“And took a shot at them,” I point out.
“They pulled out guns first… I wasn’t even sure they were cops. They could have been the guys that killed Troy. Even when I figured out who they were, I was afraid they’d come in shooting. Hey, man… I wasn’t trying to hit them. I just figured if they found the body like that, they’d think I did it. Which they did.” He sees the look on my face and moans. “Man, I know it was stupid. I just freaked, that’s all.”
Kenny doesn’t know what brought the police to the Upper Saddle River home, but he believed from their attitude that they were there to arrest him. I’ll find that out soon enough, so I use our remaining time to ask him about his relationship with Preston.
“I met him when we were in high school,” he says. “One of those sports magazines did an all-American high school team, and they brought everybody to New York and put us up in a hotel for the weekend. I think he was from Pennsylvania or Ohio or something…”
“But you’ve never had an argument with him? There is no motive that the prosecution might come up with for your killing him?”
He shakes his head vigorously, the most animated I’ve seen him. “No way, man. You gotta believe me. Why would I kill him? It don’t make any sense.”
The guard comes to take him back to his cell, and I see a quick flash of shock in Kenny’s eyes, as if he thought this meeting could last forever. I tell him that I will get to work finding out whatever I can and that the next time I will see him is at the arraignment.
For now I’m far from sure I believe in his innocence. But I’m not sure that I don’t.
* * * * *
LAURIE’S FLIGHT IS more than an hour late because of heavy thunderstorms in the area. They are my favorite kind of storms, the ones where the skies get pitch-black in late afternoon on a hot summer day, and then the water comes bursting out, bouncing off the street as it lands. Eat your heart out, Los Angeles.
I stand with a bunch of people in the Newark Airport baggage claim waiting for the passengers. Laurie walks in the middle of a group of about twenty; she couldn’t stand out more clearly if she were wearing a halo. I have an urge to nudge the guy next to me and say, “I don’t know who you’re waiting for, loser, but that one is mine.” It’s an urge I stifle.
I’m not big on airport arrival hugs, but Laurie gives me a big one, and I accept it graciously. I ask, “How was your flight?”-a witty line I picked up from our LA driver. Laurie shares my general disdain for chitchat, so by the time we’re in the car, she’s questioning me about the recent events.
“Are you going to take the case?” This is the key question for her, since as my main investigator it will determine how she spends the next few months of her life.
“I don’t know; I haven’t heard the evidence yet.”
“I’m not saying he’s guilty,” she says, “but they wouldn’t go after a high-profile guy like that unless they felt they had a strong case. And he didn’t help himself by turning his house into the Alamo.”
What she’s saying is certainly true. On the other hand, “Willie says he’s innocent.”
“Willie might be slightly biased,” she points out. She’s referring to both the fact that Schilling is his friend and also the fact that Willie himself is a walking example of a law enforcement mistake. As a wrongly convicted man Willie has less than full confidence in the justice system.
Laurie has other questions, and almost on cue, Kevin calls me on my cell phone with some of the answers. None of it is good. At the arraignment on Monday morning Schilling is to be charged with first-degree murder. To make matters worse, Dylan Campbell has been assigned to prosecute the case. Dylan is difficult and obnoxious, which would be okay if he weren’t also tough and smart.
And Dylan will have a more personal incentive to win. Last year Laurie was herself on trial for the murder of a Paterson Police lieutenant, her boss in the days that she was on the force. I defended her and won her acquittal, despite Dylan’s vigorous prosecution. It was a high-profile trial, and I have no doubt he’s been lying in wait to kick my ass on another case.
Dylan refused to give Kevin a preview of their evidence, despite the fact that they will have to turn it over in discovery early next week. It is a confirmation of how contentious this case will be, which on one level makes me more eager to tackle it. I would take great pleasure in beating Dylan again, but it would be nice to know if I have a shred of evidence to utilize.
Laurie doesn’t even want to stop off at her place; she wants to come home with me. The way we’ve structured our living arrangements is to have our own homes while staying together Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday nights. It’s flexible, but since today is Friday, I’m glad we’re not exercising that flexibility tonight.
Camped out in front of my house when we pull up are half a dozen media types, with two camera trucks. The thirst for news on this case is going to be unquenchable, and Schilling’s lawyer will be a permanent source. Since I am that lawyer, at least for now, I’ve got to get used to it and learn to use it to my advantage.
I pull the car into the garage, and Laurie goes inside while I go outside to speak to the press. I’ve got nothing whatsoever to tell them, especially since I don’t yet know the facts of the case. The last thing I want is to blow my future credibility by saying something that turns out to be wrong.
“Listen,” I say, “I just came out to tell you that I have no comment. And I thought you’d want to hear that in time to change the front-page headline.”
Karen Spivey, a reporter who’s covered the court beat far longer than I, is the only one of the group to laugh. “Thanks, Andy. We can always count on you.”
“Glad I can help. And you’re welcome to sit out here as long as you like, but I’m going to be in there sleeping.”
They take that as a signal that they can safely leave without missing any breaking news, and pack up to leave. I go inside, and Laurie and I are in bed within fifteen minutes, including the five minutes she spends petting Tara. Laurie turns on CNN, which would not have been my first choice. SEX would have been my first choice. But Laurie didn’t get to follow the news much the last few days, and she apparently wants to let Larry King bring her up-to-date on what’s happening in the world.
Ol’ Larry proves to be quite the aphrodisiac, because within ten minutes the TV is off and Laurie and I are making love. We’ve only been together for two years, and maybe there will come a time when I take our physical relationship for granted, but I can’t imagine when.
I’m just about to doze off when she says, “I really love you, Andy. It’s important to me that you know that.”
Something about the way she says it worries me, but I can’t figure out why. It’s the same feeling I had when I talked to her on the phone, and I briefly consider whether to reveal my concern. “I love you too” is what winds up coming out. I am Andy, master conversationalist.
Kevin phones the next morning to suggest that he come to the house to discuss our plans for the case. It’s Saturday, so he says it’s more comfortable than going to the office. He doesn’t mention that this will also provide him with an opportunity to eat Laurie’s French toast and to act surprised when she offers to make it.
While he is inhaling his breakfast, we do little more than acknowledge the fact that there is nothing we can effectively do until the arraignment. Laurie sits in on our conversation, a tacit acceptance of the job as investigator for our team.
We turn on the television, since that seems to be our main source of news, and receive another jolt. An anonymous source within the prosecution has leaked the fact that Kenny failed the drug test administered after his arrest. If this is true, and it probably is, it would mean that Kenny lied to me, not a good way to start a lawyer-almost-client relationship.