the Dorsey case?'
He pauses for a moment, considering the implications of the question. 'Why? You think I'm this mysterious 'lieutenant' that Dorsey was working with?'
'Somebody was,' I say. 'At this point I'm not ready to eliminate anyone.'
'Be careful who you're accusing,' he says, his tone even more ominous than his words.
'Are you going to answer my question, Nick?'
'I asked on the case.'
'Why?'
'I didn't like Dorsey or what he was doing. But I like cop-killers even less.'
TIME IS THE ULTIMATE PAIN IN THE ASS. IT CONSISTENTLY, absolutely, and obnoxiously does the exact opposite of what one wants it to do. This is my theory and I'm sticking to it. In fact, it is just one of the profound theories I am able to come up with in situations such as this, lying in bed, unable to sleep, at three o'clock in the morning.
The weeks leading up to the trial, set to begin later this morning, represent a perfect example of my premise. For Laurie the calendar has moved excruciatingly slowly, as she awaited the day when her confinement would be at least partially relieved and, more important, she could be on the way to legal vindication.
For Kevin and me today's trial date approached like a speeding, out-of-control freight train. We spent every moment of every day trying to prepare, to figure out a defense strategy that we could have confidence in, and yet haven't come close.
I fall asleep around four and wake up at seven, adrenaline starting to pump. Laurie seems more excited than nervous. The prospect of actually getting out of the house holds such great appeal that it has temporarily overpowered the natural fear that she should and will feel. But that's okay; right now I'm afraid enough for both of us.
A bailiff arrives at nine to accompany Laurie to court, and she has her first experience wading through the gathered press outside. The questions called out to her mainly refer to her feelings as the trial is about to begin. Some ask about our personal relationship, which has made for considerable fodder in the press in recent days. There has been open speculation that Laurie broke up my marriage, and veiled criticism about the propriety of mixing our private lives with our professional ones.
I have responded openly and directly, completely acknowledging that I am and have been in love with Laurie, starting after my marriage had ended but before she had become my client. But for Laurie it is difficult and embarrassing to take, especially since she has no choice but to take it.
The press crush is far greater at the courthouse than at home, but we are given a special entrance through the back, so as to avoid it. Before long we are seated at the defense table, as Hatchet goes through the formalities involved in opening the proceedings.
At the defense table with me are Kevin and Laurie. Across the aisle Dylan sits with two other prosecutors. He is dressed in his Sunday best; I'm surprised he doesn't have a flower in his lapel. He has an air of confidence about him, confidence that I wish were misplaced.
The gallery is packed, as expected, and according to the bailiff, the public won their coveted seats through a lottery drawing that will be held each day. The group today, while they might consider themselves lucky winners, is about to be bored out of their minds by the tedium of jury selection.
I've consulted two jury consultants on tactics but ultimately decided to go it on my own. One of the few things we have going for us is the incongruity between Laurie's appearance and demeanor on the one hand and the brutality of the crime on the other. The consultants felt that female jurors would have the most trouble believing Laurie could do such a thing, but I don't agree. I'm going to listen to my gut instincts, although it would be nice if my gut would stop churning and allow me to hear them.
It is conventional wisdom to say that jury selection is perhaps the most important phase of a trial, a process during which cases can be won or lost before a single witness is called. In theory this is true, but in practice it is rarely that decisive.
Competent lawyers have become sophisticated enough at jury selection that it is very unusual for one side to gain a decisive advantage. It's like in a football game. The mechanics of the game, the x's and o's, are vital to a team's success, but modern coaching staffs have become so knowledgeable that it is usually in other areas that a team develops a winning edge.
Every chance Dylan gets, he publicly describes Laurie as a tough-as-nails former cop, while my goal is to have everyone view her as a delicate flower. In the real world she's both, so it makes our little game more challenging.
Laurie hates when I refer to a trial as a game, but that's how I see it, that's how I have to see it to perform at my best. And it is a game in the sense that it has strategy and luck, peaks and valleys, ebbs and flows, and winners and losers. The stakes are not what make a game a game; you play to win and then you cash in your chips, whatever they are worth.
For me to be effective, I must depersonalize the case, view it only from the perspective of proper strategy and tactics. That is my greatest danger here, other than the fact that the prosecution has a seemingly airtight case. It is a constant struggle for me to step back and look at the game, without looking at the people and the incredibly high stakes.
I am scared that I will not do well enough to win, but I will not do well enough to win if I am scared.
Hatchet is in good form. I've always suspected that he carries a 'glower meter' with him. The more significant the occasion, the more momentous the moment, the more he glowers and threatens. Today the meter is hitting approximately a seven, which is to say he would certainly chew a lawyer up, but might not spit him out. It's a sign that he considers this an important trial. He's right about that.
After about an hour Hatchet turns to me. 'Is the defense ready?'
'Yes,' I lie, and we're under way in the case of the
One hundred prospective jurors are brought into the room, and Hatchet gives them his standard lecture on the importance of jury service to society. He thanks them for being good citizens, but he knows as well as I do that they are here because, unlike the majority of their fellow good citizens, they couldn't figure out how to get an excuse from serving.
The jurors are given questionnaires to fill out, answering many of the questions that the lawyers would ask. This is designed to reduce the repetition and time necessary to get through this process, as the written responses often disqualify people without us having to take the time to question them.
It takes two and a half days to empanel the twelve citizens, plus four alternates, who will decide Laurie's fate. Seven men, three African-Americans, one Hispanic. There's not a brain surgeon in the group, but for a jury I would say they're above average in intelligence and apparent open-mindedness. That's important, since they're going to have to be receptive to our defense, should we happen to come up with one.
The last juror is sworn in at three o'clock in the afternoon, and Dylan takes Hatchet up on his offer to delay opening statements until tomorrow morning. That's fine with me; I can use the extra time to prepare. I ask Kevin and Marcus to be at the house at six o'clock, and we can once again go over where we are and where we have to go.
Laurie makes dinner, then sits with us in the den. Marcus is very frustrated; he feels he has never done so little to advance a case, yet for him this is the most important case that he has ever worked on. Stynes's real identity and his connection to the murder are still a complete mystery, as are Dorsey's whereabouts.
I'm disappointed that Laurie has not received any more communications from Dorsey. I was hoping that he would have a need to continue contacting her so that he could twist the knife even further. We've even set up an elaborate taping system on her cell phone so that we could nail him. No such luck.
Marcus has had success in cataloguing a list of missing persons who might be the actual decapitated body found in the warehouse. After narrowing it down by height, weight, and time of disappearance, there are seven possibilities. Unfortunately, every possible cross-check has not yielded a connection between any of these people and Dorsey.
Marcus leaves about nine o'clock, and Kevin and I go over the parameters of my opening statement. I don't like to write openings out in advance; even detailed notes seem to cut down on my spontaneity and effectiveness.
