HOLLIDAYSBURG, Pa. — Melony Stellabotte had decided to improve her view, so she pushed her desk forward at the real estate agency. Then she could sit and see through the bay windows to the steps of the courthouse next door.

She recognized the attorneys come and go. She knew some police officers, too. In quaint Hollidaysburg, tucked in the Allegheny Mountains, a defendant in handcuffs presented her with a little drama.

At least, that was before Luigi Mangione was arrested near here. Then, the courthouse next door became center stage for a murder case that’s inflamed debate about class, politics and vigilante justice.

All week, Stellabotte watched the film crews arrive, the news vans pull in and the floodlights go up. A friendly journalist stopped inside the real estate agency.

“I think she was from the Today show,” Stellabotte said. “For our little town here, we’re getting put on the map.”

Indeed, law enforcement officials were bracing for the attention, too — for crowds of reporters, protesters and onlookers — at Mangione’s hearing Thursday. Posts had circulated online urging his supporters to show up. Police and sheriff’s deputies cordoned off the streets and blocked traffic.

A judge was to decide whether to grant Mangione’s extradition to New York, where he’s accused of gunning down UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson. Mangione, 26, is charged with 11 counts including first-degree murder and second-degree murder as a crime of terrorism. He faces life in prison without the possibility of parole.

The son of a prominent Baltimore-area family, Mangione graduated as valedictorian of his 2016 class at The Gilman School and went on to study engineering at the University of Pennsylvania. He lived in Honolulu and Hawaii, and he had ties to San Francisco where his mother reported him missing last month.

Since his arrest last week at a McDonald’s, four miles away from the courthouse — police said they found him with a 3D-printed gun, a silencer and the fake ID used by the gunman — Mangione has become a cause célèbre for anti-capitalists and those frustrated by the U.S. health care system, inspiring internet memes, a look-alike contest, even merchandise with the gunman’s credo. Supporters poured money into his prison commissary account and donated more than $130,000 toward his legal fees.

Law enforcement officials are trying to tamp down his celebrity. New York Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch slammed what she described as a “shocking and appalling celebration of cold-blooded murder.”

All the drama had set the stage for a spectacle at the courthouse Thursday morning. Stellabotte came in early, took her seat, then turned to watch.

By sunrise Thursday, the windows of the real estate agency looked onto a long line of reporters and camera crews. The word had spread that there was space for 67 people in the courtroom and the line for a seat stretched around the block. A few people held signs such as “Free Luigi” and “Death by denial is murder.” Another sign read “Murder for profit is terrorism.”

Vicki Cherry watched the scene from across the street and shook her head at the signs.

“Free Luigi? … This is about murder not health care. How would they feel if it was their parents or brother?” Still, the scene was peaceful and quiet. A light snow started to fall.

Ethan Merrill and Ashlyn Adami drove eight hours from Southbend, Indiana to share the story of their healthcare troubles outside the courthouse. Adami said her insurance had initially denied her breast reduction surgery and as a result her back was permanently damaged. She said an act of violence over frustrations with the U.S. healthcare system was inevitable.

“I was not surprised because I have felt so angry for years now, and I know I am not the only one,” she said.

Merrill, her husband, said they don’t condone the violence but want attention to a broken system.

”If anything, we are here because we believe murder isn’t the answer— but we do need an answer,” he said.

Hollidaysburg had mixed feelings about the hubbub. The Pennsylvania borough of about 5,500 people had been famous for its railroad history and holiday tradition of lighting a star on the mountainside over the town before Mangione showed up. Back at the real estate agency, Stellabotte had embraced the attention as a chance to demonstrate small town hospitality.

“We’ve never seen anything of this scale. We had people from all over the United States,” she said. “It’s a really sweet, little town. We want people to feel welcome.”

The out-of-towners have kept the kitchen hustling a few doors away at Allegheny Creamery & Crepes, said Eli Hershberger, the bartender.

“We have been supremely busy,” he said.

Others have taken to echoing a quip by a local accountant to the Altoona Mirror newspaper. “We no longer have to say we’re between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh or 40 miles south of State College.”

At The Pipe Room basement bar, Rachel Ellenberger hoped visitors had stopped to recognize the charm here, too.

“I always tell people that it reminds me of a movie, it’s so nostalgic and quaint,” she said.

Inside the courthouse Thursday, Mangione waived extradition to New York. By 10:17 a.m., the crowd of New York and Altoona police officers emerged from the back of the building.

They had blocked off the alley, but a few onlookers and reporters peered down to try and get a glimpse of Mangione. A woman held a sign at the corner, “Health insurance practices terrorize people!”

Then a line of black SUVs pulled out. “Luigi!” Someone shouted, but that was all. The convoy drove quickly away. The camera crews packed up, the lights came down.

Then the news vans pulled away, leaving just another small-town story of a week that made Hollidaysburg feel seen.