something out between the lawyers.”
Various people had warned me over the years that my antics would eventually catch up to me, and today seemed to be the big day. Bever was referring to the same case, different conflict: My shitbag of an ex-husband, Roger, worked at Dunn Simon and had represented the missing judge’s husband. Let’s just say we butted heads a few times, and now the three hundred or so lawyers at prestigious Dunn Simon think I’m a snake.
I could see where this road was heading, and I wanted off.
“I’d be happy to try to work something out with David,” I said, trying to join the first-name club, “but it shouldn’t be with a groundless restraining order in place. Your honor, Judge Schwartz issued the search warrant this morning after a thorough review of the affidavits supporting the warrant request. Perhaps she would appreciate the chance to rule on the motion?”
Wilson had been a rainmaker at one of the big firms before coming to the bench, which meant she didn’t know a lick about real-life police work.
“Trust me, I’d love to dump this on her, but she just started a monthlong trial so I’m stuck with you. I see what the state is saying about the routine nature of searching a homicide victim’s property, but I don’t like the idea of the police having unfettered access to a journalist’s office. Crenshaw could very well have been working on something critical of the city or even of the police, and there would be nothing to preserve the confidentiality of that work once the search warrant was executed.” She paused, and I could tell that she truly was torn about what to do. “You don’t have anything suggesting a link to his work?”
She was looking for a way out. I suppose I could have told her that the police viewed a link to a recent story as the most likely scenario. But it wouldn’t have been true. And she and Bever would know it wasn’t true once they got wind of the interview I had just seen on the news moments ago. Six months from now, this moment too could come back to bite me.
Better to repair the damage. “No, we don’t. In fact, it may have been an attempted car theft that got out of control. One of the neighbors heard someone say something to the victim about his car last night, and another witness saw some kids in the parking lot. It’s too early to tell, though, and it’s vital that we explore all the possibilities.” After forty-eight hours, the odds of solving an unsolved homicide start slipping fast.
“And they say lawyers are never honest,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I am persuaded that there is a risk of irreparable damage to the Oregonian if I permit this warrant to be executed as written, so I am going to enter the TRO. But I don’t want to halt a valid step in an ongoing murder investigation. So, Mr. Bever, have your client choose an employee to work with Ms. Kincaid to search the victim’s office. Ms. Kincaid, you can choose one police officer to assist you, and I’m entering an order that requires confidentiality from all those involved for any information that isn’t relevant to your investigation. Any problems?”
On my way back to the office, Frist stopped me in the hallway. “Alice said some Dunn Simon fuck was trying to get a TRO on something?”
“Yeah, a search on the Crenshaw case. We worked it out, though.” He wanted the play-by-play, but I explained I had detectives in the field waiting for instructions.
Chuck was uncharacteristically glum when he answered the phone.
“What’s wrong with you? Worried I’d blow the restraining order?”
“No, I knew you’d handle it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t even know how to put it,” he said lowering his voice. “It’s just so unbelievable. Johnson called. Matt York’s wife has been cheating on him.”
“Alison was cheating?” I asked in disbelief. Chuck and Matt had met the day they both sat for the bureau’s civil service
Various people had warned me over the years that my antics would eventually catch up to me, and today seemed to be the big day. Bever was referring to the same case, different conflict: My shitbag of an ex-husband, Roger, worked at Dunn Simon and had represented the missing judge’s husband. Let’s just say we butted heads a few times, and now the three hundred or so lawyers at prestigious Dunn Simon think I’m a snake.
I could see where this road was heading, and I wanted off.
“I’d be happy to try to work something out with David,” I said, trying to join the first-name club, “but it shouldn’t be with a groundless restraining order in place. Your honor, Judge Schwartz issued the search warrant this morning after a thorough review of the affidavits supporting the warrant request. Perhaps she would appreciate the chance to rule on the motion?”
Wilson had been a rainmaker at one of the big firms before coming to the bench, which meant she didn’t know a lick about real-life police work.
“Trust me, I’d love to dump this on her, but she just started a monthlong trial so I’m stuck with you. I see what the state is saying about the routine nature of searching a homicide victim’s property, but I don’t like the idea of the police having unfettered access to a journalist’s office. Crenshaw could very well have been working on something critical of the city or even of the police, and there would be nothing to preserve the confidentiality of that work once the search warrant was executed.” She paused, and I could tell that she truly was torn about what to do. “You don’t have anything suggesting a link to his work?”
She was looking for a way out. I suppose I could have told her that the police viewed a link to a recent story as the most likely scenario. But it wouldn’t have been true. And she and Bever would know it wasn’t true once they got wind of the interview I had just seen on the news moments ago. Six months from now, this moment too could come back to bite me.
Better to repair the damage. “No, we don’t. In fact, it may have been an attempted car theft that got out of control. One of the neighbors heard someone say something to the victim about his car last night, and another witness saw some kids in the parking lot. It’s too early to tell, though, and it’s vital that we explore all the possibilities.” After forty-eight hours, the odds of solving an unsolved homicide start slipping fast.
“And they say lawyers are never honest,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I am persuaded that there is a risk of irreparable damage to the Oregonian if I permit this warrant to be executed as written, so I am going to enter the TRO. But I don’t want to halt a valid step in an ongoing murder investigation. So, Mr. Bever, have your client choose an employee to work with Ms. Kincaid to search the victim’s office. Ms. Kincaid, you can choose one police officer to assist you, and I’m entering an order that requires confidentiality from all those involved for any information that isn’t relevant to your investigation. Any problems?”
On my way back to the office, Frist stopped me in the hallway. “Alice said some Dunn Simon fuck was trying to get a TRO on something?”
“Yeah, a search on the Crenshaw case. We worked it out, though.” He wanted the play-by-play, but I explained I had detectives in the field waiting for instructions.
Chuck was uncharacteristically glum when he answered the phone.
“What’s wrong with you? Worried I’d blow the restraining order?”
“No, I knew you’d handle it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t even know how to put it,” he said lowering his voice. “It’s just so unbelievable. Johnson called. Matt York’s wife has been cheating on him.”
“Alison was cheating?” I asked in disbelief. Chuck and Matt had met the day they both sat for the bureau’s civil service
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