Still, prosecutors did not drop their case against Matthew.
In letters that Matthew said he received from his mother, she assured him that he would be freed. Recently, she wrote to him that she would plead guilty to the crime and he would be released, or, as she said, "out the gates in '08."
During an interview at the Anne Arundel County Detention Center this year, Matthew was noticeably thinner than when first arrested; his face clear of the acne visible in his mug shot. His arms were tattooed, and he used the teeth of combs as piercings in his lip and ear.
Since his arrest two years earlier, he had spent much of his time in segregation on suicide watch or for tussling with correctional officers. He cursed his mother at times, but he also fondly described her mischievous giggle and how she cocked an eyebrow at him on the rare occasions when she was angry with him.
"She's a real intelligent person," he said. "Down to earth, most of the time. Affectionate."
He paused and then added one characteristic that is undeniable: "She's ... unique."
If Matthew thought McKay would get him out of this mess, it didn't turn out that way.
Earlier this month, while he sat in his cell, his 52-year-old mother was led into a courtroom in Annapolis wearing jeans and a Division of Correction sweat shirt nearly the same shade of gray as her shoulder-length hair. The courtroom was full, in part because of observing students, but McKay never glanced toward the gallery. She sat at the defense table, staring intently as the prosecutor, Virginia Miles, detailed the evidence against her, which included a security video showing McKay purchasing $5 of gasoline just minutes before Fertitta's body was discovered.
McKay listened to all this, resting her chin in her hand, with an index finger slipped into her mouth. If she was surprised or angered or disturbed, nothing in her expression gave any indication.
The purpose of the proceeding was for McKay to enter an Alford plea to second-degree murder in Fertitta's death. That plea, a legal paradox, enabled McKay to maintain her innocence while accepting that prosecutors had enough evidence to convict her. She could be sentenced to 30 years.
For Matthew, the distinction couldn't be more momentous. His mother's court appearance did nothing to clear him of suspicion.
Nevertheless, after McKay was escorted from the courtroom, her attorney, Karl H. Gordon, assured reporters: "She remains very concerned about her son."
Matthew is scheduled to go on trial in Fertitta's murder in October.
justin.fenton@baltsun.com
