn’t afford a new suit, so he wore clean work clothes and a borrowed tie.

Roy sat beside him at the defense table, dressed in clothes provided by his attorney.

The boy looked small and frightened, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes.

Behind them sat the Hopkins family.

Thomas and his wife Grace along with Shorty Hopkins.

Despite Shorty facing lesser charges as an accessory, the Hopkins family had spared no expense on his defense.

They sat prominently, Thomas’s face set in an expression of righteous indignation.

The prosecution was led by Commonwealth attorney Douglas Hail, a stern man in his late 40s with a reputation for aggressive courtroom tactics.

He was assisted by two junior prosecutors.

The defense was led by Marcus Webb, the young attorney from Bristol who had taken Royy’s case.

Webb was only 30 years old with sandy hair and an earnest face.

He lacked Hail’s experience, but he was smart and passionate about defending those who couldn’t defend themselves.

Judge Morrison entered and everyone rose.

The baleiff called out, “All rise.

The circuit court of Wise County is now in session.

The Honorable Judge Harold Morrison presiding.

Be seated, Judge Morrison said, settling into his chair behind the bench.

He surveyed the packed courtroom, his expression grave.

This is a murder trial, he began, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.

We are here to determine the guilt or innocence of the defendant, Roy Roins, in the death of Bertha Anne Hood.

This court will tolerate no outbursts, no disruptions.

Anyone who cannot conduct themselves appropriately will be removed.

Is that understood? A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Very well, Mr.

Hail.

You may present the Commonwealth’s case.

Douglas Hail rose, buttoning his suit jacket.

He was a commanding presence, tall and broad-shouldered, with a deep voice that resonated with authority.

May it please the court.

he began.

On the evening of November 2nd, 1930, 15-year-old Bertha Anne Hood left her family’s home to attend a church service.

She never arrived.

Her body was discovered later that night, shot through the heart.

She was an innocent girl, a beloved daughter, a faithful member of her church, and a promising student.

Her murder shocked this community and left a family shattered by grief.

Hail paused, letting his words sink in.

The Commonwealth will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant, Roy Roins, committed this heinous crime.

We will present witnesses who placed the defendant at the scene.

We will show that the defendant had motive, a jealous obsession with the victim, and we will demonstrate that the defendant had means and opportunity to commit this murder.

He gestured toward Roy, who shrank under the weight of so many eyes.

Justice for Bertha Hood demands that her killer be held accountable and that killer is sitting at the defense table.

Hail sat down and Marcus Webb rose for the defense.

Your honor, Webb began, his voice less commanding than Hails, but earnest and sincere.

Roy Roins is a 15-year-old boy.

He is not a monster.

He is not a hardened criminal.

He is a child who made mistakes, who exercised poor judgment, but who did not commit murder.

Webb approached the jury box, making eye contact with each juror.

The Commonwealth’s case is built on speculation and circumstantial evidence.

Yes, Roy knew Bertha Hood.

Yes, he admired her.

But admiration is not murder.

The prosecution would have you believe that because Roy was near the railroad tracks that evening, he must be guilty.

But being in the vicinity of a crime is not the same as committing it.

He returned to the defense table, placing a hand on Royy’s shoulder.

Roy Roins deserves a fair trial based on facts and evidence, not emotion and prejudice.

I ask you to listen carefully to the testimony, to weigh the evidence, and to remember that in this country, a person is innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

With opening statements complete, the prosecution began calling witnesses.

The first was William Hood.

William took the stand, placing his hand on the Bible and swearing to tell the truth.

He sat stiffly in the witness chair, his large hands gripping the armrests.

“Mr.

Hood, please tell the court about your daughter, Bertha,” Hail said gently.

“Williams voice was steady but strained.

” “Bertha was my only daughter.

She was 15 years old.

She was a good girl.

Went to church every Sunday, helped her mother, did well in school.

She never caused no trouble.

Did Bertha have a relationship with the defendant, Roy Roins? No, sir.

She didn’t want nothing to do with him.

He and another boy, Shorty Hopkins, had been bothering her.

They got into a fight over her just a week before she died.

How did Bertha feel about this attention? She was scared.

