this are undoubtedly one of his strengths, and this will prevent him from having to be in court tomorrow morning. It would be depressing to watch me spend another day playing legal rope-a-dope, lying back as Dylan pummels us with witnesses.
Actually, the rope-a-dope analogy isn't quite accurate.
Ali, in using it in his fight against Foreman, was doing it intentionally. I'm not.
Ali had a strategy. I don't.
Ali had the masses chanting "Ali bomaye! Ali bomaye!," which when translated means "Ali, kill him! Ali, kill him!" I have the press, writing columns and going on TV, essentially saying, "Carpenter, you're a moron! Carpenter, you're a moron!," which when translated means "Carpenter, you're a moron! Carpenter, you're a moron!"
Dylan's first punch/witness of the day is a neighbor of Oscar Garcia, who recounts having seen Laurie hanging out near Oscar's apartment on a number of occasions. I make the point that "apartment hanging" is not a felony, but it remains an effective small piece of Dylan's puzzle.
Next up is Laurie's ex-partner on the force, Detective Stan Naughton. He looks like he would rather be anywhere else than here and occasionally looks over at Laurie, his eyes apologizing for what his mouth is saying.
Naughton recounts the story of Oscar providing drugs to the daughter of Laurie's friend and how Laurie was determined to nail Oscar for it. It provides motive with a capital "M," at least concerning the initial framing of Oscar for the Dorsey killing.
With Naughton obviously friendly to the defense, it's simply my job on cross-examination to lead him where he already wants to go. I take my time doing so, prompting him to talk about Laurie's exemplary record on the force, his feeling that she is a levelheaded, decent human being who abhors violence and who never came anywhere close to committing police brutality.
Kevin shows up, motion in hand, and I tell Hatchet that we have an important matter to bring up before the court. We file the motion, providing Dylan with a copy, and Hatchet schedules argument for nine A.M. tomorrow.
Kevin and I are going to be up late tonight going over our position on the motion. We will have to convince Hatchet that the Cahill/Stynes involvement in the case is relevant and presents a credible alternative to Laurie's guilt. At the same time, we also have to make him believe that there is at least a reasonable chance that the FBI files contain information that could be exculpatory to Laurie.
I arrive home before Kevin, and Edna hands me the mail that has built up over the last three days. It's mostly solicitations for charitable contributions, and I have a quick pang of guilt that I have been neglecting my philanthropic blundering during the trial.
There is also an envelope from Stephen Cates, the opposing lawyer in the Willie Miller civil lawsuit. It's surprisingly thick, and when I open it, I see why. It is a one-page letter attached to a long legal document. The letter informs me that they have agreed to our demands and that when Willie signs the attached settlement agreement, they will forward a check in the amount of eleven million seven hundred thousand dollars.
I'm thrilled for Willie, but I'm so obsessed with the trial that my first reaction is to view this as a distraction. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be fair to Willie not to tell him about it immediately, so I ask Edna to call him and have him come over.
Willie arrives so quickly that I think he must have been waiting on the front lawn for Edna to call. With him, as always, is Cash, who is probably delighted at the prospect of digging up another head.
"What's up?" Willie asks.
"We received an official response from the other side."
"We did?" he asks nervously. "You got any beer?"
"You want a beer before you hear their answer?"
"Every time I've ever gotten good news in my whole life I've had a beer in my hand. Every single time."
"Really?" I ask. "What about the time the jury found you not guilty and you got off death row?"
That time had slipped his mind. "Okay, forget the beer. What did they say?"
I hold up the settlement agreement. "That if you sign this paper, they'll give you a check for over eleven million dollars."
Willie looks at me, not speaking, for about twenty seconds. Then he leans over, picks up Cash and holds him right up to his face, and says, "Did I tell you? Did I tell you?"
And then he starts to cry. Not