“Yes, I promise.”

He glares at Judith and says, “Your petition is denied. Anything else?”

Judith hesitates for a second, then says, “Well, I’ll just have to appeal.”

“You have that right,” he says as he taps his gavel. “This hearing is over.”

18.

The criminal trial of Doug Renfro begins on a Monday morning, and the courtroom is packed with potential jurors. As they are processed and seated by the courtroom bailiffs, the lawyers meet in the chambers of the Honorable Ryan Ponder, a ten-year veteran of our circuit courts and one of our better presiding judges. As always on the first day of a significant trial, the mood is tense; everyone is on edge. The lawyers look as though they haven’t slept all weekend.

We sit around a large table and cover some preliminary matters. As we wrap things up, Judge Ponder looks at me and says, “I want to get this straight, Mr. Rudd. The State is offering a deal whereby your client pleads guilty to a lesser charge, a ramped-up misdemeanor, and gets no jail time. He walks. And in return, he agrees to drop his civil suit against the City and all of the other defendants. Correct?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“And he is saying no to this deal?”

“Correct.”

“Let’s get this on the record.”

Doug Renfro is retrieved from a witness room and led into the judge’s chambers. He is wearing a dark wool suit, white shirt, dark tie, and is dressed better than anyone in the room, with the possible exception of me. He stands tall, erect, and proud, an old soldier itching for a fight. It has been ten months since his home was invaded by the police, and though he has aged considerably, his wounds have healed and he carries himself with confidence.

Judge Ponder swears him to tell the truth. He says, “Now, Mr. Renfro, the State is offering you a deal, a plea agreement. It is in writing. Have you read it and discussed it with your lawyer?”

“I have, yes, sir.”

“And you realize that if you take this plea agreement you will avoid this trial, walk out of here a free man, and never worry about going to prison?”

“Yes, I understand that. But I will not plead guilty to anything. The police broke into my home and killed my wife. They will not be charged and that is wrong. I’ll take my chances with the jury.” He glares at the prosecutor, gives him a look of disgust, and returns his gaze to Judge Ponder.

The prosecutor, a veteran named Chuck Finney, hides his face behind some paperwork. Finney is not a bad guy and does not want to be where he is now sitting. His problem is simple and obvious—an eager-beaver cop got wounded in a botched raid, and the law, in black and white, says the guy who shot him is guilty. It’s a bad law written by clueless people, and now Finney is compelled to enforce it. He cannot simply drop the charges. The police union is breathing down his neck.

A word here about Max Mancini. Max is the City’s chief prosecutor, appointed by the mayor and approved by the city council. He’s loud, flamboyant, ambitious, a driven man who’s going places, though it’s not clear exactly where. He loves cameras as much as I do and will knock folks out of the way to get in front of one. He’s crafty in the courtroom and boasts of a 99 percent conviction rate, same as every other prosecutor in America. Because he’s the boss, he gets to manipulate the numbers, so he has real proof that his 99 percent is legitimate.

Normally, in a case as big as Doug Renfro’s, with front-page coverage guaranteed and live-action shots morning, noon, and night, Max would be dressed in his finest and hogging the spotlight. However, this case is dangerous and Max knows it. Everybody knows it. The cops were wrong. The Renfros are victims. A guilty verdict seems unlikely, and if there’s one thing Max Mancini cannot risk it’s the wrong verdict.

So, he’s hiding. Not a peep out of our chief prosecutor. I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere in the shadows, gawking at all the cameras and dying inside, but Max will not be seen during this trial. Instead, he dumped it on Chuck Finney.

19.

It takes three days to pick a jury, and it’s clear that all twelve know a lot about the case. I have wrestled with the strategy of requesting a change of venue, but decided against it. There are a couple of reasons for this, one legitimate and the other based on pure ego. The first is that many people in this city are fed up with the cops and their brutal tactics. The second is that there are reporters and cameras everywhere, and this is my turf. Most important, though, my client prefers to be tried by a jury of his fellow citizens.

In a crowded courtroom, Judge Ponder says, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we will now begin this trial with the opening statements. First, the State’s attorney, Mr. Finney, then the defense, Mr. Rudd. I caution you that nothing you’re about to hear is actually evidence. The evidence comes from only one source, and that’s this witness chair right here. Mr. Finney.”

The prosecutor rises solemnly from his seat at the table, a table filled with deputy prosecutors and useless assistants. It’s a show of legal muscle, an attempt to impress the jury with the gravity of the case against Mr. Renfro. I have a different strategy. Doug and I sit alone, just the two of us. Two little guys facing the depthless resources of the government. The defense table seems almost deserted when compared to the army across the aisle. I live for this David versus Goliath image.

Chuck Finney is fiercely dull, and he begins with a grave “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a tragic case.” No kidding, Chuck. Is that the best you can do?

Finney may not have his heart in this case, but he’s not about to roll over. There are too many people watching, too much at stake. Now that the opening bell has sounded, the game is on. And the game is not about justice; from this point forward it’s all about winning. He does a fair job of describing the dangers of police work, especially in this day and age of assault weapons, sophisticated criminals, drug gangs, and terrorists. Today’s policemen are often targets, victims of extremely violent thugs who have no respect for authority. There’s a war out there, a war on drugs, a war on terror, a war on pretty much everything, and our brave law enforcement officers have every right to arm themselves to the hilt. That’s why the smart people we elect to make our laws decided six years ago to make it a crime for a person, yes even a homeowner, to fire upon our police when they are simply doing their jobs. That’s why Doug Renfro is guilty as a matter of law. He fired upon our police, and he wounded Officer Scott Keestler, a veteran who was just doing his job.

Finney is striking the right chords and scoring some points here. A couple of the jurors glance disapprovingly at my client. After all, he did shoot a cop. But Finney is careful. The facts are not in his favor, regardless of what the law says. He is concise, to the point, and sits down after only ten minutes. A record for a prosecutor.

Judge Ponder says, “Mr. Rudd, for the defense.”

As a criminal defense lawyer, I rarely have the facts in my favor. But when I do, I find it impossible to be subtle. Hit ’em fast and hard, and watch them scramble. I have believed since day one that I can win this case with the opening statement. I toss my legal pad on the podium and look at the jurors. Eye contact with every one of them.