and we kick around what to do with it. “We’re going down the tubes at trial,” I say. “And the courtroom is not the place we’re going to win it. If we’re going to get Steven off, it’s by understanding what his father was doing, and who wanted to stop him from doing it.”
Laurie agrees. Even though she has not been in the courtroom, Kevin and I have kept her up to date. We’ll put up a fight there, and we’ll score some points, but at the end of the day the existing evidence is on the side of the prosecution.
I alluded in my opening statement to Walter Timmerman’s work causing him to be murdered. But the truth is, at this point I can’t even introduce evidence of that on a good-faith basis. Of course, we have no hard evidence anyway, but even if we did, we have only guesswork to tie it to the murder.
I call Sam on his cell phone, which is the only phone he ever uses. He answers on the first ring, which I think he has done every time I’ve ever called him. He must keep the phone taped to his ear.
“Talk to me,” he says, his standard greeting.
“Sam, I’ve got an assignment for you. You can do part of it on the computer, but you may have to do real legwork on the rest.”
“Can I carry a gun? I just got a license… in case.”
Sam has some serious mental issues. “No gun, Sam. This isn’t official police business. But you can say stuff like ‘ten-four’ and ‘roger’ if you like.”
“I copy that,” he says.
“Good. I want you to find me the best expert you can on the work that Walter Timmerman was doing.”
“What kind of work was he doing?” Sam asks, quite logically.
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I admit.
“That’s going to make it harder.”
“Let’s start with DNA. Timmerman was an expert in it, and we have that e-mail about him sending his own DNA in to be tested. So we’ll start there. Bring me the mayor of DNA-ville.”
“Will do.”
“And Sam, if you find someone, but they don’t want to help, don’t shoot them. Move on to someone else.”
But Sam has already hung up, so he doesn’t hear me. I turn to Laurie, who has overheard my side of the conversation. “Sam has a gun?” she asks.
“Apparently so.”
“You might want to confiscate his bullets.”
My next call is to Martha Wyndham, who is not at home. I leave a message that I need to talk to her, and I give her the address of the house, should she be able to come over after court tomorrow.
Laurie and I talk some more about the case, and we then go upstairs to the bedroom. I head into the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth, and when I come back Laurie is already in bed. This is not a surprise. What is a surprise is that she’s naked.
“You’re naked,” I say, trying not to drool.
“Wow, you don’t miss a thing.”
I put on a fake Western accent. “Where I come from, when a lady gets herself naked, she’s got a reason for it. At least that’s what my pappy always told me.”
“You had a wise pappy,” she said.
This is shaping up as a too-good-to-be-true moment, but I’m also slightly concerned about it. “You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask. “I mean, you’ve been through a lot. Are you up for this?”
She smiles. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
It turns out that we are both more than equal to the challenge. It also turns out to be one of the most intense, loving experiences of my life.
It wasn’t long ago that I thought I had lost Laurie forever, and now she’s here, with me, fully and completely.
As Al Michaels once said, “Do you believe in miracles? YES!”
ROBINSON ARRIVES AT THE HEARING with eight lawyers. Since I don’t attend bar association meetings, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this many lawyers in a group before. I’m not even sure it’s called a “group” of lawyers; maybe it’s a flock or a gaggle.
The lead attorney is Stanford Markinson, one of the founding partners of Markinson, Berger, Lincoln & Simmons. It is one of the largest law firms in New Jersey, with offices around the state. Robinson must be a hell of a big client to get Markinson to show up personally at a dog custody hearing.
Hatchet makes it clear that he is not at all happy to have