“That’s my Mr. Positive,” Laurie says.
“Have you ever seen him in court?” Kevin asks. “Is he any good?”
“Good, not great,” I say. “But he’s aware of his limitations, so he’ll have the top people in his office backing him up. The problem is that he knows the evidence, knows the case, and if he thought there was one chance in a thousand he could lose, he wouldn’t go near it.”
We’re all aware that there’s not much we can do about refuting the evidence without knowing what it is, so I put in a call to Tucker to arrange a meeting. His secretary says he’s not there, a claim that has some credibility, since I was watching him give an interview to CNN just moments before.
“I want to meet with him sometime today, after the arraignment,” I say.
His secretary makes a noise that indicates she finds that timing rather unlikely. “Mr. Zachry is quite busy today.”
“See if he can fit me in between Bill O’Reilly and Larry King. Or if he’d rather, I can get the judge to juggle his schedule for him.”
It’s a rather empty threat, since the prosecution’s obligation is to turn over the evidence in discovery, not to meet with the defense attorney. But the secretary seems cowed. “I’ll speak to him as soon as he gets back.”
Kevin and I drive down to the hearing. Laurie really has no function there, so she heads off to wrap up some final details on her insurance case.
On the way there, Kevin says, “Listen to this.” He then proceeds to flap his left arm against his body, much like a chicken. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” I ask.
“This.” He flaps his arm again.
“You’re flapping your arm like a chicken,” I point out, trying to be helpful. “So I guess I hear a flapping noise.”
“You don’t hear the clicking?” he asks, renewing the demonstration.
“I don’t think so. It’s more of a flapping. What’s wrong?”
“Rotator cuff.” He flaps his arm again. “It hurts like hell when I do this.”
“Is there a reason you need to do it?”
He doesn’t have time to answer, as we are just arriving at the courthouse. The press is out in full force, another reminder that this case will be as high-profile as they come. Public sentiment is going to be stacked against us; there is a natural inclination by people to believe that if the police charge someone, that person is almost certainly guilty. Add to that the fact that these are murders that scared and shocked the entire metropolitan area, and we’ll be lucky if a lynch mob isn’t formed.
Once inside, we are brought into an anteroom to see Daniel. I want Kevin to meet him and give me his assessment, since I’m still not wholeheartedly into this representation.
Cummings has regained some of his self-confidence since the last time I saw him. He shakes Kevin’s hand vigorously and welcomes him to the “team.” I see Kevin wince slightly and flap his arm a few times, probably making sure the rough handshake didn’t increase the clicking.
“The ‘team’ is what I want to talk to you about, Daniel,” I say. “As I’m sure you realize, I was originally retained by Vince to represent the newspaper-and only by extension, as one of its employees, you.”
He nods and waits for me to continue, so I do. “This is now an entirely different matter, and you are entitled to the counsel of your choice.”
He looks puzzled, as if trying to understand what I’m getting at. “Are you saying you don’t want to represent me?”
“Not at all. I’m saying you can have whoever you want.”
“Including you?”
I nod. “Including me.”
He smiles, leans over, and shakes Kevin’s hand again. “Then welcome to the team . . . officially.”
Now that we’ve got a team, it’s time for the coach to issue some pregame instructions. I tell Daniel that the arraignment is a formality, that the only time he will be asked to speak is to plead.
“I assume you want to plead not guilty?” I ask.
“Damn right,” he says.
I go over my rather healthy fee with Daniel, which he agrees to as if it is of no consequence. He says he will ask Vince to bring him his checkbook, so he can give me a retainer of two hundred thousand dollars. I make a mental note to find out just how much money he inherited from his murdered wife.
“I want you to make a list of everybody you’ve ever known who might have a grudge against you. Also, everybody you’ve ever known that you would consider capable of these kinds of murders.”
Daniel agrees to start thinking about these things, and Kevin and I go out to the courtroom. We are there before the prosecution, which is no surprise, since Tucker wouldn’t have it any other way. Just as the champion comes into the ring last for a title fight, so Tucker considers himself the titleholder for this court fight.
When the Great One finally enters, he sees me and comes over, his charming smile lighting up the room. “Andrew, good to see you,” Tucker says, bringing to a total of one the number of people who call me “Andrew.” My guess is, he believes addressing me by a name I don’t use will somehow get under my skin. It doesn’t, but I’ll get my revenge anyway.
“Nice to see you, Tucky my boy,” I say, watching his quick, involuntary grimace. “You know Kevin Randall?” He turns and shines the charm spotlight on Kevin, which relieves me from the glare for a moment or two.
They greet each other, and then Tucker turns back to me. “I hear you were tough on my assistant.”
I shrug. “All in the pursuit of justice. We need to meet.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” he asks.
“No, right now we’re exchanging insincere pleasantries and chitchat. I want to discuss the case.”
His smile gets about forty degrees colder. “If you’re looking for information, you’ll get it in discovery. If you’re looking to plead it out, you’re wasting your time. This one is going all the way.”
Before I have a chance to respond, Judge Lawrence Benes comes into the courtroom, and Tucker and I go back to our respective corners. Judge Benes is unlikely to be the trial judge; his role is strictly to handle the arraignment.
Daniel is brought in, and the arraignment begins uneventfully. He is held over for trial in the murder of Linda Padilla; at this point Tucker is not including the other murders. My request for bail is denied, and the setting of a trial date is postponed until a judge is assigned. Daniel’s not guilty plea is spoken firmly and with conviction, which is important only because the press should report it as such.
I make a demand for immediate discovery, since there really is nothing we can effectively do until we know what they have.
Tucker stands; he can get up and down hundreds of times without wrinkling his pants. I get up once and it looks like I hung my suit in a blender.
“Your Honor,” Tucker intones, “the prosecution, in representing the people of this state, is keenly aware of our responsibilities. This case is being watched all across this great country of ours, and we will do nothing to jeopardize this defendant’s rights under our Constitution. The materials to be turned over to the defense are being compiled even as we speak.”
I take a moment to control my nausea and then respond. “Your Honor, if you could ask Mr. Zachry to provide transcripts of these speeches in advance, then we could stipulate to such revelations as the greatness of our country. And I should point out that it is the defense position that our country is great from the mountains to the prairies to the oceans white with foam.”
Laughter erupts from the gallery, and I see a momentary flash of pain on Tucker’s face. He does not like to be embarrassed, so I make a mental note to embarrass him as much as possible. If he reacts emotionally, then he might make a mistake in front of this “great country of ours.”
The hearing ends, Daniel is taken back to his cell, and for the first time I notice Vince sitting near the back of the courtroom. I walk toward him, and he waits as the gallery empties out.
“Tucker doesn’t look too worried,” he says.
“He’s not.”
“I am,” he says.
I can’t think of anything positive to say, so I don’t.
