Trinity Poague did not testify.
After three days of testimony, after the prosecution presented text messages where she wrote about letting her boyfriend's baby hit a wall, after they showed the jury that she googled "How do you get a brain bleed" while that same baby lay dying in a hospital thirty minutes away, after her own defense attorney impeached the child's father and attacked the investigation that put her in that courtroom, Trinity Madison Poague chose silence.
The judge had looked directly at her earlier that afternoon, during the lunch recess, and explained the most important decision of her life. You have the right to testify, he told her. You also have the right to remain silent. Your silence cannot be held against you. He paused. Then he made something very clear: This is YOUR decision. Not your lawyer's. Yours.
She said she understood. She said she didn't need more time to discuss it with her attorney. And when the defense rested without calling her to the stand, twelve jurors were left with a question they will carry into deliberations: If she didn't do it, why didn't she tell us what happened in that dorm room?
They're not supposed to think that way. The law says they cannot draw any inference from her silence. The judge will instruct them on that tomorrow before closing arguments. But those Google searches will echo in their minds. Brain bleeds. Skull fractures. Subarachnoid hemorrhages. She was searching for medical information about the exact injuries that were killing Romeo Angeles while he was still alive, while doctors were still trying to save him. And she never took the stand to explain why.
That silence is the most important decision of Trinity Poague's life. Her lawyers have done everything they can. They've attacked the investigation. They've impeached the father. They've presented character witnesses. But at the end of the day, when the jury goes back to that deliberation room, they will remember those searches. They will remember that Trinity Poague could have explained them, could have told them what she was thinking, could have looked them in the eye and said "I was scared and confused and looking for information, but I didn't hurt that baby." She chose not to. Now they must decide what that means.
Romeo Angeles was eighteen months old. His father called him JD, short for Jaxton Drew, the name Julian Williams gave him even though it wasn't on the birth certificate. Romeo liked watching Cocomelon, a children's show that made him smile. He drank Mountain Dew from a sippy cup, even when he probably shouldn't have. He was just learning to walk, just learning to talk, just learning to navigate a world that ended for him on January 14, 2024, in a freshman dormitory at Georgia Southwestern State University.
Trinity Poague was his father's girlfriend. She was eighteen years old, a former pageant queen, a Jimmy Carter Leadership Program scholar, a nursing student with straight A's in her first semester. By every measure available before that January day, she was building a future. Now she sits at the defense table in an olive green shirt, watching that future slip away with every piece of evidence the prosecution presents, and she has chosen not to tell the jury her side of the story.
This is the weight of the criminal justice system. A nineteen-year-old woman, presumed innocent under the law, sits in a courtroom while prosecutors present evidence meant to convince twelve strangers to take away her freedom forever. She has the right to remain silent. She has the right to make the prosecution prove its case. She has the right to confront the witnesses against her and to put on a defense. But she does not have the right to explain away those Google searches without facing cross-examination. She does not have the right to tell her version of events without being questioned about every text message, every search, every inconsistency the prosecution can find. And so she sits. And she is silent. And the jury watches.
Day 3 of this trial was the day everything came to a head. The prosecution rested after presenting their most damaging evidence yet. The defense moved for a directed verdict and lost. Trinity Poague was told the decision to testify was hers alone. The defense mounted a limited case, impeached Julian Williams with his own contradictions, called character witnesses who testified Trinity had babysat their children without incident, and put her dormitory neighbors on the stand to describe a baby who cried constantly when he was around her. Then the defense rested. Without Trinity.
Tomorrow, the lawyers will give their closing arguments. Then the jury will get this case. And they will have to decide whether the evidence proves beyond a reasonable doubt that Trinity Poague beat Romeo Angeles to death, or whether the gaps in the investigation, the impeachment of the father, and the presumption of innocence are enough to set her free.
I watched every minute of Day 3. What I saw was a prosecution that landed devastating blows with digital evidence, a defense that scored real points on investigative failures, and a defendant who bet her life on silence. By the time court adjourned, the shape of this case had finally become clear. It comes down to one question: Can twelve jurors look past those Google searches and find reasonable doubt?
Let me tell you what happened.
But first, let me remind you where we've been. Day 1 of this trial belonged to the defense. They established that the crime scene produced no physical evidence of violence. Crime scene specialist GBI Agent James Gibson testified that he found no blood, no weapon, no signs of struggle in Trinity's dorm room. The defense showed that investigators threw away a diaper that might have contained blood, evidence that could have been tested but never was. They savaged Julian Williams on cross-examination, exposing that he never took his son to a doctor during a year of custody, that he was drinking rum the night before Romeo died, that he passed out while Trinity cared for the child. The prosecution's first day was shaky at best.
Day 2 was different. Day 2 was when the medical evidence arrived. Three doctors testified that Romeo's fatal injuries could not have occurred more than thirty to sixty minutes before he presented at the hospital. Dr. Michael Busman, the emergency room physician who first treated Romeo, described the moment the baby arrived: unresponsive, foaming at the mouth, blood and fluid draining from his nose. He felt the child's abdomen and knew immediately something was catastrophically wrong. The liver was lacerated. Blood was pooling under the skin. Dr. Jill Olek, the forensic pathologist, testified there was "zero percent chance" this child was behaving normally after sustaining his injuries. Dr. Jonathan Clark, the medical examiner who performed the autopsy, testified this was "abusive head trauma" and ruled the manner of death as homicide.
The medical evidence created a box around Trinity Poague. If the child was injured within that thirty-to-sixty-minute window, and Julian Williams left at 11:55 AM and returned at 12:31 PM, then Trinity was the only person who could have caused those injuries. The defense could attack the investigation, could question Julian's credibility, could point to evidence that was lost or never collected. But they could not change the medical timeline. They could not put someone else in that dorm room during those thirty-five minutes.
