I decide to split the difference. Without revealing what little I know about Stynes's identity, I will utilize some of the information that I learned from him to help my client. I'm on shaky legal ground, but it's ground I'm prepared to defend if I have to.
I call Laurie and carefully tell her that I have received information about some possible evidence in the Dorsey murder. I describe the area behind Hinchcliffe Stadium in the same fashion Stynes described it to me, and ask Laurie if she could check it out. I further tell her that if she finds anything, she should leave it untouched and call the police.
My feeling is that the evidence may be helpful in demonstrating Oscar's innocence. I will not help the authorities by pointing them to Stynes, but if they get there on their own, I can live with it.
Turning back to Willie, I briefly bring him up to date on the progress of the lawsuit. I tell him that both of the other parties have agreed to be represented by the same attorney, and we are to meet with him later in the week. I also reemphasize that which I've told him at least five times before: Any money that he gets from Philip Gant will in effect ultimately reduce the inheritance of my ex-wife, Nicole. Nicole and I have not spoken since her father's arrest, but it still represents a conflict of sorts for me. It is a conflict about which Willie continues to be unconcerned.
I haven't yet discussed the possible award Willie might get, and a jury decision in this area is particularly hard to predict. Based on my initial settlement discussions, however, I think we could be looking at a five-million-dollar offer, and this is the number I tell Willie.
Willie starts to make a noise that is somewhere between gurgling and blubbering. Whatever he is doing, it is not compatible with breathing, and for a moment I consider whether to call 911. Eventually, he recovers enough to commence gasping.
"Five million dollars?" are the first words he can manage.
I nod. "But I recommend that you reject it."
"I should reject it?" He's having trouble processing the words. "You mean turn it down? Turn down five million dollars?"
"Yes. I think you should hold out for in excess of ten, after my commission."
"Ten what? Million?" he asks.
I nod. "Million. We're talking about almost seven years. Isn't your life worth at least a million five per year?"
He slows down, trying to gather his thoughts to deal with what he is hearing. "Damn straight," he finally says. "This is my life we're talking about." Willie is a really good "thought gatherer."
"So we're agreed?" I ask.
"Definitely. We are standing on the same corner, man. Singin' the same tune. Walking the same walk. All the way."
"Good," I say. "One for all and all for one."
He nods in agreement, then: "But what if they don't give us the ten?"
"Then we'll get a jury to give us fifteen."
"My man!" he enthuses, and actually slaps me five twice, so that it will total ten. A while later he gets up to leave, but stops at the door and turns to me. "You're not bullshitting me, right? I mean, no way you are bullshitting me?"
"No way." I smile, and then he smiles a hell of a lot wider than I do.
Minutes after Willie leaves, I get a phone call from Dylan Campbell's assistant asking me to meet Dylan in his office as soon as possible. I can only assume that the police have uncovered more evidence damaging to Oscar, but there's no sense asking the assistant. Dylan takes center stage whenever he can; if there's a bomb to drop on me, he will drop it personally.
I'm ushered into Dylan's office as soon as I arrive, another sign that he's got something to use on me. It's more often his style to make visitors stew in the reception area, but this time he can't wait to get right to it.
Also in Dylan's office waiting for me is Lieutenant Nick Sabonis, the lead detective on Oscar's case. If he shares Dylan's glee at what is about to be said, he hides it well. Nick's a career cop nearing the day when his biggest concern will be what fishing rod to use. He doesn't get into personal stuff with lawyers; he just wants to lock up the bad guys and move on to the next case.
"Thanks for coming down so quickly, Andy," Dylan says. "New evidence has turned up concerning your client."
I just wait for him to continue; coaxing him to hurry up would give him a satisfaction I don't want to provide.
"We got a call from a Wallace Ferro, the manager at the Food Fair supermarket on Riverside. It turns out that there's a tape of Garcia in the store at the exact time that the coroner says the murder was committed."
I'm pleased but puzzled. "I asked him about the tapes."
Dylan nods, a slight smirk on his face. "According to him, you didn't ask too hard. This was a tape above the cash machines at the bank branch in the market. It's a different system, and they don't tape over them for months. For some reason he thought we'd be more interested in it than you would."
