same evidence was planted to further that end.
'But Mr. Campbell completely rejects the idea of a frame-up moments after he tells you that the reason he first charged Oscar Garcia with the crime is because he was framed! Mr. Garcia could be framed, but Ms. Collins could not? Why doesn't he explain that?
'And let's look at what he does say about it. He says that Ms. Collins framed Garcia to avenge one of these grudges that he thinks she carries around. Yet an FBI agent, Cindy Spodek, testified that she made the call accusing Garcia. Ms. Collins had nothing to do with it. Mr. Campbell was wrong about that, as he has been wrong about so much in this case.
'Which brings me to Special Agent Hobbs. Even Mr. Campbell admits Hobbs perjured himself. Now, I don't know exactly what Mr. Hobbs did, or why he did it, but I'm going to give you a theory. It may be right, or it may be wrong, or the truth may be somewhere in the middle.
'I think the evidence shows that Hobbs led a squad, much of the same squad he led in the military. I think they got into positions where they could abuse the system and commit crimes, and Hobbs was in a position to protect them and to take a healthy cut of their profits.
'And he did protect Dorsey, but it got to a point where he couldn't protect him anymore. Dorsey didn't want to go to prison, and he threatened Hobbs with exposure. Dorsey may well have intended to fake his own death, but that wasn't good enough for Hobbs, and he either killed him or had Cahill kill him. And when Murdoch was going to talk to me, Hobbs had him killed as well.
'Before killing Dorsey, he either tricked him or forced him to tape a message to Ms. Collins, which he played in a phone call to her, making us think Dorsey was alive. Because as the actual murderer trying to deflect attention from himself, Hobbs had a very strong interest in Ms. Collins getting convicted.
'Now, as I've said, this is just a theory, though I believe it is plausible given the facts before you. Don't you have to admit it's possible? I believe that you do. Can you say beyond a reasonable doubt that I'm wrong? I don't think so.
'One of the many unusual aspects of this case is the fact that the lawyer for the defendant was a key witness in the defense. I sat up there and told you that Roger Cahill confessed the murder to me and told me about the bloody clothing behind the stadium, clothing he said was his own. I also told you that I sent Ms. Collins out there to retrieve the clothing.
'If I was telling the truth, Ms. Collins is innocent. It's as simple as that. You may or may not believe me, but can you say beyond a reasonable doubt I was lying? I don't think so. And if you can't, then you must vote to acquit.
'I know Laurie Collins very well, probably better than I know anyone in the world. She could no more commit a murder like this than she could get up and fly out the window.
'A murder of anyone, no matter what their actions in life, is a tragedy. Please don't compound that tragedy by turning Ms. Collins into another victim. She is innocent, and she has been put through hell. I ask you to do what is right and give Laurie Collins her life back.'
As I turn and walk back toward Laurie at the defense table, I experience a totally selfish moment. I realize that the life I have been fighting for as much as Laurie's is my own.
I simply cannot envision living my life while Laurie wastes away in prison. It would be an incomprehensibly horrible existence, and the knowledge that twelve strangers can turn it into a reality bores a panic-filled hole in my stomach.
Kevin and Laurie shake my hand and whisper that I was wonderful, but the jury sits impassive, not looking at me, or Laurie, or anyone else. I want to go over and shake them until they understand who the good guys are. And I want to memorize their faces so that if they convict the woman I love for murder, I can hunt each one of them down, cut off their ugly heads, and set their stinking bodies on fire.
Hatchet reads them his version of the law, which when boiled down from its one-hour length, basically says, 'If you think she's guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, vote guilty.' He sends them off to deliberate, though they inform him that since it's late, they're going to get started in the morning.
Kevin comes over again tonight, basically out of force of habit, since there's nothing else we can do. I'm going to be hard-pressed to stick to my usual style of waiting for a verdict, which is to be totally alone (except for Tara), totally obnoxious to anyone who interrupts that solitude, and totally superstitious.
I can't be alone, at least not in my house, since Laurie is confined there for the duration. I don't want to be obnoxious, since she is no doubt going through a greater agony than I am. The only thing I can be is superstitious, so I'm sure I will do that with a vengeance.
I know we shouldn't, but we are physically unable to avoid watching news coverage of the verdict watch. Some commentators give us a decent chance, but most feel that if the jurors follow a strict interpretation of the law, we'll probably lose. All agree that if not for the Hobbs revelations, we'd be dead in the water.
The area of most agreement is that the longer it takes to reach a verdict, the better off we are. If the jury rejects our theories about Hobbs as irrelevant, they'll vote quickly to convict. If they're willing to accept them, or at least examine them, it will take considerably longer. Of course, this 'longer the better' theory does not take into account the likelihood that we will soon all have strokes and die from stress waiting for the jury to come back.
We're eating breakfast at nine A.M. when Laurie and I make eye contact and realize that at that very moment, the jury is meeting to begin the process of deciding her fate. It's enough to make me choke on my pancakes.
The doorbell rings and we get a FedEx delivery. It's from the opposing law firm in the Willie Miller suit, and inside is a cashier's check for more than eleven million dollars. Since two hundred thousand dollars of it is Edna's, she is more than happy to take it to the bank and deposit it.
I call Willie and Kevin and tell them the news. Willie tells me that he's decided what he's going to do with some of the money. I assume he's going to buy a yacht on which he can tool around the inner city, but he tells me otherwise.
'It's an investment,' he says. 'But it ain't gonna make any money.'
'Most investments are like that,' I say. 'But you don't usually know it going in.'
'I want you to come in for half,' he says.
I'm really not in the mood to deal with this insanity now, so I say, 'After the trial, we'll talk to cousin Fred.'
Kevin comes over at noon, and along with Laurie and Edna, we sit around waiting for the call that we hope doesn't come for quite a while. At one point I get up and open a window; it's not hot, it's more to let the pressure out.
At three-thirty, Edna answers the phone and nervously tells me that it's Rita Golden, the court clerk. It takes what seems like an hour and a half for me to walk the eight feet to the phone. There are a lot of things that this could be other than a verdict. The jury could want testimony read back, one of them could be ill, they're ending deliberations for the day, etc.,
'Hello?' is my clever opening line.
'Andy,' Rita says, 'there's a verdict. Hatchet wants everyone here at five o'clock.'
'Okay,' I say, and she gives me a few more instructions. I hang up, turn, and break the news to Laurie, Kevin, and Edna. They've all been a part of our discussions hoping for a long deliberation, but no one voices the pessimism we all now feel.
'What time are we leaving?' Laurie asks.
'In about an hour,' I say before dropping a bomb that Rita dropped on me. 'Laurie, you're supposed to pack some things. Just in case …' I don't finish the sentence, since it would have sounded something like 'Just in case last night was the last one you will ever spend out of prison.'
Laurie nods and goes to the bedroom to pack a suitcase. Kevin hasn't said a word; he's feeling exactly what I'm feeling. It's a sense of powerlessness and fear. The powerlessness comes from the awareness that our ability to influence events is over, and the fear is from knowing that those events have already been decided.
The truly chilling part is that we both feel we have lost.
The scene outside the courthouse is chaotic, but they get us through and into the courtroom just before the appointed time. Ever since we got the phone call, I've felt as if I'm watching things in slow motion, yet at the same time realizing that they're moving at high speed.
Laurie hasn't said a word since we left the house; I don't know how she's bearing up under this pressure.
