'No, but we believe the court should address this issue as if the house was still under seal and an official crime scene. Otherwise, the state can frustrate legitimate motions of this sort by simply unsealing the scene before the court has the opportunity to act.
'The Due Process Clause codifies the concept of fundamental fairness into our law. It's a wonderful thing to have a jurisprudence based on fairness rather than power. You can see the tension between these two ideas in this case. The state symbolizes power. It used that power to take over the home of a private citizen so it could investigate a crime.
Once the state was satisfied that it had identified the criminal, it used its power to arrest my client and deprive him of his liberty.
'These were proper uses of power, Your Honors. Fair uses.
But the state's final use of its power was unfair. As soon as my client stood up to the state and requested an opportunity to examine the crime scene for evidence that would clear his name, the state exercised its power unjustly.
'Legal motions should be decided by unbiased judges, not unilaterally by zealous advocates. When the police released the crime scene to thwart our motion, they acted in violation of the concept of fundamental fairness that is the foundation of the Due Process Clause. All Mr.
Coulter is asking for, Your Honors, is a chance to examine the crime scene. The same thing the state was able to do through the exercise of its power. All he is asking for is a fair shake. Judge Pogue understood that and we ask you to be fair and permit his order to stand.'
Court recessed when the argument ended. Matthew Reynolds watched Abigail Griffen collect her papers and close her attach( case. In a moment, she would be fighting her way through the reporters who were waiting for them outside the courtroom on the third-floor landing. If he was going to talk to her, Reynolds knew it had to be now. Abbie started toward the door. 'Mrs. Griffen.'
Abbie turned to find Reynolds following her. With his suit jacket flapping behind him like the wings of an ungainly crow, Reynolds looked like Ichabod Crane in flight from the headless horseman.
'Thank you for telling the court that you didn't believe I would falsify my affidavit,' Reynolds said with a tremor Abbie had not heard when he was arguing. 'My reputation means so much to me.'
'No need to thank me, Mr. Reynolds. But I'm curious. That was such an odd accusation to make. Is there bad blood between you and Justice Pope?'
Reynolds nodded sadly. 'I tried a murder case against Arnold Pope when he was the district attorney for Walker County. It was poorly investigated and an innocent man was arrested. Justice Pope had a penchant for trying his cases in the press when he was a prosecutor and he promised a swift conviction.'
'I take it he didn't deliver.'
'No. After the trial, he threatened to indict me for jury tampering.'
'What happened?'
'The judge told Pope he lost because he should have, and promised to dismiss any jury-tampering indictment Pope obtained. That was the end of it as far as I was concerned, but I guess he still harbors a grudge.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'That's gracious of you, considering that Pope's animosity guarantees you his vote.'
'On the other hand, some of the judges will side with you simply to be on the other side of Pope's position.'
'I hope you're right, Mrs. Griffen,' Reynolds answered solemnly, the joke going right by him.
'Why don't you call me Abbie. We're going to see too much of each other during this case to stay on formal terms.'
'Abbie, then.'
'See you in court, Matt.'
Reynolds hugged his briefcase to his chest like a shield and watched Abigail Griffen glide through the courtroom doors.
The reporters converged on Matthew Reynolds as soon as he walked into the hall, and Abbie was able to escape down the marble stairway and leave the courthouse through the rear door.
Her car was parked around the block from the court because she'd expected the press. Reynolds could go nowhere without them. When she rounded the corner, she saw Robert Griffen sitting in the passenger seat of her car.
Justice Griffen looked like a golf pro in tan slacks, a navy-blue Izod shirt and loafers. His long brown hair fell casually across his forehead. When she opened the rear door and tossed her attach case in the back seat, he smiled. Abbie saw the sparkle in his clear blue eyes and almost forgot why she had walked out on him.
'How'd the argument go?' Griffen asked.
'What are you doing in my car?' Abbie answered sharply as she slid behind the wheel. His smile wavered.
'I missed you. I thought we could talk.'
'You thought wrong, Robert. Maybe one of the women you were fucking behind my back has time for a chat.' Griffen flinched. 'Can't you spare a minute?'
'I have a meeting in Portland and I don't want to be late,' Abbie said as she turned on the engine. 'Besides, Robert, I know what you want and the bank is closed. I suggest you either find a rich mistress or change your lifestyle.'
'You don't know what you're saying. I was never interested in your money, and those other women ... God, I don't know what got into me.
But that's all behind me. I swear. It's you I love, Abbie.'
'Was reversing the Deems case the way you show your love?'
Griffen paled. 'What are you talking about?'
'You reversed Deems to embarrass me.'
'That's nonsense. I decided that case on the law. So did the justices who joined the majority. Even Arnold Pope voted with me, for Christ's sake.'
'I'm not stupid, Robert. You adopted a rule that only three other states follow to reverse the conviction of a dangerous psychopath.'
'The rule made sense. We felt . . .' Griffen paused. 'This is ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and justify my decision in Deems.'
'That's right, Robert. You're not going to sit here. You're going to get out of my car.'
'Abbie . . .'
Abigail Griffen turned in her seat and stared directly at her estranged husband. 'If you're not out of my car in ten seconds, I'm going to call the police.'
Griffen flushed with anger. He started to say something, then he just shook his head, opened the door and got out.
'I should have known I couldn't reason with you.'
'Please shut the door.'
Griffen slammed the car door and Abbie peeled out of the parking space.
When Griffen walked back toward the court he was so angry that he did not notice Matthew Reynolds watching from the doorway of the Justice building.
In 1845, two Yankee settlers staked a claim to a spot on the Willamette River in the Oregon Territory and flipped a coin to decide if their proposed town would be called Portland or Boston.
Portland was established in the most idyllic setting imaginable.
Forest stood all around, backing up onto two high hills on the west side of the river. From the west bank you could look across the Willamette past the faraway foothills of the Cascade mountain range and see snow-covered Mount Hood, Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens pointing toward heaven.
The town had started on the water's edge at Front Street and slowly moved away from the river as it became a city. Old buildings were torn down and replaced by steel and glass. But just below Washington Park, on the outskirts of downtown Portland, there were still beautiful Victorian mansions that now served as office space for architects, doctors and attorneys.
At 10 P. M. on the day he argued before the Oregon Supreme Court, the lights were off in the law offices and
