As expected, the judge denies bail and they take Tadeo away. I’ve had two brief chats with the prosecutor and it looks like they’re out for blood. Second-degree murder carries a max of thirty years. For a plea, they’ll agree to twenty. Under our screwed-up parole system, he’ll serve at least ten. I have yet to explain this to my client. He’s still in denial, still in that fog where he’s sorry it happened, can’t explain it, but still believing that a good lawyer can pull some strings and get him off.

It’s a sad day, but not a complete waste. In the large open hallway outside the courtroom, there is a crowd of reporters and they’re waiting for me. There is no gag order yet, so I’m free to say all the ridiculous things that lawyers say long before the trials. My client is a good person who snapped when he got a raw deal. Now he is devastated by what happened. He cries in sympathy for the family of Sean King. He would give anything to have those few precious seconds back. We will mount a vigorous defense. Yes, of course, he hopes to fight again. He was helping his poor mother support her family and a house full of relatives.

And so on.

16.

With Harry & Harry churning out the paperwork, and with Judge Samson haranguing the City’s lawyers whenever they get close to his courtroom, the civil action moved ahead at an unusually rapid pace.

We are in a race here, one that we will not win. I would love to try Doug Renfro’s civil case in a packed courtroom before his criminal case is called. The problem is that we have a speedy-trial rule in criminal cases, but not in civil. In theory, a criminal case must be brought to trial or otherwise disposed of within 120 days of indictment, though this is routinely waived by the defendant’s lawyer because more time is needed to prepare. There is no such rule in civil cases, which often drag on for years. In my perfect scenario, we would try the civil case first, get a huge verdict that would be front-page news and, more important, influence prospective jurors in the criminal case. The press can’t get enough of the Renfro debacle, and I relish the chance to grill the cops on the witness stand for the benefit of the entire city.

If the criminal prosecution goes first, and if Doug Renfro is convicted, then the civil case will be much more difficult to win. As a witness, he’ll be impeachable because of his conviction.

Judge Samson understands this and is trying to help. Less than three months after the botched SWAT raid, he orders all eight cops to appear in his chambers to be deposed by me. No judge, federal or otherwise, would ever consider suffering through a single deposition; it would be far beneath his or her dignity. But to set the mood and deliver the message to the cops and their lawyers that he is highly suspicious of them, Judge Samson orders the depositions to be taken on his turf, with his law clerk and his magistrate in the room.

It is a brutal marathon that pushes me to the limits. I begin with Lieutenant Chip Sumerall, the leader of the SWAT team. I elicit testimony regarding his experience, training, and participation in other home invasions. I am deliberately dull, tedious, poker-faced. It’s just a deposition, the purpose of which is to establish sworn testimony. Using maps, photos, and videos, we walk through the Renfro affair for hours.

It takes six full days to depose the eight cops. But they’re on the record now, and they cannot change their stories at either the criminal or the civil trials.

17.

The only time I spend in Domestic Relations Court is when I’m dragged in to account for my sins. I wouldn’t handle a divorce or adoption at gunpoint. Judith, though, makes her living in the gutter warfare of divorce trials and this is her turf. His Honor today is one Stanley Leef, a cranky old veteran who lost interest years ago. Judith represents herself, as do I. For the occasion she’s dragged in Ava, who sits as the lone spectator, in a skirt so short you can see her name and address. I catch Judge Leef gazing at her, enjoying the scenery.

Since we’re both lawyers, and representing ourselves, Judge Leef dispenses with the formalities and allows us to just sit and talk, as if we’re in arbitration. We are on the record, though, and a stenographer is taking it all down.

Judith goes first, states the facts, and makes it sound as though I’m the worst parent in history because I took my son to the cage fights. Then, four days later, Starcher got in his first fight at school. Clear proof that I’ve turned him into a monster.

Judge Leef frowns as if this is just awful.

With as much drama as she can muster, Judith proclaims that all visitation rights should be terminated so the kid will never again be subjected to my influence. Judge Leef shoots me a quick glance that says, “Is she crazy?”