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?”

But we’re not here for justice, we’re here for a show. Judith is an angry mother and she’s once again dragged me into court. My punishment is not the loss of visitation rights; rather, it’s just the hassle of dealing with her. She will not be pushed around! She will protect her child at all costs!

From my seat, I tell my side of the story without embellishing a single word.

She produces a copy of the newspaper, with “her son” on the front page. What humiliation! He could have been seriously injured. Judge Leef is almost asleep.

She produces an expert, a child psychologist. Dr. Salabar, female of course, informs the court that she has interviewed Starcher, spent an entire hour with him, talked about the cage fights and the playground “brawl,” and is now of the opinion that the carnage he witnessed while under my supervision had a detrimental effect on him and encouraged him to start a fight of his own. Judith manages to string this testimony out until Judge Leef is practically comatose.

On cross-examination, I ask, “Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a son or sons?”

“Two boys, yes.”

“Did you ever take either son to boxing matches, wrestling matches, or cage fights?”

“No.”

“Did either son ever get into a fight with another kid?”

“Well, I’m sure they did, but then I really can’t say.”

The fact that she won’t answer the question speaks volumes. Judge Leef shakes his head.

“Did your boys ever get into a fight with one another?”

“I don’t recall.”

“You don’t recall? Were you a loving mother who gave your sons all the attention possible?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“So you were there for them?”

“As much as possible, yes.”

“And you can’t remember a single time when one of them got into a fight?”

“Well, no, not at this time.”

“What about some other time? Strike that. Nothing further.” I glance at the judge and he’s frustrated. But things brighten up considerably when the next witness takes the stand. It’s Naomi Tarrant, Starcher’s teacher, and she’s wearing a tight dress and stilettos. By the time she promises to tell the truth, old Judge Leef is wide awake. So am I.

Schoolteachers hate to get dragged into custody and visitation battles. Naomi is no exception, though she knows how to handle this situation. We’ve been swapping e-mails for a month now. She still won’t agree to dinner, but I’m making progress. She testifies that Starcher had never shown any violent tendencies until a few days after his first trip to the cage fights. She describes the playground incident without referring to it as a fight or a brawl. Just a couple of boys who had a misunderstanding.

Judith calls her as a witness not to help in her search for the truth but to show Naomi, as well as everyone else, that she has the power to drag them into court and bully them.

On cross, I get Naomi to admit that, sooner or later, almost every normal boy she has ever taught has been involved in some type of scuffle on the playground. She’s on and off the witness stand in fifteen minutes, and when Judge Leef dismisses her he looks a bit disappointed.

In closing, Judith repeats what’s already been said and makes a strident plea to terminate all visitation rights.

Judge Leef stops her cold with “But the father is getting only thirty-six hours a month. That’s not very much.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“That’s enough,” Judith scolds me.

“Sorry.”

The judge looks at me and asks, “Mr. Rudd, will you agree to keep the child away from cage fighting, as well as boxing and wrestling matches?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“And will you also agree to teach the child that fighting is a bad way to settle disputes?”