Little of what Dylan is saying makes sense, but I'm not really concerned. No matter what Wally the grocery manager thinks of my investigative techniques, my client is about to be freed and so am I. I'm out of the case and clear of conscience. I can go back to saving otters.
"Does Oscar know about this?" I ask.
"He does. He's been released, and he's agreed to voluntarily answer some questions."
Alarm bells go off in my head. "What kind of questions? Why wasn't I informed?"
"Don't worry, Andy, Oscar waived his right to counsel." He smiles. "Especially your counsel."
"What the hell is going on, Dylan? What are you questioning Oscar about?"
My sense of foreboding increases when Nick, not having said a word, walks out of the office. My sense is that while he may be on the same side as Dylan, he doesn't want to associate himself with this performance.
Dylan doesn't even seem to notice him leave. He is taking his time, savoring the moment. "We've made another arrest in the case, Andy. We believe Oscar has information to provide in connection with that arrest."
"Who did you arrest?" I ask, knowing that this is the reason Dylan called me here, and knowing with even greater certainty that I'm going to hate the answer.
"I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this," he lies, "but we've arrested and charged Laurie Collins with the murder of Alex Dorsey."
THE PRESS IS
OUT IN FORCE BY THE TIME
I
GET TO
the jail. When it was Oscar Garcia that stood accused, it was a marginal story. When it's Laurie Collins, ex-cop and sworn enemy of the deceased, it's page one all the way.
I work my way through the reporters and camera crews, making comments as I go. I don't usually like to speak to the press until I know the facts, so I say only what I know to be true.
"What's your reaction to the arrest?" I'm asked.
"It's beyond idiotic," I respond.
"Are you going to defend her?"
"The facts will defend her," I say. "I'll just make sure everybody knows them."
I get inside the jail and ask to see Laurie. The bozo at the front desk tells me that she's being "processed." I know she's smart enough not to talk to anyone without me present, but I don't like the fact that she's alone. After five minutes of waiting, I tell him I'm going to go outside and tell the press I'm being denied access to my client. Coincidentally, at that very moment he receives a telepathic communication informing him that the processing just ended.
I'm led back to an anteroom where I wait for another five minutes, until Laurie is brought in. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, and she is already dressed in jail clothing. I expect to see fear in her eyes, but that's not what is there. What I see is anger. Which is good, because I've got enough fear for both of us.
"Andy, what the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," I say. "I haven't tried to press anyone for information yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
"They've charged me with Dorsey's murder," she says, total disbelief in her voice.
I nod. "Tell me what happened. Don't leave out a thing."
She sits down, resting her cuffed hands uncomfortably on the table. The cuffs are so offensive to me, I want to bite them off with my teeth.
"There isn't that much to tell," she says. "I went out to the stadium, like you said. It took a little while, but I finally noticed something in the shrubbery. I went over and looked at it, but I didn't touch it. It looked like clothing with blood on it. Then I saw the handle of a large knife, as if somebody had tried to cover it with the shrubs."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. Ten seconds after I saw the stuff, officers seemed to come from everywhere. There must have been seven or eight of them, guns drawn. They read me my rights and brought me down here."
"Do you think they had been following you, or waiting at the site?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know, maybe both. There were a lot of them." She shakes her head again, this time with more sadness. "It was weird; I helped train two or three of them."
I'm silent for a few moments, trying to figure this out. None of these pieces fit together.
"Andy, why did you send me out there?" It's not an accusation, just a need to know.
"I had information that the killer's clothes might be there. I figured that if they were, it would get Oscar off the hook. It should do the same for you."
Laurie speaks quietly, and for the first time I can hear the fear overtaking the anger. "Andy, they were my clothes."
She can't have said what I think she said. "What?"
"The clothes with blood on them ... they were mine. I don't know how they got there ... I never even noticed them missing from my closet."
In a flash that feels exactly like panic, I realize that this is the worst of both worlds. We are facing a situation that makes absolutely no sense, yet clearly has been planned and executed with precision.
"Laurie, we will get through this."
"And where will I be while we're doing that?" she asks.
She's talking about the possibility of bail, which I started thinking about on the way over here. It's very problematic. Oscar was charged with first-degree murder, and there's no doubt that the same will be the case with Laurie. It's very difficult to get bail in that circumstance, and I can certainly count on Dylan to oppose it.