Day 3 would be the day everything came to a point. The prosecution would present their most damaging digital evidence. The defense would have their chance to respond. And Trinity Poague would face the most important decision of her life.
The morning began with Lieutenant Timothy Allen, a twenty-year veteran of the Americus Police Department who moonlights as security at Phoebe Sumter Medical Center. He was in the security booth near the emergency room entrance on January 14, 2024, when he saw a white Mustang pull into the parking lot going the wrong way. A young Black man got out of the car holding a baby and ran toward the ER doors.
The baby wasn't moving, Allen testified. The man's mannerisms told him immediately that something was seriously wrong. Allen watched from the booth as the man rushed past the check-in desk and was quickly let through to the back. By the time Allen made his way through the ambulance bay entrance, medical staff had the baby in a trauma room and were working on him.
Julian Williams, the baby's father, was standing just outside the door. He wasn't in the room with the medical team. He was in the common area, close enough to see but not close enough to interfere. A nurse pointed out injuries on the baby's face. Allen pulled Julian outside to the ambulance bay to ask what happened.
The baby had fallen, Julian said. That was all he offered at first. Just that the baby had fallen. Allen noticed vomit stains on Julian's right shoulder from carrying the child. He radioed his shift supervisor to report a situation involving an infant at the hospital. Then Julian elaborated: his girlfriend had told him the baby fell out of a chair.
At this point, Allen still didn't know Julian hadn't been there when it happened. He didn't know the incident occurred at the GSW campus. He didn't know that Julian had been at Walmart getting pizza and diapers while the baby was supposedly falling from a bean bag chair in Trinity Poague's dorm room.
Then Trinity arrived. The nursing staff came out and told them the baby's mother had shown up. It was actually Trinity, the girlfriend, not the biological mother. Allen and Julian went back inside and stood near the nurses' station with her. Allen asked Trinity what happened.
She described the baby sitting on a low bean bag style chair, eating chips and drinking juice. She said she turned away from the child, heard something that sounded like a fall, turned back around, picked up the baby, and attended to him. That was her first explanation. The bean bag chair story. The story the prosecution would spend the rest of the trial demolishing with medical evidence.
The defense scored some points on cross-examination. Allen wasn't wearing a body camera because of HIPAA concerns at the hospital. He didn't write an incident report because he was working for Phoebe Sumter, not the police department. And critically, Julian Williams was actually the first person to say the baby had fallen, before Trinity ever arrived at the hospital. The defense wanted the jury to remember that.
Then came Reverend Matthysse Wright, the deputy coroner who responded to the hospital that day. Wright is a minister who served as a deputy coroner under Clifford Walton until Walton left office at the end of 2024. He arrived at Phoebe Sumter within an hour of the call, spoke with Officer Allen, examined the baby's body, and then interviewed both Julian Williams and Trinity Poague separately.
Julian told Wright the same thing: he had left to get pizza, the baby was fine when he left, and when he came back the baby was in distress and his girlfriend said the child had fallen. Trinity told Wright the baby was eating potato chips and had become distressed and fallen out of the chair. But there was a problem. Wright went back to Trinity because there was no evidence of chips. No chips in the baby's mouth, no chips at the scene. EMS didn't find any chips. When Wright asked Trinity about this, she gave a different story: the child wasn't really eating that morning, wasn't eating the night before either.
The defense used Wright to score a significant point. During cross-examination, attorney Robert Gamble asked Wright about an interview he gave to WTVM television station shortly after the incident. Wright said he didn't remember the interview. Gamble played an audio recording. In that interview, Wright said that when he examined the baby, some of the injuries appeared to be "past history as well as new." He said that's why they ordered an autopsy, to determine whether the injuries were recent or had been going on for a while.
This mattered to the defense. If some injuries were older, if there was evidence of prior abuse, then maybe those injuries happened when Trinity wasn't around. Maybe Julian, or someone in the household where the baby actually lived, was responsible for some of what killed Romeo Angeles. Wright acknowledged he made that statement. But on redirect, he clarified that when the autopsy results came back, they confirmed there were no old injuries. The medical examiner found that the cause of death was blunt trauma to the head, neck, and torso, and the manner of death was homicide.
Then came the witness who would define the prosecution's case. GBI Special Agent Samantha Ford took the stand as the state's final witness. Ford is the lead investigator, a nine-year veteran out of the Americus office. She was called in by Georgia Southwestern campus police on January 14, 2024, around 2:00 in the afternoon. What she found on Trinity Poague's phone would become the most devastating evidence in the trial.
First, the messages. Ford extracted data from Trinity's phone after seizing it during an interview and obtaining a search warrant. She found a message Trinity sent to Julian on December 10, 2023, just over a month before Romeo died. In that message, Trinity wrote that letting JD "hit the wall and see the damage it did really hurt me" and that she didn't have the child's best interest at heart. She wrote that every time she saw JD, she cried because he looked like Julian. "A part of me wishes he wasn't yours," she wrote. She talked about wanting a family of her own, about feeling like the baby hated her, about how he cried nonstop when he was with her.
Then came the message from the night before that one. December 9, 2023. Trinity had sent a message to a group chat with other girls in her dorm. "Y'all, I'm sorry if you hear this baby cry. He doesn't feel good. So, everything he does, he cries about it. I promise I ain't killing him."
The prosecution let that message hang in the air. "I promise I ain't killing him." A joke? A confession of frustration? Or something darker? The message came just over a month before Romeo died. It showed the jury that Trinity was annoyed by the baby's crying, that she felt the need to reassure her dormmates that she wasn't hurting him, that the relationship between caregiver and child was troubled long before January 14.
But the most damaging evidence wasn't the messages. It was the Google searches.
