"Larry said it was a suicide. That he slit his own throat," I say.
Grissom shakes his head sadly. "Larry's not exactly the sharpest tool in our shed. How many suicides slit their own throat from ear to ear, then still have the knife tucked in their hand after they bleed to death and fall to the floor?"
"So somebody got into his locked cell in the middle of the night and killed him? Warden, this is a maximum security prison."
He nods. "That's why they didn't hang him in the mess hall during dinner." He can see me getting more and more frustrated. "Look, this is not the Boy Scouts. We've got murderers in here, so we've got murders. We do our best, but it is what it is."
"Had he been told I was coming?"
Grissom nods. "I told him myself. He seemed to like the idea. Maybe somebody else didn't."
"Did he make any phone calls?"
"Hard to tell," he says. "We monitor the pay phones, but they can get access to cell phones."
"Cell phones in the prison?"
He shrugs. "They got money or things to trade, they can get whatever they want in here. Think of it as the old economy--a return to the barter system."
Grissom gets Murdoch's file at my request and tells me that he was serving a lengthy term for counterfeiting. It was only incredibly bad luck on his part that got him arrested. There was a fire in his house while he was out, and when the fire department broke in, among the things they saved were plates with American presidents on them. His lawyer had claimed that the evidence should be suppressed since the firemen had no warrant, but the judge correctly ruled that they had good reason to enter the burning building.
Referring to Murdoch's murder, I ask, "Are you going to investigate this?"
He laughs a short laugh, then nods. I've got a hunch the investigation is not going to be relentless, nor is it going to get anywhere. Just like I'm not going to get anywhere with Warden Grissom. I hope Burt Reynolds comes here, puts a football team together, and kicks his ass.
I have Larry from Lansing take me back to Clyde the pilot, so I can take my new frustrations out on those dirty commies.
I call ahead to Kevin, tell him what happened, and ask him to assign Marcus to find out everything he can about Terry Murdoch. The first thing I do when I get home is go through the military files again, looking for some connection, any connection, but there just isn't anything there.
Kevin and I finish our preparations for tomorrow's witnesses, and Laurie and I get to bed early. For the past couple of weeks, we've pretty much kept our conversations about the case out of the bedroom, more to help our insomnia than for any other reason.
But tonight Laurie breaks that unwritten covenant. "I want to testify," she says.
"I know you do. We're just not ready to make that decision yet."
"I'm ready, and I've made it. I'm not going to jail without having told my story. I'm telling you now so you can factor it in."
"Consider it factored," I say a little petulantly. I need to focus on tomorrow's witnesses, not a decision that is now, no matter what my client says, hypothetical and premature.
The problem is, now that it's in my head, I spend the next hour thinking about it. Like every other defense attorney practicing on this planet, I am generally loath to put my clients on the stand. There is just too much that can go wrong, and not enough potential upside to counterbalance that.
The main reason not to put Laurie on, besides the unseen pitfalls inherent in such a move, is that she doesn't have any evidence to present. It's not like she has an alibi for the night of the murder; all she can say are the things she didn't do. "I didn't kill him, I didn't frame Oscar, I didn't own the gas can." Etc., etc., etc. These are self-serving statements which won't and shouldn't carry any weight with the jury. The truth is, anything positive that she might have to say about the facts of the case I can introduce through other witnesses, without exposing her to a withering cross-examination.
At this point the only reason I can come up with to put her on is to give the jury a taste of who she is. There has always been an incongruity between Laurie's demeanor, her persona, and the crime she is accused of committing. Dylan's task, even with the overwhelming evidence in his favor, has first been to get the jurors to consider Laurie capable of such an act. The more they get to know her, the harder it will be for them to believe it.
If Laurie does testify, she will be the last witness we call. Tomorrow morning will be considerably less dramatic, but it's important that we get off on the right foot. I have no doubt that if the jury were to be polled right now, they would vote to convict. Which means we have twelve formerly open minds to win back.
THOUGH THE PROSECUTION BUILDS THEIR case brick by brick in logical order, my style of defense is to shoot random darts, jumping around so they won't know where the next attack is coming from.
Our first witness is Lieutenant Robert Francone, the officer who directed the Internal Affairs investigation of Dorsey. Since Celia Dorsey told me that her husband was in cahoots with an unidentified lieutenant, in my mind everyone with that rank is a suspect. However, Francone is widely considered above reproach, and Pete Stanton endorses that view.
I take Francone through the particulars of the investigation. He's not hostile, just reluctant, viewing the material as not meant to be public. Nevertheless, the information ultimately comes out, and the portrait painted of Dorsey is that of a corrupt cop, selling out to, and profiting from, the criminals he was sworn to combat. Those criminals will have to go unnamed during this trial, as per an edict Hatchet issued earlier in the case.
"So Ms. Collins was correct in her initial report about Dorsey?"
He nods. "She was, although she was just skimming the surface. Most of it was brought out by our subsequent investigation."
"Did you think it was proper that he only received a reprimand?" I ask.
"That's not really my area. My job is just to report the facts."
"Then let me ask it a different way. Were you surprised when he received only a reprimand?"
"Yes."
"The people Dorsey was involved with, the criminal element you refer to, would you consider them capable of murder?"
He says yes quickly, before Dylan has time to object to my improper question. Since the jury has heard the answer anyway, I withdraw the question.
I get Francone to say that there were no complaints of any kind directed at Laurie in all her time on the force, and then turn him over to Dylan.
"Lieutenant Francone," Dylan begins, "regarding these alleged mob people you say Alex Dorsey was involved with, to your knowledge, did any of them ever cause him harm?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"And they were in something of a partnership, is that right? Both sides benefited from the relationship?"
"Yes."
Dylan then asks him a few questions about the type of violence organized crime generally practices, and he says that decapitations and body burnings are very atypical.
Dylan lets the lieutenant off the stand, satisfied that he's done little damage to the prosecution. He's right: All we've managed to show is that Dorsey was not a choir-boy and hung around with dangerous people. There is absolutely no evidence that those people had anything to do with Dorsey's death, but unfortunately plenty that Laurie did.
Next up is Celia Dorsey, a less important witness for us than she would have been if we were still contending that Dorsey is alive. Her testimony is a self-indictment of a wife looking the other way while her husband descended into a life of crime and violence.
With quiet dignity, she talks about their life together, about his increasing secrecy, the talks with the mysterious other lieutenant that she overheard, and his stealing their money before leaving.
"And he was gone for a week before the murder?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Were the police looking for him?"
She nods. "Yes. I told them that I didn't know where he was. But that if Alex didn't want to be found, they wouldn't find him."
"Why did you say that?"