a comment to me the other day," I say. "Something about knowing what Oscar's been up to recently."
She nods. "I've kept my eye on him from time to time."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"It means that when I've had time I've watched him, hoping he would make a mistake. Something that could get him sent away."
"You're not a cop anymore, Laurie."
"No, but I know a few." She can see I'm a little worried about this. "Andy, the guy is a slime. I have the right to watch him."
"Did you catch him doing anything?" I ask.
"Not that I could prove."
"What about personal contact? Did you have any?"
"No."
I feel like she's holding back, although she must know that wouldn't make any sense. The rest of the conversation consists more of her trying to get information from me than the other way around. She wants to know how the case is going, and even though it hasn't had time to go anywhere, I make myself sound upbeat. My goal is to be honest but not depressing. In this case, at least for now, that's not easy.
I'M UP AND SHOWERED BY SEVEN O'CLOCK THE NEXT morning, which is exactly the time that Edna shows up. I see her through the window; she has brought donuts and coffee for the early assembled press and is outside divvying it up. Obviously, there was no need for press-relations coaching from me; Wonder Woman picked it up on her own.
At nine o'clock I get a phone call from the court clerk informing me that the grand jury has handed down an indictment against Laurie. Dylan has been working fast. She also informs me that a trial judge has been assigned, and I am wanted at a meeting in one hour in his chambers. I start to argue about the inconvenience of this hastily called meeting when she tells me that the trial judge is Walter "Hatchet" Henderson.
I stop arguing. Hatchet could just as easily have given me ten minutes to get there, and held me in contempt if I was late. He is autocratic, obnoxious, and legendarily difficult for all lawyers, though I'm sure he scares Dylan more than me. Hatchet was the judge on the Miller case, and I was pleased--make that stunned--by the competence and fairness he demonstrated while conducting that trial.
Before I leave, Laurie reminds me of her one demand: that the trial begin as soon as possible. It's a very common feeling among the accused, especially the wrongly accused. This experience is so trying, so frightening, so humiliating, that the need to have it over as quickly as possible is overwhelming.
By the time I get to Hatchet's office Dylan is already there, kissing the judge's ass by marveling about how much weight Hatchet has lost on some diet. Lawyers instinctively try to kiss Hatchet's ass, but even though that ass has in fact gotten smaller during this diet, the tactic doesn't work. Hatchet does not respect ass-kissing attorneys. He also does not respect prosecuting attorneys, defense attorneys, outstanding attorneys, mediocre attorneys, or any attorneys.
"Good morning, Judge," I say.
"Let's do without the small talk, gentlemen. We've got a trial to conduct."
"Oh," I say, "I assumed we were changing defendants again."
"No," Dylan responds, "we're going to put this one away for a long time."
I laugh. "Dylan, I'm going to clean your clock."
Hatchet interrupts and berates us for our unprofessional conduct. He then takes out his calendar and opens the floor to discussion of a start date for the trial.
"I would suggest July fourteenth, Your Honor," Dylan says.
"That is unacceptable to the defense, Your Honor. We wish to invoke our right to a speedy trial. We would be looking at the middle of May."
Dylan is clearly surprised, mainly because he knows rushing is not in our best interest; it's an accepted truth that time is always on the defense's side. And besides, I had already agreed to the July 14 date when the defendant was Oscar. Dylan has no choice but to accede to our demand, however, since we are simply exercising our constitutional rights.
Dylan estimates that the prosecution case might take two weeks, and I say that I doubt we'll even need to mount a defense, but if we do, a week should do it.
Hatchet looks intently at the calendar, then stares at us. "My vacation begins on June twenty-eight."
I nod. "And I hope Your Honor has a wonderful time."
Dylan revisits the issue of bail, as I knew he would. I'm very concerned that Hatchet might revoke