Agent Ford testified that between 2:30 and 4:00 in the afternoon on January 14, while Trinity was still at the hospital, while Romeo was still alive but dying, she was searching the internet. "How do you get a brain bleed." "Can a depressed skull fracture go unnoticed." She searched for information about infant brain damage. She searched for subarachnoid hemorrhages. She also searched for how to deactivate Facebook.
Around 7:00 that evening, when she was at the Americus Police Department waiting to be interviewed, Trinity was still searching. This time for images of skull fractures.
The prosecution didn't belabor the point. They didn't have to. The jury heard what Trinity was doing while Romeo was dying. She was researching the exact injuries that would appear on his autopsy report.
Defense attorney Robert Gamble launched an aggressive cross-examination attacking the investigation itself. He established that Agent Ford never visited the home in Colquitt where Romeo actually lived with Julian's sister Ashante Burke. She never interviewed Julian's friends. She never spoke to his neighbors. She never went to his workplace. She didn't investigate whether Ashante Burke was dating anyone who might have had access to the child.
"You never went to the home where the child lived," Gamble pressed. Ford admitted she hadn't. The defense was building toward a simple argument: the investigation had tunnel vision. They focused on Trinity from the start and never seriously considered anyone else.
This matters because Romeo Angeles didn't live at Georgia Southwestern. He lived in Colquitt, about an hour south, with Julian's sister Ashante Burke. Julian was the custodial parent, but the child spent most of his time with Ashante. If someone else in that household had been abusing Romeo, if there were signs of prior injury that happened before January 14, if there were other adults with access to the child who were never investigated, the GBI would never have found out. They didn't look.
Gamble hammered on the lost evidence. The diaper that Dr. Busman believed contained blood was thrown away without testing. Julian Williams' jacket with vomit stains was never collected. Julian's hands were never photographed despite the investigation centering on blunt force trauma to a child. Agent Gibson, the crime scene specialist, had testified he didn't collect the diaper because he didn't see blood in it. He testified he'd never heard of blood tests for fecal matter. The defense called that testimony "astounding" and suggested it might constitute perjury.
Ford defended the decisions. Gibson was trained in blood pattern analysis. If he saw anything that looked like blood, he would have tested it. He had field tests available in his vehicle. The diaper just looked like a dirty diaper. The vomit on the jacket served no investigative purpose when multiple witnesses confirmed the child had vomited. There was no dispute about that fact.
But the defense had made their point. Evidence that could have been collected was not collected. Tests that could have been run were not run. An investigation that could have been thorough was not thorough. And now Trinity Poague was on trial for murder based on what was found, not what might have been found if anyone had looked harder.
Then Gamble went after something that could have been explosive. He asked Ford if she had run a criminal history on Julian Williams. She said yes. That criminal history was never provided to the defense. Gamble moved for a mistrial, arguing it was a Brady violation, that the prosecution was required to disclose any evidence in its possession.
A sidebar followed. Ford admitted she had read a criminal history in a secure portal, but it wasn't printed out, wasn't made part of the case file. She wasn't even certain a formal intel report was ever generated. The defense pushed hard. If something was in that criminal history that could have helped Trinity, the jury would never know.
Brady v. Maryland is the landmark Supreme Court case requiring prosecutors to disclose exculpatory evidence to the defense. If the prosecution has evidence that could help the defendant, they must turn it over. Failure to do so can result in overturned convictions, new trials, and sanctions against prosecutors. The defense was suggesting that the GBI's criminal history check on Julian Williams might have contained information that could help Trinity, and that information was never disclosed.
The judge denied the mistrial motion. There was no showing that a report existed, that it contained exculpatory information, or that the prosecution had withheld anything material. But the defense had planted a seed: what else didn't the investigation find because they were so focused on Trinity Poague?
After Agent Ford's testimony, the state rested its case. The prosecution was done. Three days of testimony. Sixteen witnesses. Medical evidence, digital evidence, timeline evidence. Now it was the defense's turn to respond.
The judge sent the jury to an early lunch. What followed, outside the presence of the jury, would shape the rest of the trial.
Defense attorney Gamble made a motion for directed verdict, arguing the state hadn't proven enough to even send the case to a jury. He renewed his spoliation motion about the destroyed diaper. His argument was simple and devastating: "This case has much suspicion and very little evidence." The crime technician admitted he gathered nothing usable from the scene. The lead investigator admitted they don't know what object caused the injuries. They can't say exactly where it happened. They have competing possible suspects.
A directed verdict, also called a judgment of acquittal, is what happens when the defense argues that the prosecution's evidence is so weak that no reasonable jury could convict. If the judge grants the motion, the case is over. The defendant walks free. The prosecution doesn't get to make closing arguments. The jury never deliberates. It's a high bar to clear, but defense attorneys make the motion in almost every case, just in case.
Prosecutor Lamb fired back. On the diaper: Dr. Busman was looking at a photograph, not the actual diaper. The crime scene technician who held the diaper said it looked like a dirty diaper, not blood. More importantly, three doctors testified there was no anatomical pathway for internal bleeding to reach the intestines. The medical examiner examined the entire GI tract during autopsy and found no blood. Even if the diaper had blood in it, it wouldn't have been caused by the fatal injuries.
On the directed verdict, Lamb was blunt. "To say that murder's free in Georgia if you just make a little effort not to let the weapon be found is absurd." Georgia law doesn't require evidence of a specific instrument. The testimony established the child received fatal injuries within a 30 to 60 minute window. Julian testified the child was healthy when he left at 11:55 to get pizza. When he returned at 12:31, his baby was essentially brain dead. The only person with access to that child during that window was Trinity Poague.
The judge denied both motions. He acknowledged the case is "primarily circumstantial" but ruled the timeline evidence combined with medical testimony creates a jury question. On spoliation, he found no bad faith by the officer, no clear exculpatory value to the evidence. The trial would continue.
