your flight?”-a witty line I picked up from our LA driver. Laurie shares my general disdain for chitchat, so by the time we’re in the car, she’s questioning me about the recent events.
“Are you going to take the case?” This is the key question for her, since as my main investigator it will determine how she spends the next few months of her life.
“I don’t know; I haven’t heard the evidence yet.”
“I’m not saying he’s guilty,” she says, “but they wouldn’t go after a high-profile guy like that unless they felt they had a strong case. And he didn’t help himself by turning his house into the Alamo.”
What she’s saying is certainly true. On the other hand, “Willie says he’s innocent.”
“Willie might be slightly biased,” she points out. She’s referring to both the fact that Schilling is his friend and also the fact that Willie himself is a walking example of a law enforcement mistake. As a wrongly convicted man Willie has less than full confidence in the justice system.
Laurie has other questions, and almost on cue, Kevin calls me on my cell phone with some of the answers. None of it is good. At the arraignment on Monday morning Schilling is to be charged with first-degree murder. To make matters worse, Dylan Campbell has been assigned to prosecute the case. Dylan is difficult and obnoxious, which would be okay if he weren’t also tough and smart.
And Dylan will have a more personal incentive to win. Last year Laurie was herself on trial for the murder of a Paterson Police lieutenant, her boss in the days that she was on the force. I defended her and won her acquittal, despite Dylan’s vigorous prosecution. It was a high-profile trial, and I have no doubt he’s been lying in wait to kick my ass on another case.
Dylan refused to give Kevin a preview of their evidence, despite the fact that they will have to turn it over in discovery early next week. It is a confirmation of how contentious this case will be, which on one level makes me more eager to tackle it. I would take great pleasure in beating Dylan again, but it would be nice to know if I have a shred of evidence to utilize.
Laurie doesn’t even want to stop off at her place; she wants to come home with me. The way we’ve structured our living arrangements is to have our own homes while staying together Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday nights. It’s flexible, but since today is Friday, I’m glad we’re not exercising that flexibility tonight.
Camped out in front of my house when we pull up are half a dozen media types, with two camera trucks. The thirst for news on this case is going to be unquenchable, and Schilling’s lawyer will be a permanent source. Since I am that lawyer, at least for now, I’ve got to get used to it and learn to use it to my advantage.
I pull the car into the garage, and Laurie goes inside while I go outside to speak to the press. I’ve got nothing whatsoever to tell them, especially since I don’t yet know the facts of the case. The last thing I want is to blow my future credibility by saying something that turns out to be wrong.
“Listen,” I say, “I just came out to tell you that I have no comment. And I thought you’d want to hear that in time to change the front-page headline.”
Karen Spivey, a reporter who’s covered the court beat far longer than I, is the only one of the group to laugh. “Thanks, Andy. We can always count on you.”
“Glad I can help. And you’re welcome to sit out here as long as you like, but I’m going to be in there sleeping.”
They take that as a signal that they can safely leave without missing any breaking news, and pack up to leave. I go inside, and Laurie and I are in bed within fifteen minutes, including the five minutes she spends petting Tara. Laurie turns on CNN, which would not have been my first choice. SEX would have been my first choice. But Laurie didn’t get to follow the news much the last few days, and she apparently wants to let Larry King bring her up-to-date on what’s happening in the world.
Ol’ Larry proves to be quite the aphrodisiac, because within ten minutes the TV is off and Laurie and I are making love. We’ve only been together for two years, and maybe there will come a time when I take our physical relationship for granted, but I can’t imagine when.
I’m just about to doze off when she says, “I really love you, Andy. It’s important to me that you know that.”
Something about the way she says it worries me, but I can’t figure out why. It’s the same feeling I had when I talked to her on the phone, and I briefly consider whether to reveal my concern. “I love you too” is what winds up coming out. I am Andy, master conversationalist.
Kevin phones the next morning to suggest that he come to the house to discuss our plans for the case. It’s Saturday, so he says it’s more comfortable than going to the office. He doesn’t mention that this will also provide him with an opportunity to eat Laurie’s French toast and to act surprised when she offers to make it.
While he is inhaling his breakfast, we do little more than acknowledge the fact that there is nothing we can effectively do until the arraignment. Laurie sits in on our conversation, a tacit acceptance of the job as investigator for our team.
We turn on the television, since that seems to be our main source of news, and receive another jolt. An anonymous source within the prosecution has leaked the fact that Kenny failed the drug test administered after his arrest. If this is true, and it probably is, it would mean that Kenny lied to me, not a good way to start a lawyer- almost-client relationship.
I’m torn about whether I want to handle this case at all. On its face it seems a near-certain loser, mainly because there is a very substantial chance Kenny is guilty. My financial and professional situation is such that I have little stomach for securing the release of people who shoot other people and stuff them in closets.
On the other hand, I don’t know that Kenny is guilty, and this case represents a chance to get back into the action. Ever since the Willie Miller trial, I have been very selective in picking my clients, with the result being a lot of downtime. It’s been three months since I’ve been in a courtroom, and I can feel the juices starting to flow. The fact that I could be taking on Dylan is an added, competitive benefit.
Once Kevin leaves, Tara and I take a ride over to the building that houses the Tara Foundation, the dog rescue operation that Willie and I run. More accurately, Willie and I finance it, and Willie and his wife, Sondra, run it. It’s a labor of love for them, and I’ve loved helping them rescue and place over six hundred dogs in our first year.
As we enter, Willie and Sondra are behind the desk while a young couple gets to know one of the dogs, a large yellow Lab mix named Ben. They are sitting on the floor and playing with him, unknowingly making a good impression on Willie, Sondra, and me in the process. As a general rule, people who get on the floor with dogs provide them with good homes.
I overhear Sondra talking to Willie before they see me. “Samuel Jackson?” she says. “Are you out of your mind?”
Apparently, Willie is nearing a final casting decision. Sondra sees me and tries to enlist me in her cause. “Andy, tell him that Samuel Jackson is old enough to be his father.”
“Samuel Jackson is old enough to be your father,” I say as instructed.
“Then what about Danny Glover?” Willie persists.
“Damn,” says Sondra. “Danny Glover is old enough to be Samuel Jackson’s father.”
Willie is getting frustrated, so he turns to me. “You got any ideas?”
I nod. “Sidney Poitier.”
“Who’s he?” asks Willie, and Sondra shares his baffled expression.
“A new guy,” I say. “But he has potential.”
I go off to pet the dogs that have not yet been adopted, and then Tara and I head home. Starting Monday, I’m going to be totally focused on the Schilling case, and until then I’m going to be totally focused on the NBA play- offs.
Between now and tomorrow there are six games, culminating in the Knicks-Pacers game tomorrow night. All the games have betting lines and are therefore totally watchable. I have gotten so used to betting on these games that sometimes I wonder if I’m actually a basketball fan anymore. Would I be watching if I couldn’t wager? I’m confident I’d watch the Knicks, but would I care if Detroit beats Orlando? I’m not sure why, but these are somewhat disconcerting issues to contemplate.
The flip side is even more worrisome. If I could gamble on other events, currently exempt, would I automatically become a fan of those events? If I could wager on ballet, would I be pulling for the team in green tutus? And what about opera? If I could bet that the fat lady would sing before the fat guy, would I become an opera buff?
