“What about your dress designing?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’ve been working on that at night; I haven’t been sleeping much. So what do you say?”
There’s no reason to deny her that request, so I don’t. “Sure. Come by anytime.”
I hang around for a while longer and then head for home. That doesn’t cheer me up a hell of a lot, either, since Laurie is back in Wisconsin. But Tara and Reggie are both there, tails wagging and smiles on their faces, and I reward them for their good mood with a two-hour walk in the park.
When we get back I turn on the television to the local news and then play the message on my blinking answering machine. In this way, the newscaster and the court clerk give me the message simultaneously: A decision has been reached in the Evans case, and it will be announced at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
I spend the rest of the night fielding calls about the upcoming decision, from Laurie, Kevin, Karen, and an assortment of media types. I profess confidence to everyone outside our team; if we get the new trial, it is best if it appears we had expected nothing less. If we don’t get the trial, then nothing else matters anyway.
Karen professes certainty that the news will be good, though I can’t tell if she believes it or is trying to convince herself. Laurie is supportive and hopeful but really has no more idea about what awaits us than I do. Kevin is typically pragmatic, insisting that we plan our first steps after the new trial is granted. It’s the right approach, because we will have to move quickly to be ready for trial. And if there’s no trial to be ready for, then we’ll still push toward another appeal.
In a lot of ways this is even worse than waiting for a verdict. When the jury reaches a decision, there is the possibility that the client will be free and exonerated. Here we’re just hoping for the chance to get to a jury. So in a way, a bad decision is devastating, but a good decision is just the beginning.
Tara and Reggie seem to reflect my stress, getting close to me, as if being supportive. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I actually feel as though I owe Reggie something, and I don’t want to let him down. And not reuniting him with Richard would be letting him down.
Before I go to sleep I pet Reggie’s head. “Big day tomorrow, buddy,” I say.
He just looks at me, as if not willing to let me off the hook that easily. I look over and see Tara staring as well, supporting her friend against the hand that feeds her.
I pet him again. “No matter what happens, you’ve always got a home here.”
Again he stares at me, the same way he stared at me that first day in the kennel.
I pet him a final time. “All right. Don’t mention this publicly, but we’re gonna win.”
* * * * *
“WHAT HAPPENS TODAY affects only the timing, not the ultimate result.”
I say this as Kevin and I are meeting in a court anteroom with Richard and Karen. In fifteen minutes Judge Gordon is going to announce his ruling, and I’m trying to cushion them against the psychological devastation of a loss.
“We are going to find out the truth, and we’ll prove your innocence in court. If Judge Gordon rules against us, it will only delay our victory, not prevent it.”
Richard is in the process of establishing himself as unique among all the people I have ever defended. To this point he has not once asked me if I think we are going to win or lose. Usually defendants bombard me with the question, as if asking it repeatedly is going to unearth some secret truth that I am otherwise sworn to defend. Richard either senses that I have no idea what is going to happen, or thinks I have an idea and doesn’t want to hear what it is.
At nine o’clock sharp we enter the courtroom, which is packed to capacity and has all the energy of a major trial verdict moment. I have been to some huge prizefights, including the first Tyson-Holyfield, and the electricity that courses through a courtroom at moments like these is similar to the feeling at those venues, albeit on a much smaller scale. One side is going to lose, and one will win, and nothing will be the same afterward.
Karen takes her seat directly behind us as Janine Coletti and the rest of her team occupy their places at the prosecution table. Coletti nods at me and smiles and doesn’t appear at all nervous, which has the effect of making me nervous.
The five minutes that pass until the bailiff announces Judge Gordon’s entry feel like five hours. Mercifully, he gets right down to it. “I’m going to make a very brief statement, and post the entire decision on the court Web site,” he says.
Kevin looks over at me, a worried expression on his face. I know what he’s thinking. The overwhelming percentage of people in the room want Richard to get a new trial. If Judge Gordon is going to deliver bad news, he might want to do it quickly and let the Web site do the rest.
This is the way nervous, worried lawyers think.
The judge then goes into all that led to his decision. It goes on for three or four minutes, leading me to start calculating whether my bad-news theory might be wrong.
It’s an art form to give a lengthy preamble to a decision, listing the facts used to make the judgment, without giving away what the final decision will be. Judge Gordon has mastered it, and it takes me by surprise when he pauses and says, “Therefore…”
He pauses after the word, a delay that serves as a silent drumroll. I can feel Richard tense up next to me, and I can only imagine Karen behind me. She must have exploded by now.
Judge Gordon continues, “… it is the decision of this court that the defense has met its burden, and a new trial is hereby granted in the case of New Jersey versus Evans, said trial to commence on June fourteenth.”
There is not an explosion of noise in the courtroom; it is more the sound of a hundred people exhaling at once. Richard lowers his head into his hands and keeps it there until Karen vaults out of her seat and starts pounding him on the back and shoulders in triumph.
He turns and hugs her and then does the same to Kevin and me. Judge Gordon is considerate enough to let this emotional scene play out for a brief while before gaveling order into the courtroom.
The judge has set a trial date for six weeks from today. It’s rushed, but Richard has already told me that he doesn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary.
I pursue the matter of bail, but it is almost never granted in first-degree murder trials, and Judge Gordon does not make an exception here. Richard is disappointed, but I’ve prepared him for it.
The proceedings end, and the bailiffs come over to take Richard away. “You did great,” he says to me.
“It’s only the beginning, Richard. I know you know that, but I’ve got to say it anyway. The case starts now.”
He smiles and nods, having expected me to temper his enthusiasm. “Give Reggie a hug for me,” he says.
“That I can do.”
Kevin and I head back to the office, rejuvenated by our triumph and by the certainty that we will now get our day in court. We both know that it will be like starting a six-week marathon; a murder trial takes total concentration and an incredible intensity.
Unfortunately, as soon as we start our meeting we have to face the fact that Judge Gordon’s decision does nothing toward helping us understand what the hell is going on here. If we’re going to tell a jury that Stacy was murdered and Richard was set up by some evil third party, we had better be prepared to credibly advance a theory of why it happened and who that third party might be.
The only two areas that seem to hold potential answers right now are the customs operations at the Port of Newark and the Army connection to Archie Durelle. There is little I can do about the customs area other than hope that Keith Franklin comes up with something, so I decide to focus on the Army and Durelle.