Then the judge turned to Trinity Poague. He spoke directly to her, not to her lawyer. He explained her constitutional right to testify or remain silent. He made clear that if she chose not to testify, her silence could not be held against her. He confirmed she understood. He asked if she needed more time to discuss it with her attorney. She said no. He did not ask what her decision was. But everyone in that courtroom knew the biggest question of the trial was about to be answered.
This is the moment every defendant must face. The Fifth Amendment protects against self-incrimination. No one can force you to testify against yourself. But silence has a cost. When the prosecution has presented damaging evidence and the defendant doesn't respond, jurors notice. They wonder. They fill the silence with their own conclusions. The right not to testify is sacred, but exercising that right can feel like an admission.
After lunch, the defense began its case. It was limited but strategic.
First, they recalled Reverend Wright. The defense played the WTVM interview where Wright said there appeared to be "past history as well as new" injuries. Wright acknowledged making that statement. He acknowledged it was his voice on the recording. The defense had their point: even the deputy coroner initially thought there might be older injuries. But on redirect, Wright confirmed that the autopsy results showed no old injuries. The medical examiner's conclusion was definitive.
Then the defense recalled Julian Williams. This was surgical. Attorney Gamble had one goal: lock Julian into a specific claim that could be impeached. He asked Julian about his GBI interviews. Julian confirmed he was interviewed two or three times across two days. The key question: In that first interview on January 14, did Agent Ford ask if you knew what caused the injuries? Yes. What did you tell her?
"He supposedly fell off the chair. I mean fell off the chair. I was not present."
Julian confirmed he told the same story in his second interview that day. The defense had what they needed. They were done in under four minutes.
The prosecution used their cross-examination to rehabilitate Julian. They walked him through the entire January 14 timeline again. Left the dorm at 11:55. Checked out at Walmart at 12:14. Walked back into the dorm at 12:30 and 10 seconds. The prosecutor asked directly: When you left, was there anything wrong with your son that you saw? No. "Did you smash his head in, bust his liver up, things like that before you left?" No, sir. The child was sitting up watching Cocomelon. He was fine.
Then the prosecutor walked Julian through the interrogation schedule. Son pronounced dead at 4:18 PM. Two hours later, GBI sits him down for an interview from 6:25 to 8:11. Almost two hours of questioning. They told him not to leave. Then at 10:54, another interview until 12:25 in the morning. "That's a long day," the prosecutor said. The message to the jury was clear: this grieving father cooperated fully while his son's killer was out there.
Then came the impeachment.
The defense recalled Agent Ford. Gamble asked her to review her interview notes from January 14. He asked her to read the summary of Julian Williams' first interview. In that summary, Julian described getting a call from Trinity saying JD was in distress, coming back to the dorm, asking Trinity what happened, and hearing her say "I don't know." Then Julian grabbed Romeo and drove to the hospital. The summary ended with: "Williams had nothing further to provide at this time."
There was no mention of a chair fall.
Gamble pressed. What about the second interview that night? Agent Ford turned to page four of that summary. She read: "Williams did not know how Romeo JD could have been injured. Williams denied causing any physical harm to Romeo."
Julian Williams had just testified under oath that he told Agent Ford about the chair fall in both his January 14 interviews. Agent Ford's contemporaneous notes said he told her he didn't know how the child was injured. Someone was not telling the truth.
The defense didn't need to spell it out. The jury understood. If Julian lied about what he told the GBI, what else might he be lying about? If the father's credibility is damaged, can the jury trust his testimony that the child was fine when he left?
Agent Ford tried to explain the discrepancy. A summary is just a summary, she said. Not every detail from an interview makes it into the written notes. Maybe Julian mentioned the chair fall and it just wasn't documented. But the damage was done. The defense had shown the jury a contradiction between Julian's testimony and the GBI's contemporaneous records. They had given the jury a reason to doubt the prosecution's key witness.
This is what criminal defense is about. You don't have to prove your client is innocent. You don't have to prove someone else did it. You just have to create doubt. Reasonable doubt. The kind of doubt that makes a juror pause before voting to take away someone's freedom. The defense created that doubt with Julian Williams' impeachment. Now the jury will have to decide whether it's enough.
The defense called three character witnesses. Jenna Newsome, a woman who met Trinity at a pageant in 2020, testified that Trinity had babysat her children, a three-year-old daughter and a seven-year-old son, more than ten times. She never had any issues with Trinity's babysitting. Jesse Whitaker testified the same: Trinity babysat her stepchildren and her infant, multiple times, without incident. Megan Pitts, a fellow GSW student in the Jimmy Carter Leadership Program, testified she lived directly across the hall from Trinity in the Oaks dormitory.
But Pitts also gave the prosecution something. The baby cried a lot when he was there around Trinity. Every time. He behaved better and was calmer when Trinity's roommate or somebody else was there to help. He responded better to other people than he did to her. And when asked what opinions Trinity expressed about the child, Pitts said Trinity described that "she didn't particularly like him."
The prosecution used their cross-examination of the character witnesses to plant a different idea. You would expect a babysitter to recognize injury to a child, wouldn't you? You would expect her to take every reasonable measure to protect a child that needed protection? If there was a child being physically abused in her presence, that would be a gross failure on her part if she did nothing, wouldn't it?
The witnesses agreed. They had to. And the jury understood the implication: Trinity Poague wasn't just babysitting Romeo Angeles on January 14, 2024. She was the only adult in that room when he was beaten so severely that he died.
Elanie Bro, another dormitory neighbor, testified she heard the baby crying periodically throughout the night of January 13 into the morning of January 14. She heard him crying around 1:00 AM, then on and off until about 6:00 AM. By 9:30 AM, she didn't hear him anymore. But she also confirmed: the child cried often when he was there. This wasn't unusual.
