the police discover that she was right about him all along, and he is forced to go on the run. So according to Mr. Campbell, this was the time she chose to make her move. She found him when the entire police department could not, and then she brutally murdered him, even though she could have gotten total vindication and revenge just by turning him over to the department.
'In other words, when he was free and clear, she didn't go after him. When she had won, when he was a destroyed man, that's when she chose to put her own life in jeopardy by committing murder.
'Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?'
I go on a while longer, extolling Laurie's record as a public servant and her extraordinary character as a human being. Kevin and I have debated whether to introduce in the opening statement our belief that Dorsey is alive. He is opposed, and I'm on the fence, but I decide to go ahead.
'I talked to you a little while ago about reasonable doubt. I told you that before long, you will be knee-deep in reasonable doubt about the charge that Ms. Collins murdered Alex Dorsey. But I'll take it one step further. You will have reasonable doubt that Alex Dorsey was murdered at all.
'Because, ladies and gentlemen, it is very possible that the murder victim in this case is alive and laughing at all of us.'
EVERY MINUTE IS CRUCIAL DURING A TRIAL. I TRY to avoid spending any time at all on anything not directly related to our defense. It requires self-discipline, not something I have in abundance, but I'm able to summon it when I need it.
What I do most often is read. I read and then reread every scrap of paper we have, no matter how obscure. I sometimes find that it can be on the third or fourth reading that the significance of an item becomes clear.
I file things according to subject matter, and then I keep shuffling the files and going through them whenever I get the time. Tonight I take the file labeled 'Tomorrow's Witnesses,' which Kevin will update daily during the trial, into the den to go through. I also bring the Stynes file, since I haven't been through it in a while.
Dylan will be calling foundational witnesses tomorrow, none of whom will directly implicate Laurie, but who will 'set the table' for the later witnesses to do just that. I go through the discovery related to their testimony and roughly plan out my cross-examination. I won't be able to do significant damage to them, but it's important that I make my points so that the jury does not see the prosecution's case as an uninterrupted juggernaut.
The Stynes file is short and depressing. We have all the police reports on Barry Leiter's murder and on their fruitless efforts to determine Stynes's real identity. I feel the now-familiar stab of pain that the real culprits, the people who sent Stynes to kill Barry, are likely never to be discovered.
The reports written by the individual officers on the scene at Barry's house that night basically echo Pete Stanton's statements to me. Stynes essentially ensured his own death by raising his gun when he was completely surrounded by gun-pointing officers. The problem is that no one, certainly including myself, can say why.
The autopsy report on Stynes is interesting but ultimately unenlightening. He was shot eleven times, six of which could have by themselves been fatal. The coroner describes Stynes as being in outstanding physical shape, with almost no body fat. However, at the same time, he writes that Stynes's body was 'worn beyond his apparent chronological age.' There was significant joint damage in his knees, elbows, and shoulders and an inordinately large amount of old scarring and scar tissue. This is not a guy who spent much time behind a desk. The coroner wryly noted that Stynes had a single tattoo on his right arm in just about the only area on his body that had not been previously damaged.
I'm just finishing the file when Laurie enters along with her traitor companion, Tara. 'How are we doing?' Laurie asks.
It's probably the thousandth time she's asked me that question since this nightmare started, and my insides cringe when I hear it. She wants me to tell her that I've just come up with something, a breakthrough, that is going to bring us a quick, decisive, and startling victory.
'We're getting there,' I say without much enthusiasm, and then I try not to listen to the sound of her heart hitting the floor. 'It's a process.'
'I know, Andy, I know it's a process,' she says, partially venting her frustration. 'You've told me a hundred times that it's a process, and I've got it down pat. It's a process.'
I can get annoyed, start an argument, and we can add 'hurt' and 'miserable' to our mental state, which alphabetically would follow smoothly after 'depressed' and 'frustrated.' Instead, I put my arm around her shoulder and draw her to me.
'I can say two things with certainty. Number one, this is not a process. Never has been, never will be. In law school that's the first thing they tell you: If you want a process, go to business school.'
She smiles, and I can see the anger melting away. 'You said you know two things with certainty. What's the other one?'
'That we are going to win. I'd be lying to you if I said I knew exactly how, but we are going to win.'
She starts to formulate a question, then changes her mind and rests her head on my shoulder. I know she doesn't fully believe in what I'm saying, but I hope she's getting there. It's a process.
Dylan's first witness is a fourteen-year-old boy, one of a group that saw the smoke coming out of the warehouse that night and called the fire department. Dylan takes twenty minutes when he could have taken two, and since the kid never even saw the body, I don't bother to cross-examine.
Next up is a rookie police officer, Ricky Spencer, who was the first to realize it was a body that was smoldering.
'Did you immediately realize it was a body?' Dylan asks.
'Well, it was dark, and I wasn't really sure. I couldn't see a head … a face.' He seems shaken by the recollection, which most people would be. 'When I shined a light on it, there was no doubt what it was.'
'Other than the fact that there was a body, was there anything else unusual that you noticed about this fire?'
Spencer nods. 'Yes. The fire seemed localized around the body, and there was a mostly empty gas can about ten feet away. It appeared to be arson, with the body the only target.'
'If you know, did subsequent tests show that the same material that was in the can was involved in the fire?'
'Yes, it was. I saw the reports.'
I could object to this as hearsay, but the facts are true, and Dylan could bring the same information in with other, more polished witnesses.
I rise to cross-examine. 'Officer Spencer, that night at the warehouse must have been an upsetting experience for you.'
He nods hesitantly. Dylan has told him to be wary of the evil defense counsel, but this seems harmless enough. 'It was. I've never …' He catches himself. 'It was.'
'You said, 'I've never.' Did you mean you've never seen anything like it before?'
He's caught, and he nods sheepishly. 'I never have.'
'But you weren't so upset that your recollections might be incorrect, were you?' I ask.
'No, sir. I remember everything very clearly.'
I nod. 'Good. Now, before you knew it was a body that was burning, what did you think it might be? Any ideas?'
He considers this. 'Well, I thought it might be a mattress. Or maybe an old sofa. It sounds pretty awful to say that now, but …' He lets his answer trail off.
'No, it's okay. I'm sure everybody understands.' I look at the jury, and they are clearly joining me in sympathy for what this young man went through. 'Now,' I continue, 'you say it seemed like a mattress, or a sofa … so whatever was on fire seemed fairly large?'
'Yes. He was a big man.'
'Right. Now, the gasoline can … was that near the wheelbarrow?'
'I didn't see any wheelbarrow,' he says.
'Really? Then where was the gurney?'
'There wasn't any gurney.'
Now my surprise is showing through. 'How about a cart or wagon of any kind?'
'No.'