"Bail's going to be tough," I tell her. I don't lie to clients, and I'm certainly not going to start with Laurie.
She nods, knowing very well how the system works. "If we don't get it, and even if we do, we need to get to trial as quickly as possible."
"It's way too early to be talking about a trial. We're going to try and end this before we even get there."
"I can't sit in a cage, Andy."
I would love to tell her she won't have to, but it's not within my power. This point is driven home all too clearly when the guard comes into the room to take her back to that cage.
I tell Laurie that I'll be back to see her tomorrow, at which time I'll have learned much more about the situation, and we can talk about it in detail. I tell her again that we'll get through this, that everything is going to be fine. I tell her that I love her and that she needs to keep her spirits up.
Which brings me to the things I don't tell her. I don't tell her that they couldn't have had time to test the blood on the clothing yet, so they can't be sure it's Dorsey's blood. I don't tell her that that means there is other evidence against her, evidence that the police feel independently justifies the arrest. I don't tell her that I know in my gut there are other shoes to drop, that things are going to get worse before they can get better.
I don't tell her that every single cell in my body is scared shitless.
Once Laurie has been led away, I go downstairs to see Sergeant Luther Dandridge, head of the detail that deals with the prisoners. I know him, but not well, and there's no real reason he would do me any favors. I take a shot anyway and ask him to make things as comfortable as possible for Laurie.
It turns out that he knows and likes Laurie, and he tells me he's already arranged for her to be kept away from the rest of the population and treated as well as possible. When I hear him say it, I want to kiss and hug him and maybe give him the eleven million I didn't give cousin Fred.
I've got to get my emotions in check.
It's almost eight
P.M
. when I leave the jail, and I call Dylan's office. No one answers, which means I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow to get any information. I call my office machine, and there are a bunch of messages, mostly from friends of Laurie's and mine expressing their support. Kevin has also called to tell me he's ready to go to work tonight.
The last call is from Dylan, alerting me to the initial court appearance tomorrow morning at eleven. They are moving quickly, confidently. We have got to do the same, but it's hard to move quickly and confidently when you don't know where you're going.
I call Kevin at his house and he answers at the beginning of the first ring. The conversation is exactly what I expect. Even though I know he is outraged and upset, he doesn't voice either of those emotions. Those would be wasted, unproductive words; what we need to do is spend every moment of our time and thoughts on helping Laurie, not bemoaning the unfairness of her fate. I ask him to come right over so we can get started.
I get home and take Tara for a short walk, and by the time we get back Kevin has arrived. I make some coffee and we get down to making whatever plans and decisions we can, given our current limited access to information.
Our first priority is getting that information, and since I will have to prepare for tomorrow's court hearing, I give that task to Kevin. He will be waiting at Dylan's office before it even opens in the morning, and if he gets any resistance at all to our demand for immediate production of discovery material, he will notify me before the hearing. I will then once again embarrass Dylan about it before the judge. I doubt Dylan will want that to happen, so I suspect he'll be generally, and grudgingly, cooperative with Kevin.
We discuss how we will frame our request for bail, and prepare a motion utilizing what favorable case law there is. Kevin thinks we have a better chance than I think we have, which is encouraging, since he's a terrific attorney who has worked both sides of the system.
I tell Kevin about Stynes; my reservations about breaking that privilege have long since disappeared. Since Stynes had to know that they were not his clothes behind the stadium, he was clearly in my office for the purpose of framing Laurie. He played me like an accordion, and paying him back will be a key component of Laurie's defense.
Kevin leaves and I sit up another couple of hours, thinking about the case. I instinctively know that the victim is going to be the key, that understanding the last two years of Alex Dorsey's life is the only way to reveal the truth about his death.
One thing I know for sure: Laurie did not kill him. Stynes's involvement proves that, at least to me, but I would be sure of her innocence even without it. She hated Dorsey, and she could well have wished him dead. Under certain extreme circumstances, I could even imagine her killing him, be it to protect herself or others. But the brutality of the murder, the total disregard for the dignity of human life, clears Laurie beyond any doubt.
I get into bed, but barely sleep at all. I keep thinking of Laurie in that cell, and on some level it feels as if falling asleep in the comfort of the bed we share would be like abandoning her.