The dormitory witnesses were a double-edged sword for the defense. On one hand, they didn't witness any abuse. They didn't hear sounds of violence. They didn't see Trinity acting strangely. On the other hand, their testimony painted a picture of a child who was miserable around Trinity, who cried constantly, who responded better to anyone else. The prosecution would use this to show that Trinity and Romeo had a troubled relationship, that the frustration expressed in those text messages was real and visible to everyone around her.
And then, without fanfare, the defense rested.
Trinity Poague did not testify.
The moment passed without drama. Attorney Gamble simply announced that the defense rested. No statement about Trinity's decision. No explanation of why she wouldn't take the stand. Just two words: "Defense rests." And with those words, Trinity's last chance to explain the Google searches, to tell the jury her version of what happened that morning, to look twelve strangers in the eye and say "I didn't do this," was gone.
The prosecution had no rebuttal witnesses. The judge addressed scheduling for closing arguments. The jury was excused for the day. They will return tomorrow morning at nine o'clock to hear both sides make their final arguments. Then they will receive the judge's instructions on the law. Then they will deliberate.
And they will carry those Google searches into that deliberation room.
Day 3 was the prosecution's strongest day and the defense's most strategic day. Let me break down what each side accomplished and what it means for the verdict.
The prosecution's case now rests on three pillars. First, the timeline. Every medical witness testified that Romeo's fatal injuries occurred within thirty to sixty minutes of his arrival at the hospital. Julian Williams testified the child was fine when he left at 11:55. He returned at 12:31 to find the child limp and unresponsive. Trinity Poague was the only person with the child during that window. If the jury believes the medical evidence and believes Julian's testimony about the child's condition when he left, Trinity is the only possible person who could have inflicted those injuries.
This is what prosecutors call "exclusion of hypothesis." In a circumstantial case, the evidence must not only point toward the defendant; it must exclude every other reasonable explanation. The medical timeline does that work. If the child was healthy at 11:55 and dying at 12:31, and only Trinity was there, then only Trinity could have caused the injuries. That's the prosecution's theory, and the medical evidence supports it.
Second, the text messages and searches. The December 2023 messages show Trinity expressing resentment toward the child, admitting she didn't have his best interest at heart, writing that she wished he wasn't Julian's son, joking to dormmates that she wasn't killing him when he cried. The January 14 Google searches show her researching brain bleeds, skull fractures, and infant brain damage while Romeo was dying at the hospital. The prosecution doesn't need to prove she planned this. The searches suggest consciousness of guilt, knowledge that something terrible had happened, an attempt to understand injuries she may have caused.
Consciousness of guilt evidence is powerful in criminal trials. When a defendant acts in ways that suggest they know they're guilty, juries take notice. Flight from the scene, attempts to destroy evidence, lies to investigators, all of these can suggest the defendant knows what they did. Trinity's Google searches fit this pattern. Why would an innocent person research brain bleeds and skull fractures while a baby is dying? The prosecution will argue there is only one answer: she knew what had happened because she caused it.
Third, the absence of any other explanation. Trinity Poague did not testify. She did not tell the jury what happened in that dorm room. She did not explain why she was googling brain injuries. She did not offer an alternative account of how Romeo came to have a fractured skull and a lacerated liver. The jury cannot hold her silence against her legally. But they will carry that silence into deliberations.
The Fifth Amendment protects Trinity's right to remain silent. The judge will instruct the jury that her decision not to testify cannot be used as evidence of guilt, that they must decide the case based solely on the evidence presented, that they cannot speculate about what she might have said. But instructions are one thing. Human nature is another. When someone is accused of a terrible crime and chooses not to defend themselves, jurors notice. They wonder. They fill the silence with their own interpretations.
The defense's case rests on reasonable doubt. They impeached Julian Williams with his own contradictions. He testified he told Agent Ford about the chair fall on January 14. Her notes say he told her he didn't know how the child was injured. If Julian is lying about that, what else might he be lying about? Was the child really fine when he left? The investigation never photographed Julian's hands. They never collected his jacket. They never went to the home where the child actually lived. They focused on Trinity from the start and may have missed evidence pointing to someone else.
This is classic reasonable doubt strategy. The defense doesn't have to prove Julian Williams killed his son. They don't have to prove Trinity is innocent. They only have to create enough doubt that the jury cannot be certain. By impeaching Julian's credibility, they've given the jury permission to question his entire testimony. If he lied about what he told the GBI, maybe he lied about the child being fine when he left. Maybe something happened before Julian went to Walmart. Maybe the investigation got it wrong.
The defense also established that Trinity had successfully cared for children before. Multiple witnesses testified she babysat their kids without incident. She was a nursing student with honors. She had no history of violence. The prosecution's theory requires believing that an eighteen-year-old with no prior issues suddenly beat a toddler to death in a rage. Is that more believable than the possibility that the investigation got it wrong?
Character evidence is limited in criminal trials. The rules generally prevent the prosecution from attacking a defendant's character unless the defendant opens the door. But a defendant can present evidence of good character to suggest they're not the type of person who would commit the charged crime. Trinity's babysitting history, her academic success, her clean record, all of these are meant to suggest that this particular defendant is an unlikely murderer. The jury is permitted to consider this evidence when evaluating whether the prosecution has proven its case.
But the defense has a problem. They cannot explain those Google searches. They cannot explain why Trinity was researching brain bleeds and skull fractures while Romeo was dying. They cannot offer the jury an innocent explanation because Trinity chose not to provide one. The character witnesses and the impeachment of Julian Williams create some doubt. But the digital evidence is devastating, and it stands unrebutted.
This case demonstrates both the power and the limitations of circumstantial evidence. There are no eyewitnesses. There is no confession. There is no murder weapon. The prosecution is asking twelve jurors to convict a nineteen-year-old woman of murder based on a timeline, text messages, and Google searches.
