First degree

Kevin has been spouting optimistic one-liners, none of which he truly believes. The bottom line is that how any of us are acting and feeling does not matter; the result has been determined, and within moments we are going to have to deal with it, one way or the other.

Hatchet comes in, issues a stern, cautionary warning against outbursts after the verdict is read, and calls in the jury. Their faces are somber, expressionless; their eyes are averted from both the defense and the prosecution.

Laurie leans over and whispers in my ear. 'Andy, thank you. No matter what happens, you've done an amazing job. And I love you more than you can imagine.' I don't know how to respond to a comment as caring and generous as that, so I don't.

Hatchet instructs the foreman to give the verdict slip to the bailiff, who carries it over to the clerk.

Hatchet says, 'Will the defendant please rise?'

Laurie stands quickly, almost defiantly. Kevin and I are on our feet a split second later, and I take Laurie's hand. I'm not sure which one the shaking is coming from.

'The clerk will read the verdict.'

The clerk looks at the form for the first time and seems to read it silently for a few moments, as if she wants to be the only person besides the jury who knows how this ends. There is not another sound in the room, and her words come through so clearly that it is as if I am hearing them through a stethoscope. I know I'm standing on my legs, but I can't feel them.

'We, the jury, in the case of the State of New Jersey versus Laurie Collins, find the defendant, Laurie Collins … not guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree.'

I'm sure the gallery must be in an uproar, I'm sure Dylan must be upset, I'm sure Hatchet must be banging his gavel, but I'm not aware of any of it. All I'm conscious of is a three-way hug between Laurie, Kevin, and myself, a hug so tight that I think they'll have to carry us from the room in this position and pry us apart at the hospital.

Laurie tells us both that she loves us, and Kevin, his eyes filled with tears, keeps saying, 'It doesn't get any better than this.' He's wrong; it would be better than this if Barry Leiter were alive to see it.

But this is pretty damn good.

Hatchet thanks the jury, releases Laurie from custody, and adjourns the proceedings. Dylan comes over to offer his surprisingly gracious congratulations, and they take Laurie away for some quick processing and paperwork.

When she comes back, she has a smile on her face and no bracelet on her ankle.

She looks great.

LAURIE DECLINES MY OFFER OF A GET-AWAY-from-it-all vacation to some island paradise. At this point, her idea of paradise is to live her life unshackled, to run errands with impunity, and to sleep in her own house every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday.

I've given Edna a couple of weeks off, and in fact haven't even moved the files and things back to my office. If it took me six months to get back in emotional work-mode after the Willie Miller case, I'm figuring six decades this time.

The press conference was intense after the trial, again bestowing hero status on me. Surprisingly, it hasn't died down, though the focus has switched to Darrin Hobbs. New revelations seem to be leaking from the investigation daily, and it seems that there may have been as many as eight ex-army buddies who have been committing crimes under his protection. It appears almost inevitable that he is going to be arrested and charged.

I've heard from Cindy Spodek, who is getting the hero treatment from the press and the cold shoulder from most of her colleagues. She tells me that the dominant emotion she feels is relief, and I know exactly what she means.

The ever-unpredictable Willie Miller has reacted with apparent nonchalance to his sudden wealth, behaving responsibly and prudently. Fred has invested most of the money, leaving some aside for Willie to have some fun. It turns out that Willie's idea of fun is to buy a Volvo, because he's read in Consumer Reports that it's a really safe car.

Willie, is that you? Willie?

I'm going to get a firsthand look at the new Willie in a few minutes, as he's coming by the house to pick me up and drive me to what he says is going to be our investment together. He's keeping it a surprise, but I assume it's not going to be anything too formal, since he suggests I bring along Tara.

Willie pulls up and I get in the beige Volvo. Tara jumps into the backseat with Cash, and I get in the front. After instructing me to put my seat belt on, Willie drives off.

About fifteen minutes later we pull up at an abandoned, dilapidated building, with an old sign identifying it as once having been called the Haledon Kennels.

'Come on,' Willie says, and gets out of the car before I have the chance to tell him that this would not be a good investment, and I wouldn't want to run a kennel even if it were.

Willie lets Tara and Cash out of the car, and they walk toward the door with us. It's locked, which is not a problem for Willie because he takes out a key and opens it.

'You have a key?' is my perceptive question.

'I should. I own the damn place. We own the damn place.' This shows signs of being a disaster.

We enter and I'm not surprised to discover that inside the dilapidated kennel is a dilapidated kennel.

'What do you think?' Willie asks, positively beaming.

I decide to be direct. 'I think you're out of your mind.'

He's surprised and wounded. 'Why? I thought you love dogs.'

'I do. But I don't want to take money from people to stuff their dogs in cages while they go on vacation.'

He laughs. 'Is that what you think this is?' He points at Tara and Cash. 'Look at them, man. Tara was gonna be killed in the animal shelter, and Cash would have been history if they caught him.'

I'm not understanding. 'So?'

'So we're the shelter,' he says. 'Come on, man. We rescue dogs from the other shelter, from the street, whatever, and we take care of 'em until we can find them homes. It'll be one of those nonprofit things, like a foundation or something.'

He's finally getting through to me. 'Damn,' I say in wonderment and admiration.

'And I'm gonna run the place,' he says. 'That's gonna be my job.'

I put out my hand and shake his. 'And I'm gonna be your partner.'

Willie and I spend the next couple of hours talking about our upcoming partnership. We discuss things like what we're going to do to the place, how we'll take care of the dogs, the need to get veterinary care, etc.

I've spent the better part of a year looking for a charity to call my own, and Willie comes up with one a week after getting his money. I'm not about to abandon the needy otters, but I'm genuinely excited to have this project. I'm even more excited that Willie has agreed that we can call it the Tara Foundation. Cash doesn't seem to mind.

I get home and call Laurie to tell her about the venture, but she's not home and I leave a message on her machine for her to call me. Tonight being Thursday, I won't be seeing her. I have no idea where she is. I'm not jealous or insecure, but I wonder how she'd feel about wearing an ankle bracelet so I can monitor her activities.

I call Danny Rollins for the first time in months and place a bet on the Mets against the Braves. I order a pizza, grab a beer, sit with Tara on the couch, and start watching the game. Life is back to normal, and the last thing I remember before falling asleep is a Mike Piazza home run in the fourth inning.

When I wake up, the television is off, but so are all the lights. My first reaction is to assume it's a summer power failure, due to overuse of air-conditioning in the hot weather. However, I can see a streetlight on outside, so the outage must be within the house.

I'm annoyed as I stand, ready to grope around for my flashlight. I hear Tara barking near the back of the house. It is unusual for Tara to bark, and there is always a reason. The last time it was a head being buried on my