She’s right; this is very good news. For Kenny to have committed the murder later that night, he would have had to come back. If he was going to do that, why leave in the first place? It doesn’t exonerate him by any means, but it makes it more reasonable to argue that someone else entered the picture that night.
“Did he say what they were arguing about?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not really… he just heard bits and pieces. And he didn’t actually see Kenny, but he ID’d the car. I wrote a full report; there’s a copy on your desk, and I have one with me.”
This is such intriguing information that for a moment I forget the Findlay disaster. I’m prepared to bring it up when Laurie starts talking about this great walk and run she went on with Tara today. Is it possible she’s letting me off the hook?
We get home without any mention of the dreaded F-word, which is how I’ve come to think of Findlay. Tara meets me at the door, tail wagging furiously and head burrowed into me to receive my petting. Her excitement at seeing me is something I never take for granted; it’s a gift to be loved this much.
I take Tara for a walk and go back to the house. Laurie is in the bedroom, looking much as she did when I left, except for the fact that she’s not wearing any clothes. It’s a comfortable look, so I try it myself. I like it, so we try it together. It works really well.
After our lovemaking my mouth decides to once again blurt something out without first having discussed it with my brain. “I was in Findlay,” I say. “I met Sandy Walsh.”
She nods, though she seems slightly groggy and ready for sleep. “I know. He called me. He liked you a lot.”
“And I liked him. But I went there behind your back to check up on him… and on you. I was looking for ammunition to use to keep you here.”
“Mmmm. I know. Can we talk about this in the morning?”
I’m anxious and nervous about this subject, and it’s barely keeping her awake? “Laurie, I’m sorry I did it. It was devious and petty, and you deserve better.”
“It’s okay, Andy. I’m not angry with you. I appreciate what you did.”
“Excuse me? Earth to Laurie, Earth to Laurie, come in please, come in please. Why aren’t you pissed at me?”
She gets up on one elbow, apparently having given up for now on the possibility of imminent sleep. “Andy, you did what you did because you love me, because you don’t want to lose me. You also might be concerned that I could make a decision I’d regret. So what if you didn’t tell me about it in advance? What you did wasn’t terrible, nobody got hurt. All in all, it makes me feel good that you did it.”
“Oh,” I say. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
A few minutes later my mouth opens up again. “Laurie, I’m not sure I can stand it if you leave.”
She’s asleep. She can’t hear me.
* * * * *
TODAY’S A ROUGH day for Kenny Schilling. Not that there’s an easy day for him in County Jail, awaiting a trial that will determine if he’ll ever have another day of freedom. But today is the day of the Giants’ first exhibition game, and it’s a further, agonizing reminder to Kenny that he lives in a seven-by-ten-foot world, with no road trips.
My arrival today is a welcome diversion for Kenny from the boring hours with nothing to do but lie around and worry, but he no longer has that look of hopeful expectation when he sees me. It’s gotten through to him that there are not going to be any miracle finishes here, no Hail Mary passes. If we’re going to prevail, it will be at trial, and the road is straight uphill.
I ask Kenny about the death of Matt Lane, and his initial reaction seems to be surprise rather than concern. He tells pretty much the same story that Calvin told, though of course he claims to have had nothing to do with the shooting. In fact, he says, no one has ever even hinted at the suggestion.
“They’re not saying I had anything to do with Matt getting shot, are they?” he asks, the worry growing.
I shake my head. “The prosecution doesn’t even know about it yet, but they will. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me, it won’t be a problem.”
“I’m not holding back anything.”
“Good. Then tell me about your argument with Troy Preston when you dropped him at his house.”
This time the flash of concern is immediate and transparent. He tries to cover it, but as an actor he’s a very good football player. “I don’t remember no argument,” he says.
I decide to take the tough, direct approach, not my specialty. “Yes, you do.”
“Come on, man, we were just talking. It was probably about a girl… okay? No big deal.”
“Who was she?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know… I’m not even sure it was about a girl. We’d argue all the time… it could have been about football. I’m tellin’ you, it didn’t mean nothing.”
I can’t shake him, and he’s probably telling the truth, so I let it drop for now. If Dylan wants to, he can use his resources to run it down, then provide it for me in discovery.
As I’m leaving the jail, I run into Bobby Pollard, his wife, Teri, and their son, Jason. Bobby’s been coming to see Kenny on a regular basis, and since the prison has not exactly been designed with the handicapped in mind, Teri comes to help him navigate the place in his wheelchair.
“I was going to call you, but I figured I shouldn’t,” says Bobby.
“What about?”
“I don’t know… just to see how things were going. To see if I could help in any way. And I heard you went up to Wisconsin to see Matt’s father.”
His knowledge of this surprises me. “How did you hear that?”
“Old Calvin keeps in touch with some of the guys. You know, he tells one person, they tell another…”
Teri smiles and winks at me. “It’s the old football players’ network. They spread the news faster than CNN.”
“Did you know Matt?” I ask.
Bobby nods. “I sure did. And I was there that day. I was with his parents when they got the news. It was the worst day of my life.” He points to his useless legs. “Worse than the day this happened.”
I ask Bobby a bunch of questions about the day Matt was killed but get basically the same story. It must have been a hunting accident… nobody has any idea who did it… Kenny could never have done such a thing. I have no reason to believe otherwise, but it’s starting to nag at me a little.
I also ask Bobby if he’d be willing to testify on Kenny’s behalf, mostly as a character witness, and he once again vows he’ll do whatever he can to help.
Before I leave, Teri motions me to the side and talks softly, so that Jason can’t hear. “Jason wanted to see his ‘Uncle Kenny.’ Do you think there’s anything wrong with his being here?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t think so, if you answer his questions honestly about what’s going on. But I’m not the best guy to ask about how to treat a seven-year-old. I can barely take care of myself.”
She laughs, and they go inside. I head back to the office for a meeting with Kevin, Laurie, and Adam. The trial date is starting to bear down on us, and we are way behind. Of course, I always feel we are way behind, and this time is no worse than most. What we’re really lacking is evidence to present in our client’s favor, which is generally a good thing to have.
We discuss whether to hire a jury consultant, and even though Kevin is in favor of it, I decide not to. I find that I always spend a lot of time with them and then just go ahead and follow my own instincts anyway.
Another decision to be made is whether to challenge the blood evidence. The Simpson trial and verdict have had an unfortunate effect, besides the fact that a double murderer was set free. It’s also made police far more diligent and careful in their handling of evidence, especially blood evidence. Kevin has gone over the collection done in this case, and there are no grounds on which to convince a jury that the lab reports are not legitimate.
On the investigative front we’ve made gradual progress, but with few favorable results. All that is really left to do now is continue to follow up and talk to friends of Kenny’s and Preston’s, especially those people who knew them both. The pro football community is a large and close one, and that list is very long. The Giants, because of all the research they did on Kenny before the draft, have provided much of it, and it goes back to his early high school days. Pro football teams don’t like to make mistakes with first-round draft picks.