Georgia law allows conviction on circumstantial evidence. The judge will instruct the jury that circumstantial evidence is just as valid as direct evidence if it leads to a reasonable conclusion. But the standard for circumstantial evidence is high. The evidence must not only be consistent with guilt; it must exclude every other reasonable hypothesis. If there is any other reasonable explanation for the evidence, the jury must acquit.
This is the burden the prosecution chose when they brought these charges. They knew they had no eyewitness, no confession, no physical evidence connecting Trinity to any weapon or instrument. They knew their case would rest on medical testimony about timing and digital evidence about state of mind. They decided that was enough. Now twelve jurors will tell them whether they were right.
The defense has tried to provide that other reasonable explanation. Julian Williams. The investigation's tunnel vision. The lost evidence. The impeachment. They're asking the jury to believe that the wrong person is on trial, that investigators focused on Trinity because she was the girlfriend and ignored the father who actually had custody of the child.
This is a legitimate defense strategy. When the prosecution's case is circumstantial, the defense doesn't need to prove the defendant's innocence. They only need to show that another explanation is reasonable. If Julian Williams could have caused those injuries, if the investigation was so flawed that it might have missed the real perpetrator, if there's any reasonable possibility that Trinity Poague is not guilty, then the jury must acquit.
But the defense cannot explain why Trinity was googling brain bleeds while the baby was dying. That is the question that will haunt this jury. If she didn't cause those injuries, why was she researching them? If she's innocent, what was she doing on that phone?
My father spent his career defending people the system wanted to destroy. He understood that the presumption of innocence is real and meaningful, that the burden of proof belongs to the state, that reasonable doubt must result in acquittal regardless of what anyone believes actually happened. He was twice prosecuted for standing on those principles. First, in 1994, when he went to prison for refusing to testify against his own clients because federal agents had violated the Fourth Amendment. Second, in 2009, when he was criminally convicted for helping people understand their rights from a coffee shop. The Berkeley County prosecutor who opposed his law license reinstatement said she feared he would "disrupt the legal system" by teaching young lawyers to demand constitutional protections.
Trinity Poague is entitled to every protection my father fought for. She is presumed innocent. The state must prove her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If the jury has any reasonable doubt about whether she caused Romeo's death, they must acquit her, even if they suspect she did it, even if they believe she probably did it. Suspicion is not enough. Probability is not enough. Only proof beyond a reasonable doubt can take away her freedom.
This is what the Constitution guarantees. Not freedom from accusation. Not freedom from trial. But freedom from conviction without proof. The government must earn the right to imprison its citizens. It must present evidence that leaves no reasonable doubt. It must convince twelve people, unanimously, that the defendant is guilty. If it cannot do that, the defendant goes free, regardless of what anyone believes happened.
But let me also be honest about what I observed in that courtroom. The Google searches are devastating evidence. No innocent explanation has been offered. The defense impeached Julian Williams on a relatively minor point, but they could not explain why Trinity was researching the exact injuries that would appear on the autopsy report. They could not explain why she wrote about letting the baby hit a wall. They could not provide an alternative theory of who caused those injuries or how.
Reasonable doubt does not require the defense to prove anything. They don't have to prove Julian did it. They don't have to prove the investigation was corrupt. They only have to create enough doubt that the jury cannot be certain Trinity is guilty. But after Day 3, I'm not sure they've done that. The digital evidence is too strong. The timeline is too tight. The silence is too loud.
The defense made a strategic choice by not putting Trinity on the stand. They calculated that the risks of cross-examination outweighed the benefits of her testimony. They knew the prosecutor would ask her about those Google searches. They knew she would have to explain the messages about letting the baby hit a wall. They knew that any inconsistency, any hesitation, any failure to provide a convincing explanation could seal her fate. They decided her silence was safer than her words.
Maybe they were right. Maybe there was no good explanation for those searches. Maybe anything Trinity said would have made things worse. Or maybe the silence itself will be what convicts her. The jury will never hear her say "I didn't do this." They will never hear her explain what she was doing on that phone. They will carry that silence into deliberations and wonder what she might have said.
This trial has shown both what works and what fails in our justice system.
The investigation had real problems. Evidence was discarded without testing. Julian Williams' hands were never photographed. The home where the baby actually lived was never visited. The investigation focused on Trinity Poague from the start and may have missed leads pointing elsewhere. These are legitimate failures that the defense has properly highlighted.
When I watched my father practice law, he always said that an incomplete investigation is a gift to the defense. Every piece of evidence not collected is a question the prosecution cannot answer. Every lead not followed is a possibility the defense can raise. "Reasonable doubt," he used to say, "lives in the gaps." The investigation in this case has gaps. The defense has exploited them skillfully.
But reasonable doubt is not infinite doubt. The defense can point to gaps in the investigation, but they cannot fill those gaps with evidence of someone else's guilt. They can impeach Julian Williams, but they cannot prove he killed his own son. They can question the timeline, but they cannot explain away those Google searches. The prosecution's case has weaknesses. Every case has weaknesses. But the prosecution also has evidence. Real evidence. Evidence that points to Trinity Poague and to no one else.
But the investigation also produced powerful evidence. The phone extraction revealed messages and searches that Trinity never expected anyone to see. The medical evidence established a tight timeline that leaves little room for alternative theories. The circumstantial case, despite its gaps, points consistently toward Trinity Poague as the person who killed Romeo Angeles.
This is what trials are for. The defense has exposed the investigation's weaknesses. The prosecution has presented evidence of guilt. Now twelve jurors will weigh that evidence and decide whether the state has met its burden. That is due process. That is the system working as it should.
The emotional weight of this case is enormous. Romeo Angeles was eighteen months old. He was just learning to walk. He liked watching Cocomelon. He called Julian Williams "Daddy." He was loved. And now he's dead, his skull fractured, his liver lacerated, his brain hemorrhaged beyond recovery.
