I nod. “I don’t anticipate any problems at all.”
He nods. “Excellent.”
He calls in Calvin and Lester, both of whom reveal their dislike for each other in their body language. Calvin introduces me to Lester. “Lester’s the DA,” he says, then smiles slightly and adds, “He ran unopposed… and still almost lost.”
The court stenographer comes in as well, since this little chat will be on the record. In a case of this importance it’s prudent to do it that way, and Judge Morrison strikes me as the prudent type.
Judge Morrison opens the proceedings by formally accepting me to practice in the state of Wisconsin. I thank him, telling him that it is my honor to do so. I smile when I’m finished, showing him that I’m on my best behavior. He doesn’t smile back.
The judge lays out the parameters of the preliminary hearing, which are pretty much the same as in New Jersey. The prosecutor will present some witnesses, though certainly not his whole case. He doesn’t have to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt in the hearing, simply probable cause that Jeremy should be tried for the murder. It’s a low burden, and one Lester will have no trouble meeting.
“How long will you need?” the judge asks. He seems very concerned with time; his docket must be filled with upcoming jaywalking trials.
“Less than a day,” Lester says. “We’ll be calling only two or three witnesses.”
I tell the judge that we will likely not be calling any witnesses of our own, though we reserve the right to change that according to circumstances. Our advantage in the hearing is that Lester will have to reveal some of his cards, while we do not. That would be a more significant help if we had any cards not to reveal, but at this point we don’t.
Judge Morrison goes over a few more points, mostly housekeeping in nature, and closes with, “Anything either of you want to bring up?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I say. “To date we have received less than one hundred pages of discovery. No witness reports, no forensics… only some basic police reports.”
Lester jumps in. “The materials are being prepared even as we speak, Your Honor.”
I shake my head. “The defense was entitled to them even before ‘we speak.’ Your Honor, Mr. Chapman has had access to all this information and we have not. That is a distinct disadvantage for us and prevents us from being adequately prepared for the preliminary hearing. Therefore, we request a continuance, the length of which to depend on how much longer the prosecution continues its improper delaying tactics.”
Lester shakes his head in annoyance. “Your Honor, these things-”
Judge Morrison cuts him off. “Mr. Chapman, where are these reports?”
“In my office, Your Honor.”
“Then make certain that copies of them are in their office by three o’clock today.” He points to Calvin and me. “If they are not, I will be obliged to grant a continuance, and that is something I do not want to do.”
Lester is smart enough to know when to keep quiet, and the meeting concludes with his promise to comply with the court’s directive.
Calvin and I drive over to the school that Jeremy and Elizabeth Barlow attended until her murder. It’s the Findlay campus of the University of Wisconsin, located about seven miles northwest of Findlay itself.
I visited a friend at the main University of Wisconsin campus back when I was in college, but this has a decidedly different feel. This is a cozy, rather sleepy campus, the main feature of which is a central mall where the students can congregate and freeze to death in the winter. There’s certainly none of the Big Ten environment here; the closest this place will come to the Rose Bowl is the rounded greenhouse next to the botany building.
Jeremy had not lived on campus, though Elizabeth had. Jeremy has said that it was a bone of contention between Elizabeth and her mother, but that Elizabeth’s desire to experience life away from home prevailed. The deciding factor was the amount of snow that they get here in the winter, and the long drive through that snow that Elizabeth would have to make to get to class.
Calvin, who seems to know everyone in Wisconsin, called ahead to a friend, the dean of something, and we have been given permission to talk to students on campus, providing we do so with courtesy and discretion. Courtesy and discretion are not traits for which I have ever been known, and I expect Calvin is not particularly well trained in them either, but we’ll do our best.
Our first stop is Silver Hall, the dormitory in which Elizabeth resided. It’s a girls’ dorm, but you could never tell that from the people in the lobby. There are as many boys as girls there, and both sexes stare at Calvin and me as if prehistoric creatures have arrived.
We go to the desk in front and speak to a young woman whose sign identifies her as Renee Carney, Resident Adviser. She can’t be more than twenty-one herself and is dressed in a “Rage Against the Machine” sweatshirt. I think that if she were my adviser, I would take her advice under advisement.
“We’d like to speak to some friends of Elizabeth Barlow,” I say.
“She’s dead,” says Renee.
“Yes, we’re aware of that,” I say. I’m also aware that there are students behind us, drawing closer so as to hear our conversation.
“So why do you want to talk to her friends?”
“Because we’re lawyers involved in the case and because Dean Oliva has given us permission to do so.” I point to the phone on her desk. “You might want to call him to confirm that.”
She looks at the phone as if considering the possibility, then shrugs. “Pretty much everyone here was Liz’s friend, so talk all you want.”
That’s as close as we’re going to get to a ringing endorsement from the resident adviser, so we turn toward the assembled students, who have no doubt heard the entire exchange.
We walk up to a young woman standing off to the side and seeming less interested in us than the others. Calvin starts out as our spokesman, probably as a result of my less-than-inspiring success with the resident adviser.
“Hi,” Calvin says, turning on the charm. “My name is Calvin Marshall, and my double-legged friend is Andy Carpenter. What’s your name?”
“Emily Harrington.”
“Emily, can we talk to you about Elizabeth Barlow?”
Emily eyes us warily. “Are you on Davidson’s side?”
“We’re just here to gather information… try and get to the truth,” is Calvin’s evasive reply.
She’s having none of it. “But you’re on Davidson’s side?”
Calvin nods. “We’re representing him, yes.”
Emily casts a glance at the other students, hanging on every word. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
This starts something of a trend, as every other student in the place also refuses to answer any of our questions. Most of them seem less conflicted about it than Emily, but clearly, no one is going to do anything to help the person they believe killed their friend Elizabeth Barlow.
Calvin and I head to our car, in the parking lot just outside the main gate. “Didn’t Jeremy have any friends here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess we should find that out.”
As we approach our car, we see that three young men, probably students, are sitting on the hood. They are all rather large, at least compared to Calvin and me, and they watch us as we near. My guess is that they didn’t choose our car at random.
We reach the car, and I decide to try the conciliatory approach. I generally find that this fits in neatly with my basic cowardice. “Hey, guys, you mind getting off the car? We’ve got to be going.”
One of them, wearing a Wisconsin football jersey, smiles an annoying, smug smile. “Is that right?” he asks.
I think the question was probably rhetorical, but I answer it anyway. “Yes, that’s right.” I figure a snappy comeback like that is likely to cow them into departing.
“You in a hurry to get back to Davidson? Maybe help him get out so he can kill a few more girls?”
My patience is wearing a tad thin. “Time to go, boys,” I say.
He smiles again, still reclining comfortably on the hood. “Is that right?”
