By Marilyn Bardsley
Jim Williams had all of it: kind, tradition, air of mystery, and class. As a most efficient antiques broker in Savannah, he mingled with celebrities, together with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and the Rockefellers, who got here to recognize his striking treasures. His legacy thrust Savannah into the nationwide highlight and remodeled the genteel urban right into a vacationer mecca.
But 3 a long time of exertions got here crashing down the evening he shot Danny Hansford, his wild younger lover. Jim Williams stood trial 4 instances over the subsequent decade for premeditated homicide.
Today, travelers flock to Mercer residence to work out the attractive mansion depicted in Clint Eastwood’s motion picture and the publication from which it used to be made—Midnight within the backyard of excellent and Evil—where flamboyant fashion designer and antiques broker Jim Williams (Kevin Spacey) killed Danny Hansford(Jude Law). whereas the motion picture and e-book portrayed the natives of Savannah as remarkably decadent, unique characters, they ignored the wonderful darkish part of Jim Williams himself. He used to be a soft predator whose crimes can have placed him in the back of bars lengthy sooner than the loss of life of Danny Hansford.
After hour of darkness within the backyard of excellent and Evil is the newly revised and improved model of the number 1 Wall highway magazine bestselling real account of the crime, including an important testimony recreating the court drama among a talented prosecutor and an excellent protection legal professional as they conflict over the way forward for a self-made aristocrat.
More than forty pictures and revealing insider interviews convey new lifestyles to the shiny forged of characters during this distinctive southern crime tale.
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Extra info for After Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
A heron wades in the shallows. Dozens of geese dot the water. Sinking into the river upstream is the last of a fiery sun. Only downstream are there a few boxlike buildings peeking over the top of Belle Isle, intruding upon the illusion of wildness. Would you like the address of the shelter? No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I head downstream until the trail gives out, then make my way to a small island by hopping rock to rock and wading across a shallow channel, my shoes hanging from my neck and my pants rolled up to my knees.
I slip the watch into my pocket, walk across the road, and get into his automobile. The inside smells like machine oil and cigarettes. “Tim Binder,” he says. ” He holds up a battered, grimy hand. His fingers tremble slightly. “I’m Peter Kropotkin,” I say. “Nice to meet you,” he says, not looking at me, and we start moving down the road. “I was lucky you came along,” I say. “Yeah,” he says, his eyes on the road, and I wonder why someone so unsociable would stop and offer a ride. We’ve gone at least four or five blocks now, and still he hasn’t asked me where I’m going, though he seems intent on some destination ahead of us.
I wake to the sound of geese overhead calling to one another, and open my eyes. The sky is overcast; the sun lies just below the horizon at my feet. I sit up and scrub my face with the dew from my beard, stand and give my clothes a shake to wake whatever boarders I may have taken in overnight. There’s a bit of a chill in the air now, but it’s going to be another hot, humid one, I’m guessing, and this is only April. What must the summers be like here? The kindling I set aside last night is damp, but I manage to get a fire going with the cardboard from the flashlight package and the receipt from the thrift store.