Someone did that to him. Someone beat that baby so severely that he died. The prosecution says it was Trinity Poague. The defense says the investigation was flawed and the wrong person may be on trial. The jury will have to decide.
Child death cases are among the most emotionally charged matters any jury can consider. The natural impulse is to punish someone, anyone, for the death of a baby. That impulse is human and understandable. A child is dead, and the horror of that demands accountability. But the impulse to punish can lead juries to convict based on emotion rather than evidence. It can lead to verdicts driven by anger rather than proof.
The prosecution in this case has presented real evidence. They have not relied solely on the horror of what happened to Romeo. They have medical testimony, digital evidence, a timeline, and consciousness-of-guilt evidence in those Google searches. This is not a case where the prosecution is asking the jury to convict based on emotion alone. But the emotion is there. It will be in that deliberation room. The jury will have to set it aside and focus on the evidence.
But remember this: Trinity Poague is also a human being. She is nineteen years old. She was a nursing student with honors. She was a Jimmy Carter Leadership Program scholar. She was a former pageant queen from a small Georgia town. She had a future ahead of her. If she is convicted, that future is over. She will spend the rest of her life in prison.
The prosecution must prove she deserves that fate. They cannot convict her because someone has to pay for Romeo's death. They cannot convict her because the jury is angry about what happened to a baby. They can only convict her if they prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she is the one who killed him.
That is the burden. That is the standard. That is what protects all of us.
This case also illustrates the importance of digital evidence in modern prosecutions. Twenty years ago, this case might have been much harder to prove. There would have been no text messages, no Google searches, no digital trail revealing what Trinity was thinking and doing in the hours after Romeo was injured. The prosecution would have had only the medical evidence and the timeline. That might have been enough. Or it might not.
Today, our phones record our thoughts. They preserve our searches. They timestamp our messages. They create a record of our consciousness that can be extracted, analyzed, and presented to a jury. Trinity Poague's phone became the prosecution's most powerful witness. It told the jury things she chose not to tell them herself. It showed them what she was thinking while Romeo was dying.
This is the world we live in now. Our devices document our lives in ways we often don't consider. When tragedy strikes, when crimes are committed, that documentation becomes evidence. It can prove innocence or establish guilt. In this case, it may be what convicts Trinity Poague.
Tomorrow brings closing arguments. Each side has two hours. Watch how they handle the key issues.
The prosecution will hammer the Google searches. They will ask the jury to consider why an innocent person would be researching brain bleeds and skull fractures while a baby is dying. They will argue consciousness of guilt. They will tell the jury that Trinity Poague knew what she had done, and she was trying to understand whether her crime would be discovered.
Expect the prosecutor to put those search terms on display, to read them aloud, to let them hang in the air. "How do you get a brain bleed." "Can a depressed skull fracture go unnoticed." They will ask the jury: What innocent explanation is there for these searches? The defense never offered one. Trinity Poague never offered one. The only explanation that fits is that she knew what had happened because she caused it.
They will reinforce the timeline. Healthy child at 11:55. Dying child at 12:31. Only one person in that room. They will argue that the medical evidence is uncontested: this child was not injured the night before, was not injured in some earlier incident, was injured during that thirty-five-minute window when Trinity Poague was alone with him.
The prosecution will walk the jury through the medical testimony again. Dr. Busman: thirty to sixty minutes. Dr. Olek: zero percent chance the child was normal after injury. Dr. Clark: abusive head trauma, homicide. They will argue that this is not speculation, not theory, but medical science. The experts agree. The timeline is established. Trinity was the only one there.
They will address the investigation's gaps by arguing they don't matter. Even if the diaper had been collected, it wouldn't have changed the medical evidence. Even if Julian's hands had been photographed, it wouldn't explain why Trinity was googling brain injuries. Even if the investigation wasn't perfect, the evidence of guilt is overwhelming.
The defense will hammer the investigation's failures. They will ask the jury to consider what evidence might have been found if investigators had done their jobs. They will argue that the focus on Trinity Poague was a rush to judgment, that other possibilities were never explored, that the jury cannot convict based on an incomplete investigation.
Expect the defense to paint a picture of tunnel vision. The GBI focused on Trinity from the start. They never went to the home where Romeo actually lived. They never interviewed Julian's friends or neighbors. They never photographed his hands. They threw away potential evidence. They ran a criminal history on Julian that they never disclosed. The defense will ask: What else didn't they find because they weren't looking?
They will emphasize Julian Williams' impeachment. He testified he told Agent Ford about the chair fall. Her notes say he didn't know how the child was injured. If the father is lying about that, can the jury trust his testimony that the child was fine when he left? Can they be certain the injuries happened during Trinity's watch and not during some earlier period?
The defense will remind the jury that Julian Williams was drinking rum that weekend. That he passed out while Trinity cared for the child. That he never took his son to a doctor in over a year of custody. That his hands were never examined despite the investigation into blunt force trauma. They will plant the seed: What if Julian Williams is the one who should be sitting at that defense table?
They will remind the jury of the presumption of innocence. The state bears the burden. The defense doesn't have to prove anything. If there is reasonable doubt, any reasonable doubt, the jury must acquit. Trinity Poague's future depends on whether twelve people can look past the emotional horror of a dead baby and evaluate the evidence objectively.
Watch for how the prosecution handles the impeachment of Julian Williams. They need to rehabilitate their key witness. They will argue that the discrepancy between Julian's testimony and Agent Ford's notes is minor, that the important facts are undisputed: the child was fine when Julian left, the child was dying when he returned, Trinity was the only one there. They will ask the jury not to lose sight of the forest for the trees.