She told me she wanted them to leave her alone.

And what did you do? I spoke to both boys fathers.

I told them their sons needed to stay away from my daughter.

Hail nodded.

And yet on the night Bertha died, witnesses saw her with both boys near the railroad tracks.

“Is that correct?” “That’s what I’ve been told,” William said, his voice hardening.

“Thank you, Mr.

Hood.

No further questions.

” Marcus Webb approached for cross-examination, his expression sympathetic.

“Mr.

Hood, I am deeply sorry for your loss,” Webb began.

I can’t imagine the pain you and your family have endured.

William nodded stiffly, saying nothing.

Mr.

Hood, you testified that Bertha didn’t want anything to do with Roy or Shorty, but did she ever actually say that Roy threatened her or harmed her in any way? William hesitated.

She said he made her uncomfortable, but she never said he threatened her.

Not in so many words, no.

Is it possible that Roy simply had a teenage crush on Bertha and didn’t know how to express it appropriately? Objection, Hail said, rising.

Speculation.

Sustained.

Judge Morrison said.

Webb nodded.

No further questions.

The next witness was Martha Hood.

She could barely walk to the witness stand, supported by her sister, Elizabeth.

She wore black and her face was drawn and pale.

Hail questioned her gently about Bertha’s character, her activities that day, and the moment she left the house for church.

She kissed my cheek.

Martha whispered tears streaming down her face.

She said, “I’ll be home by 9:00, mama.

” And I never saw her alive again.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the courtroom.

Even Judge Morrison had to clear his throat and look away momentarily.

Marcus Webb declined to cross-examine Martha Hood.

There was nothing to be gained from questioning a grieving mother, and doing so would only turn the jury against his client.

The prosecution then called Dr.

Thomas Mullins, the coroner, who testified about the autopsy findings.

The victim died from a single gunshot wound to the heart.

Dr.

Mullins explained the bullet entered just above the left breast and penetrated the heart directly.

death would have been almost instantaneous.

Based on the angle of entry, the shooter was standing approximately 5 to 10 ft away at roughly the same height as the victim.

“What caliber weapon was used?” Hail asked.

“Based on the wound and the bullet I extracted, I would say a 32 caliber pistol.

” “And is it true that the defendant owned a 32 caliber pistol?” Objection.

Web rose quickly.

That hasn’t been established in this testimony.

sustained.

Judge Morrison said, “Mr.

Hail, confine your questions to this witness’s expertise.

” Hail nodded.

No further questions.

Webb approached for cross-examination.

Dr.

Mullins, you said the shooter was standing 5 to 10 ft away.

Is that correct? Yes.

Could you determine from the wound whether the shooting was intentional or accidental? Dr.

Mullins paused.

No, the wound itself doesn’t indicate intent, only the trajectory and impact.

So, it’s possible this could have been an accidental discharge of a weapon.

It’s possible.

Yes.

Thank you, doctor.

The next witness was the most damaging.

Billy Thompson.

Billy was 16, tall and gangly with a nervous energy that made him fidget constantly.

He took the stand and was sworn in, his voice shaking as he repeated the oath.

Douglas Hail approached him like a predator.

circling prey.

Knowing this testimony could make or break the case.

Billy, please tell the court what you witnessed on the evening of November 2nd, 1930.

Billy swallowed hard.

I was out hunting rabbits in the woods near the railroad tracks around 6:30 or so.

It was getting dark.

I heard voices arguing, so I stopped to listen.

Whose voices did you hear? Bertha Hood, Roy Roins, and Shorty Hopkins.

You’re certain it was these three individuals? Yes, sir.

I’ve known all of them my whole life.

I recognize their voices.

What were they arguing about? Bertha was upset.

She was telling Roy and Shorty to leave her alone, that she was tired of them fighting over her like she was some kind of prize.

She said she was going to tell her father about them bothering her.

And then what happened? Billy’s voice dropped to barely a whisper.

Roy got angry.

He said something like, “If I can’t have you, nobody can.

” And then I heard a gunshot.

The courtroom erupted in gasps and whispers.

Judge Morrison banged his gavvel.

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