In the fifth week of his murder trial, Alex Murdaugh took the stand.
Over nearly 10 hours testifying in his own defence, the crowded courtroom in Walterboro, South Carolina, would see two versions of Mr Murdaugh. One seemed tired, his voice lilting and thin. His clothes hung loose; months in prison had whittled down his formerly heavy frame. He rocked back and forth, shook his head from side to side, and wept.
The other seemed much more like the man that other witnesses had described – savvy and charming, once a formidable player in the state’s clubby legal circuit. This Mr Murdaugh addressed the jury directly, was relaxed and in control.
“What a tangled web we weave,” he told them.
This was one creepy family with a new rumour that the sons beat a local boy to death for fun.
