before long the entire world
would be looking for the dog, and maybe the envelope.
“I want the dog,” Landon said.
“Now?” M asked. “I thought you wanted to wait.”
“I’m finished waiting. Get me the dog now.”
I F WE EVER LOSE OUR DEMOCRATIC, PERSONAL FREEDOMS, DISCOVERY WILL BE AMONG THE FIRST THINGS TO GO. For someone accused of a crime, I consider it among the most important rights. To tell you the truth, it makes Miranda look
like an aging flamenco dancer.
Discovery is the process by which the prosecutor is forced to share the evidence he has, and that he will rely upon at trial,
with the defense. It takes away the element of surprise and allows often underfunded defense attorneys to properly prepare
their cases.
The discovery documents Eli sends us in the Zimmerman case are limited in scope. That’s not to say they’re not substantial,
because they are. They include all the direct evidence against Billy, including very damaging forensics and eyewitness accounts.
It is no wonder that Eli has no desire to offer a deal; he must correctly assume that his case is overwhelming.
But what the documents don’t include is background information on Erskine, or any information about the envelope or its possible
contents. That is for the defense to probe; the prosecution does not need to dig out those facts to prove its case.
While there is no necessity for the prosecution to prove motive, I’m sure Eli will tell the jury that Billy was seeking revenge
against Erskine, blaming him for his devastating injury. Eli will not go near any possibility that Erskine was corrupt, or
that other people might have had reason to kill him. That is our job.
I ask Hike to prepare a request for information related to the bombing in Iraq. We could present it to the Defense Department,
which would likely take forever to give it to us. Rather than go that route, I’ll ask the court to issue an order that it
be provided.
I call Eli and ask that he stipulate no objection to our getting the information. He agrees to do so, not because he wants
to be helpful, but because he knows we’ll eventually get it anyway. This way he avoids the possibility that it could lead
to a delay in the court proceedings. Except for acquittals and hung juries, delays are the things prosecutors hate most in
the world.
Hike and I spend three hours going over the discovery material, exchanging documents after we’ve read them so that we’ll each
be sure to see all of it. This is just the beginning; we’ll be reviewing these same documents many times, in addition to others
that are sure to follow. There is absolutely no excuse for a lawyer not to be totally knowledgeable about every aspect of
the case. If there were I would have found it long ago.
Spending three hours with Hike reminds me of a scene from
Take the Money and Run,
one of Woody Allen’s earliest and funniest movies. Woody plays Virgil Tibbs, a small-time criminal who unsuccessfully attempts
to escape from prison. As punishment, he is locked in a small, underground room with an insurance salesman, who shakes his
hand and starts trying to sell him various policies before they are even locked away.
Hike has no interest in selling me insurance, but he has the unerring ability to focus on all that is wrong with the world,
combining it with the certain knowledge that nothing can be done to fix it.
“This is not good,” Hike says when we are about to wrap it up for the night.
I nod. “Not so far.”
“You going to recommend he plead it out?”
“Eli already turned me down when I brought it up. I don’t think our client would go for it anyway.”
Hike frowns. “He’s an ex-cop; he must know what he’s up against.”
“He does.”
“You think he did it?”
“No. If he hated Erskine enough to kill him, he wouldn’t have done it this way.”
“Why not?” Hike asks.
“Because it put Milo in danger, and there would have been no
would be looking for the dog, and maybe the envelope.
“I want the dog,” Landon said.
“Now?” M asked. “I thought you wanted to wait.”
“I’m finished waiting. Get me the dog now.”
I F WE EVER LOSE OUR DEMOCRATIC, PERSONAL FREEDOMS, DISCOVERY WILL BE AMONG THE FIRST THINGS TO GO. For someone accused of a crime, I consider it among the most important rights. To tell you the truth, it makes Miranda look
like an aging flamenco dancer.
Discovery is the process by which the prosecutor is forced to share the evidence he has, and that he will rely upon at trial,
with the defense. It takes away the element of surprise and allows often underfunded defense attorneys to properly prepare
their cases.
The discovery documents Eli sends us in the Zimmerman case are limited in scope. That’s not to say they’re not substantial,
because they are. They include all the direct evidence against Billy, including very damaging forensics and eyewitness accounts.
It is no wonder that Eli has no desire to offer a deal; he must correctly assume that his case is overwhelming.
But what the documents don’t include is background information on Erskine, or any information about the envelope or its possible
contents. That is for the defense to probe; the prosecution does not need to dig out those facts to prove its case.
While there is no necessity for the prosecution to prove motive, I’m sure Eli will tell the jury that Billy was seeking revenge
against Erskine, blaming him for his devastating injury. Eli will not go near any possibility that Erskine was corrupt, or
that other people might have had reason to kill him. That is our job.
I ask Hike to prepare a request for information related to the bombing in Iraq. We could present it to the Defense Department,
which would likely take forever to give it to us. Rather than go that route, I’ll ask the court to issue an order that it
be provided.
I call Eli and ask that he stipulate no objection to our getting the information. He agrees to do so, not because he wants
to be helpful, but because he knows we’ll eventually get it anyway. This way he avoids the possibility that it could lead
to a delay in the court proceedings. Except for acquittals and hung juries, delays are the things prosecutors hate most in
the world.
Hike and I spend three hours going over the discovery material, exchanging documents after we’ve read them so that we’ll each
be sure to see all of it. This is just the beginning; we’ll be reviewing these same documents many times, in addition to others
that are sure to follow. There is absolutely no excuse for a lawyer not to be totally knowledgeable about every aspect of
the case. If there were I would have found it long ago.
Spending three hours with Hike reminds me of a scene from
Take the Money and Run,
one of Woody Allen’s earliest and funniest movies. Woody plays Virgil Tibbs, a small-time criminal who unsuccessfully attempts
to escape from prison. As punishment, he is locked in a small, underground room with an insurance salesman, who shakes his
hand and starts trying to sell him various policies before they are even locked away.
Hike has no interest in selling me insurance, but he has the unerring ability to focus on all that is wrong with the world,
combining it with the certain knowledge that nothing can be done to fix it.
“This is not good,” Hike says when we are about to wrap it up for the night.
I nod. “Not so far.”
“You going to recommend he plead it out?”
“Eli already turned me down when I brought it up. I don’t think our client would go for it anyway.”
Hike frowns. “He’s an ex-cop; he must know what he’s up against.”
“He does.”
“You think he did it?”
“No. If he hated Erskine enough to kill him, he wouldn’t have done it this way.”
“Why not?” Hike asks.
“Because it put Milo in danger, and there would have been no
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