Open and Shut by David Rosenfelt Page A

moan. She does a really good job of it, but hell, somebody had to.
    I have a great night's sleep, which carries right through the usually effective wake-up call planted in my brain. I gulp down a cup of coffee and some M&M's and head for the office. I'm feeling good for the first time in a while; the idea of diving headlong into the Miller case is actually appealing.
    I stop off at Cal Morris's newsstand, not for superstition purposes, but rather to read what the media is saying about Willie's prospects. For the time being they're buying the prosecution line about this being merely a technicality, and that the result will be the same the second time around. I know in my gut they're probably right, so I bypass my gut and make a mental note to meet with the press and push our point of view. That is, as soon as we come up with a point of view.
    On the way into the office I'm stopped by Sofý, standing and waiting for me in front of her fruit stand. She hands me two cantaloupes, the second installment on her son's legal bills.
    “Thank you,” I say. “You know, the best thing about being paid in cantaloupes is that they don't bounce.”
    She doesn't come close to getting the joke. If a joke is told in a fruit stand and nobody gets it, did it make a sound?
    As I enter the office, I see Laurie sitting there, waiting for me. The smell of annoyance is in the air.
    “Good morning,” I cheerily volunteer. It doesn't get the response I hope for. Actually, it doesn't get any response.
    I look at my watch. Uh, oh. “You're pissed off because I'm late.”
    “Forty-five minutes late. Which wouldn't mean much if the meeting were called for three P.M. But since it was called for eight A.M., forty-five minutes is a very long time.”
    “Sorry. I had a late night.” I can see Laurie react, but it's too late, the words have already left my mouth. Maybe I've said stupider things in my life, but I can't remember when. This isn't pouring gasoline on a fire, it's more like pouring freon on a frozen tundra.
    Laurie, to her credit, doesn't say anything. Which means the ball is still in my court. “Okay … you're right … I'm a shit-head.”
    “Let's not let that obvious fact interfere with our work, okay? And let's keep each of our personal lives personal.”
    She's right, at least for now. The strain between us is not likely to go away, and eventually it will have to be dealt with. We both know that. But this is not the time, not with the Miller case staring us in the face. Edna is of course not in yet, so I make some coffee and we get right to work.
    Laurie has spent the previous night reading the transcript of the first trial, which makes me even guiltier about how I spent the night. Her reaction is rather predictable.
    “It's a disaster. Open-and-shut,” she says.
    This is Laurie's style. She's an optimist in life, a total pessimist in work. Not only does she assume that all clients are guilty, she assumes they are going to be found guilty as well. One would think it would then fall to me to be encouraging, to be a motivator, but it's really not necessary. Laurie is a total pro; she'll do the best that can be done for the client, despite her personal views.
    We start talking about the case, and she asks why Willie's lawyer, a man named Robert Hinton, didn't plead it out last time. It's a question I've wondered myself, and I make a note to ask Willie about it. Maybe Willie adamantly refused to plead down for a crime he didn't commit in the first place. It's also possible that my father wouldn't go for it. Even though he wasn't the death penalty type, he may well have been under a lot of pressure to take this one all the way.
    I ask Laurie if she's ever heard of Hinton, but she hasn't and neither have I. We're going to have to find him; he should be able to give us some insight that the cold transcripts don't provide.
    What the transcripts do provide is a version of the fateful night that appears devastating to Willie's case. According