With no other viable alternatives, I am forced to sit with Tara and watch NFL football all day. I have seen less football so far this season than in any other in recent memory, and I can’t make up for that in one day, but I’m going to try.
The Giants game is particularly interesting to me. On the field their running game looks as if it’s mired in quicksand, and on the sidelines I catch occasional glimpses of Bobby Pollard, taping ankles and generally performing his job as trainer. If I do my job right, both the on-and off-field situations are about to change dramatically.
Laurie plays her “little woman” role perfectly, bringing Tara and me whatever chips, beer, biscuits, and water we might need. I haven’t thought about Laurie leaving in a while, and when I do, it is with increasing confidence that she won’t. How could she give up this much fun?
Sam and Kevin come over at seven. Sam has tracked down some of Pollard’s medical records and vows he will get the rest. The fact that some of it originated in Europe makes things a little more complicated, but Sam has total confidence.
Kevin and I kick around our legal strategy to introduce this new slant on matters. The decision will completely rest with Judge Harrison, and Dylan will be crazed by the prospect of it. We agree that we will ask for a meeting in chambers before the start of court tomorrow, and we’ll take our best shot.
I wake up early and call Rita Gordon, the court clerk, and tell her of our desire to hold the meeting in the judge’s chambers, thereby delaying the start of court. I tell Rita that it is an urgent matter, because I want the judge to fully expect to be dealing with a very important issue.
Kevin and I arrive before Dylan, and we informally chat with the judge for the five minutes until he does. We are prohibited from talking about the case, and because of the occupation of the defendant, we can’t even do what would come naturally and talk about football.
When Dylan does arrive, I get right to it. “Judge Harrison,” I say, “there has been a very significant new development which causes us to ask for a continuance.”
Continuances are not something Judge Harrison willingly dispenses, and he peers down his glasses at me. “I would suggest you’ll have to be slightly more specific than that” is his understatement.
I want to dole out as little information as possible, but I’m fully aware that I’m going to have to be forthcoming. I tell him about the high school all-American weekend and the fact that the majority of the young men on the offensive team have died.
His interest is obviously piqued. “They were murdered?”
“The police in those jurisdictions did not think so, but I believe that since there was no way they could have been aware of the connections, they came to the wrong conclusion.”
“Why couldn’t they have made the connections? You did.”
I nod. “That’s because we were looking for it, and we were still lucky to find it. The police in these areas couldn’t have known where to look. These young men for the most part did not know each other, and the all-American team for this magazine was obscure. Besides, many publications pick all-American teams; there would have been no reason to focus on this one.”
“And your client has an alibi for these other deaths?” he asks.
“At this point he does not, Your Honor. In fact, he was geographically close enough to each one to have committed them.”
Judge Harrison interrupts. “Let me see if I understand this. You are abandoning your view that the murder in this case was drug-related, and you have developed a new strategy, which is to tell the jury that while your client is on trial for one murder, he may well be a serial killer?”
I’m nervous as hell, but I can’t help smiling at how he puts it. “You find that unconventional, Your Honor?”
“That’s not quite the word I would use.”
“Your Honor, in the interests of justice, I want the jury to see the entire truth. I believe that this truth will also enable me to create a reasonable doubt as to my client’s guilt.”
Harrison turns to Dylan, who seems stunned by the direction this session has taken. “Mr. Campbell?”
Dylan is in a quandary. On the one hand, he would be thrilled to see the specter of Quintana and drugs out of the picture; on the other hand, he totally doesn’t trust me. This seems perfect for him, but he’s smart enough to know that if I want something, he shouldn’t.
Conflicted as he is, he decides on the one surefire approach: No matter what I want to do, he doesn’t want to give me the time to do it. “Your Honor, Mr. Carpenter is entitled to present whatever defense he wishes, but I see no reason for the trial to be delayed so that he can go on a fishing expedition to support a new strategy. Having said that, I assume his new witnesses would not be on the current witness list. Therefore, the state would reserve the right to request our own continuance, should we need time to prepare for our cross-examinations.”
Harrison turns to me. “How long a continuance are you requesting?”
Earlier in this session I used the words “in the interests of justice” because Judge Harrison is obliged to rule according to those interests, even if those rulings aren’t necessarily based on accepted court procedure. In a death penalty case the “interests of justice” principle becomes even more crucial. “To properly further the interests of justice, Your Honor, I would request one week.”
Dylan almost chokes. “Your Honor, we have a jury out there, and-”
Harrison cuts him off. “The trial is continued for two days. Court will resume at nine o’clock on Wednesday.”
I’m a little disappointed in the ruling; I was hoping for three days. But it should be enough time if we don’t waste any of it. I ask Judge Harrison to seal this proceeding for the time being, and for him to order that neither Dylan nor I reveal the substance of it, at least for now. Dylan argues, but I throw in another “interests of justice” argument, and Harrison agrees.
I head to a meeting in my office to finalize our plans, and if the radio news reports I hear on the way are a true indication, the media are going crazy over the just announced continuance. All that Judge Harrison has revealed is that it was requested by the defense, and as I near my office, I can see the media hordes outside waiting for me.
I call ahead and switch the meeting to my house, since I can more easily get in and out without having to deal with the press. They are there in force, but I come in the back way and then hold a thirty-second press conference on the porch.
“As you know, Judge Harrison has issued a gag order,” I say. “Gagged people by definition have no comment.”
Not being gagged themselves, reporters continue to bombard me with questions, but I briefly and disingenuously profess frustration at not being able to answer, and head back inside. Before long Kevin, Laurie, Sam, and Willie have made it through and join me in the den.
Willie calls me aside and tells me that Marcus has set things up as scheduled, and it gives me a pit in my stomach the size of Norway. To put it out of my mind and focus on the matter at hand takes a mental discipline that I’m not sure I have.
I can feel the different dynamic in this meeting compared to our previous ones. Until now we’ve been floundering, unsure where to go and how to get there. Now we have a viable plan, and our task is simply to execute it.
Kevin and I go over the meetings we need to have tomorrow with our witnesses, and Sam reassures me that he has recruited a friend highly competent and capable of setting our trap for Pollard.
To that end I call the Pollards, and Teri answers. I ask her to have Bobby pick up the other line. Laurie, Kevin, and Sam sit silently in the room as I wait, knowing that this conversation must go well for us to have a chance.