I'm up watching the news by five-thirty in the morning, but it isn't until an hour later that I discover the "sunrise scam." The weather guy has proclaimed that six-thirty-one is the moment of sunrise, yet I can now bear witness to the fact that at that exact time it is already light out, and has been light for fifteen minutes.
Does no one check these things out? Do they think the light is coming from another source, perhaps helping our eyes adjust to the upcoming sudden onset of sunlight? Or are we being deceived by someone, maybe the tanning or suntan lotion industrial complex?
And no matter what the reason for the deception, what is the value of knowing when sunrise is? Wouldn't we be better served by knowing when "lightrise" is? And are there any other idiots like me, up at this hour and paying attention to this nonsense, so as to take their minds off of something important, something that's gnawing at their insides?
How the hell am I going to help Laurie? And what if I can't?
I get up and take Tara for a two-hour walk. As always, she can sense my mood and mirrors it. She doesn't do anything to distract me from my thoughts; even when a squirrel passes, she doesn't try to go after it. I'm able to focus on the job ahead, and by the time we get home, I'm ready.
I shower and get to the courthouse at ten-thirty. As I did with Oscar, I meet with Laurie in an anteroom and prep her for the hearing. I tell her basically the same things, but I hug her considerably more than I recall hugging Oscar.
We are led into the courtroom on time, and Kevin is waiting at the defense table. Dylan and his colleagues are already in place, though this time he forgets to wish me good luck. The courtroom is packed with perhaps twice as many people and press as when Oscar was playing the lead.
Judge Timmerman once again handles the hearing. She asks if there is anything to be discussed before we begin, and Dylan immediately demonstrates just how contentious this is going to be.
"Yes, Your Honor," he says, "we believe that it is a conflict for Mr. Carpenter to be representing this defendant, and we ask that he be removed as counsel."
"On what grounds?" she asks.
"As you know, he represented Oscar Garcia when Mr. Garcia was charged with the same crime. Mr. Garcia may well be a witness in this case, which would be a clear conflict of interest for Mr. Carpenter."
As Dylan is speaking, I can feel Laurie tense up next to me, fearful that she will lose me as her lawyer. Kevin slips me a piece of paper, but I don't look at it, since I'm too intent on what Dylan is saying. There is no way I'm being taken off this case.
The judge turns to me. "Mr. Carpenter?"
I stand up. "Your Honor, just three days ago, Mr. Campbell stood before you and told you Oscar Garcia was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. We told you he was wrong, and he now admits that he was. Now Mr. Campbell is telling you that it is Laurie Collins that is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. He is wrong again. I don't know what the indoor record is for bizarre and false accusations in connection with a single crime, but he certainly is on a pace to break it.
"Since it is clearly his intention to keep charging people until he finally blunders onto the guilty party, and since there are more citizens in this community than lawyers, eventually some of us are going to be called on for representation more than once. We might as well start now."
"Your Honor," Dylan says, "I object to the frivolous nature of the response. This is a serious matter." As Dylan speaks, I take the time to look at the paper Kevin has given me.
"It is very serious," I agree, "and it was equally serious in
New Jersey v. Clampett
, which is directly on point and favors the defense position." Kevin had amazingly anticipated this possibility and found case law last night.
"But far more serious," I continue, "is the fact that this prosecutor has accused two innocent people of a brutal crime in one week. He has demonstrated a disturbing willingness to rush to judgment without the benefit of facts, and here he is doing it again." I'm being extra tough on Dylan not only because this motion is a cheap, unprofessional shot but especially because the press will lap it up. I can see the smoke coming out of Dylan's ears as I go on.
"Additionally, I am no longer representing Oscar Garcia and I am unaware of any connection he continues to have to this case. Should this ever reach trial, and should he testify, my co-counsel, Kevin Randall, will cross-examine him."
Judge Timmerman thinks for a few moments, then says, "Since the Garcia matter was of such short duration, I see no clear conflict. Therefore, I am inclined to side with the defense and allow Mr. Carpenter to remain as counsel to Ms. Collins. Mr. Campbell, if you choose to, you can take up the matter again with the trial judge."
Dylan nods his resignation that he has lost this motion, at least for the time being. I can feel Laurie sigh with relief.