Watch for how the defense handles the Google searches. This is their weakest point. They cannot explain them. They may try to minimize them, to suggest that anyone would research injuries after learning a child had been hurt. They may argue that searching for information is not evidence of guilt. But they cannot offer an innocent explanation because Trinity never offered one.
Watch the jury during closing arguments. Watch how they react to the Google searches. Watch whether they seem moved by the investigation's failures. Watch for signs of sympathy toward Trinity or anger toward Julian. The verdict may be written on their faces before they ever deliberate.
After closing arguments, the judge will read his instructions to the jury. He will explain the charges, the elements the prosecution must prove, the burden of proof, the standard for circumstantial evidence. He will tell them that Trinity's silence cannot be used against her. He will tell them that suspicion is not enough, that probability is not enough, that only proof beyond a reasonable doubt can support a conviction.
Then the jury will retire to deliberate. They will have the evidence, the instructions, and each other. They will talk through what they saw and heard over three days of testimony. They will ask questions, express doubts, try to reach consensus. They will carry those Google searches into that room, and they will have to decide whether they prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.
The answer will determine whether Trinity Poague goes home or goes to prison for the rest of her life.
You've watched three days of this trial. You've seen the evidence. Now I want you to think like a juror.
Could you convict Trinity Poague of murder based on what you've seen?
Not "do you think she did it." Not "do you suspect she's guilty." Could you vote to convict, knowing your vote would send a nineteen-year-old to prison for life, knowing the burden requires proof beyond reasonable doubt?
Consider the Google searches. "How do you get a brain bleed." "Can a depressed skull fracture go unnoticed." She was searching while the baby was dying. Can you think of any innocent explanation for that? Does the defense's silence on this point trouble you? If you were on the jury and you asked yourself why she was doing those searches, what answer would you give?
Consider Julian Williams. He testified he told the GBI about the chair fall on January 14. Agent Ford's notes say he told her he didn't know how the child was injured. Someone is lying. Does that impeachment create reasonable doubt about whether the child was fine when Julian left? Or is it a minor inconsistency that doesn't change the overall case? If Julian is capable of lying under oath about what he told the GBI, what else might he be lying about?
Consider the investigation's failures. The diaper wasn't collected. Julian's hands weren't photographed. The home where the baby lived was never visited. The GBI ran a criminal history on Julian that was never disclosed. Does that mean the investigation got it wrong? Or does it mean they could have built an even stronger case if they'd done more? Would more investigation have helped Trinity or hurt her?
Consider the text messages. "I let JD hit the wall and see the damage it did." "I promise I ain't killing him." "A part of me wishes he wasn't yours." These are Trinity's own words, written weeks before Romeo died. Do they show a woman capable of violence against a child? Or do they show a frustrated teenager venting about a difficult situation? People say terrible things in private messages. Does that make them murderers?
Consider the medical evidence. Three doctors testified that Romeo's injuries occurred within thirty to sixty minutes of his arrival at the hospital. None of them testified they saw Trinity cause those injuries. None of them can say who did it. They can only say when it happened. Does that timeline, combined with the other evidence, prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt?
Consider Trinity's silence. She did not testify. She did not explain the Google searches. She did not offer her version of what happened. The law says you cannot hold that against her. But can you set it aside? Can you deliberate as if that silence means nothing? Human beings are curious. When someone is accused of something terrible and doesn't defend themselves, we want to know why. Can you ignore that instinct?
Consider what we don't know. We don't know what happened in that dorm room. We weren't there. No one was there except Trinity and an eighteen-month-old child who cannot tell us anything. The prosecution has built a case from circumstantial evidence. The defense has raised doubts about that evidence. Twelve jurors will have to decide who they believe. What would you decide?
Go back and watch the key moments. Watch Agent Ford read the Google search terms. Listen to the group chat message: "I promise I ain't killing him." Watch Agent Ford's notes contradict Julian Williams' testimony. Watch the judge tell Trinity the decision to testify is hers alone. Listen to her dormmate say Trinity "didn't particularly like" the child.
Then ask yourself: If I were on that jury, how would I vote?
This is what it means to watch the process. Not rooting for one side or the other. Not deciding based on emotion or suspicion. Evaluating the evidence. Applying the standard. Reaching a verdict you can stand behind.
This is what my father taught me. Steven M. Askin spent his life fighting for the principle that everyone deserves their day in court, that the state must prove its case, that suspicion is not enough to take away someone's freedom. He was twice prosecuted for standing on those principles. He never stopped believing in them. He passed that belief to me.
When I was twelve years old, I sat in a federal courtroom and watched my father get indicted. I reviewed his case files. I learned what it means to be a defendant's family member facing the possibility of prison. That experience shaped everything I do today. I understand that Trinity Poague is someone's daughter, someone's friend, someone whose life hangs in the balance while twelve strangers decide her fate. I also understand that Romeo Angeles was someone's son, someone who will never grow up, someone who deserved protection that he never got.
I'm not asking you to believe Trinity Poague is innocent. I'm not asking you to believe she's guilty. I'm asking you to think like a juror. To consider the evidence without prejudice. To apply the standard of proof beyond reasonable doubt. To understand that the burden is on the prosecution, not the defense.
Romeo Angeles was eighteen months old. He deserved to grow up. He deserved to walk, to talk, to become whoever he was going to become. That chance was taken from him. Someone is responsible. The prosecution says it's Trinity Poague. The defense says reasonable doubt exists. Twelve jurors will decide.
Trinity Poague is nineteen years old. She is presumed innocent. The state must prove her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If they have not done that, she must go free, regardless of what anyone believes happened in that dorm room.
Tomorrow the jury will hear closing arguments. Then they will deliberate. Then they will deliver a verdict. Whatever that verdict is, it will be the product of the process. Flawed, imperfect, human. But the only process we have.
Justice is a process. The process continues. Let's watch together.