Rogue Lawyer

As soon as the door closes, Judge Ponder glares at Fi

Poor Fi

“As of now, the answer is no,” Fi

I pounce with “Great, then I’ll call them as adverse witnesses. I want all eight to face the jury.” The judge looks at me fearfully. I have the absolute right to do this and they know it. Seconds pass as they try and imagine the nightmare of the other six toy soldiers facing the jury as I pound them like a madman.

His Honor looks at Fi

Of course not. Fi

Normally, in a criminal trial the judge has the right to exclude the State’s evidence and direct a verdict in favor of the defendant. This rarely happens. In this case, though, the statute declares that any person who fires upon a policeman who is entering his or her home, whether the cops have the correct address or the wrong one, is guilty of the attempted murder of an officer. It’s a bad statute, poorly conceived and dreadfully written, but in Judge Ponder’s opinion it does not afford him the option of dismissing the case.

We’re headed for a final verdict.

23.

Over the weekend, one of the remaining six SWAT cops is suddenly hospitalized and ca

On the last day of testimony, I meet the Renfro family for an early breakfast. The topic is whether or not Doug should testify. His three adult children—Thomas, Fiona, and Susa

I explain the worst-case scenario: Fi

But Doug Renfro will not be denied.

24.

I begin by asking Doug about his military career. Fourteen years in uniform, proudly serving his country, without a blemish. Two tours in Vietnam, one Purple Heart, two weeks as a prisoner before being rescued. Half a dozen medals, an honorable discharge. A real soldier, not the dime-store variety.

A law-abiding citizen with only one speeding ticket on his record.

The contrasts are stark and speak for themselves.

On the night in question he and Kitty watched television until 10:00, then read for a few minutes until they turned off the lights. He kissed her good night, told her he loved her as always, and they fell asleep. They were jolted from their dreams when the assault began. The house shook, shots were fired. Doug scrambled for his pistol and told Kitty to call 911. In the frenzy that followed, he ran into the dark hallway and saw two shadows rising quickly from the stairwell. Voices were coming from downstairs. He hit the floor and began firing. He was immediately hit in the shoulder. No, he said emphatically, no one ever yelled out anything about the police. Kitty screamed and ran into the hallway and into a volley of bullets.

Doug breaks down when he describes the sounds of his wife being hit.

Half of the jurors are crying too.

25.

Fi

I call no other witnesses. I don’t need them.

Fi

Judge Ponder instructs the jurors as to the applicable law, then says it’s time for them to retire and deliberate. But no one moves. What happens next borders on historic.

Juror number six is a man named Willie Grant. Slowly, he stands and says, “Judge, I’ve been elected as the foreman of this jury, and I have a question.”

The judge, a jurist of great composure, is startled and looks wildly at Fi

Mr. Grant says, “We don’t need to deliberate, Your Honor. We know what we’re going to do.”

“But I have repeatedly warned you against discussing the case,” Ponder says sternly.

Unfazed, Mr. Grant replies, “We haven’t discussed the case, but we have a verdict. There’s nothing to discuss or deliberate. My question is, why is Mr. Renfro on trial and not the cops who killed his wife?”

There is an instant wave of gasping and chattering throughout the courtroom. Judge Ponder attempts to regain control by clearing his throat loudly and asking, “Is your verdict unanimous?”

“Damned right it is. We find Mr. Renfro not guilty, and we think these cops should be charged with murder.”

“I’m going to ask the jurors to raise your hands if you agree with the not-guilty verdict.”

Twelve hands shoot into the air.

I put my arm around Doug Renfro as he breaks down again.

PART FOUR THE EXCHANGE

1.

I often disappear after a big trial, especially one that gets front-page coverage and plenty of airtime. It’s not that I don’t love the attention. I’m a lawyer; it’s in my genes. But in the Renfro trial I humiliated the police department, embarrassed some cops, some really tough guys who are not accustomed to answering for their misdeeds. As they say, “The streets are hot right now,” and it’s time for a break. I load some clothes into the van, along with my golf clubs, some paperbacks, and half a case of small-batch bourbon, and ease out of town the day after the verdict. The weather is raw and windy, too cold for golf, so I head south like countless other snowbirds in search of the sun. I have learned through my meandering travels that almost every small town with a population above ten thousand has a public golf course. These are usually packed on weekends but not too crowded during the week. I play my way south, hitting at least one course per day, sometimes two, playing alone with no caddie and no scorecard, paying cash for inexpensive motel rooms, eating little, and sipping bourbon late at night while I read the latest James Lee Burke or Michael Co