It’s a thoughtful point of view, and helpful because I hadn’t expected it. Obviously, Calvin finds it moving, because he gets up to go to the bathroom. Since Sandy’s on a roll, I decide to try him on something else. “We’re going to want to talk to the families of the victims and some other people in Center City. Any suggestions how we go about that?”
“Boy, that’s a tough one,” he says. “Those people really keep to themselves and talk to outsiders as little as possible.”
“What about if we go through Clayton Wallace?” I ask.
“He’s the Keeper, right? That’s what they call their leader.”
I nod. “So I’m told.”
“Yeah, I guess you should go through him. But you’ll probably wind up with Stephen Drummond.”
“Who’s he?” I ask.
“Sort of like the town’s general counsel. Handles all their legal affairs, which basically means doing whatever he can to keep the outside world outside.”
I thank him, and after offering to help in whatever way he can, he goes back to join his friends for dinner. Calvin comes back a few moments later.
“Where’s your friend?” asks Calvin in a tone that indicates he’s not a big fan of Sandy.
“You don’t like him?” I ask.
“Not particularly.”
“Why not?”
“He’s part of a group, mostly guys, who sort of make the decisions for the town. Kind of like influential citizens that the mayor basically listens to because he wants to stay the mayor.”
I nod my understanding. “He’s the guy who got Laurie the job back here.”
“My point exactly. He butts in where he shouldn’t, and because of him you’re not in a fancy New York restaurant eating pheasant and pâté and caviar and shit. Instead you’re sitting here sucking up a face full of sausage.”
We finish our meal, and I pay the check, eight dollars and ninety-five cents. At this rate the twenty-five-hundred-dollar retainer will go a lot further than I thought.
On the way to the door I see Laurie at a table at the other end of the diner. She is with three women, all maybe ten or fifteen years her senior, and they are roaring with laughter.
I briefly debate whether to go over there, but Laurie sees us and stands up. “Andy… over here.”
I go over, but Calvin chooses to wait out front. By the time I get to the table, the laughter has pretty much subsided. Laurie does the introductions. “Andy Carpenter, this is my Aunt Linda and my Aunt Shirley and my cousin Andrea. My family.”
The way she says “my family” drives home more clearly than ever why Laurie needed to come back to Findlay. The job opportunity was important, as were the old friends, but this cemented the deal. Her family is here.
We banter for a few minutes, and they all tell me how much they’ve heard about me from Laurie. And how wonderful it is to have Laurie home.
And that’s where Laurie is.
Home.
• • • • •
JUDGE MORRISON has scheduled a nine A.M. meeting in his chambers, the invited guests being defense and prosecution counsel. He wants to go over the ground rules for the upcoming preliminary hearing. It’s a typical move for a judge who does not like surprises in his courtroom, which is just the way Calvin described him.
The judge asks me to arrive fifteen minutes before the meeting is to start, never a good sign. I get the same feeling I have every time a judge summons me without opposing counsel; it’s as if I’m being called to the principal’s office. Actually, it’s worse: The principal’s power never extended to declaring me “in contempt of homeroom” and sending me to jail.
I call Calvin and suggest he arrive for this advance meeting with me.
“Did he say he wanted me to be there early?” Calvin asks.
“No, but he didn’t say he didn’t either.”
“Then I’d rather have my eyebrows plucked,” he says.
There’s a definite possibility I’m going to have to teach Calvin the subservience etiquette involved with his being my second-in-command, but this is not the time. So I head down to the court, and the clerk takes me directly into Judge Morrison’s chambers.
“Mr. Carpenter, thanks for coming in early.”
“My pleasure, Judge.”
“I had a conversation yesterday with a mutual friend of ours,” he says.
Uh-oh, I think, and gird for the worst.
“Judge Henderson,” he says, and I realize that even though I thought I had girded for the worst, I hadn’t. This is the worst, and I stand here ungirded. He is referring to Judge Henry “Hatchet” Henderson of Passaic County, New Jersey, who I have appeared before on numerous occasions. We have had our share of run-ins; he’s not fond of some of my more unconventional trial techniques. “He and I have met at a number of legal conferences,” the judge continues. “Good man.”
I nod. “Very good man. Outstanding man.”
Judge Morrison starts looking through some papers on his desk. “Let’s see… ah, here it is,” he says as he finds the paper. “He said you were a fine attorney.”
“He did? Well, he’s a fine judge. Very fine,” I say.
“And he also said you were”-he starts to read from his paper-“a disrespectful wiseass who considers proper court procedure something to trample on and make fun of.”
“Maybe ‘fine’ was too strong. He’s a decent judge. Somewhat decent.”
Judge Morrison takes off his glasses and stares at me. “I trust I will not have a similar problem with you?”
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.”