The Lincoln Lawyer

as I made my way through the metal detector. I was wearing the same suit I had worn the day before but was hoping no one would notice. I did have a fresh shirt and tie on. I keep spares in the trunk of the Lincoln for summer days when I’m working up in the desert and the car’s air conditioner can get overwhelmed.
    When I got to Judge Fullbright’s courtroom I was surprised to find I was not the first of the trial’s players to arrive. Minton was in the gallery, setting up the screen for his PowerPoint presentation. Because the courtroom had been designed before the era of computer-enhanced presentations, there was no place to put a twelve-foot screen in comfortable view of the jury, the judge, and the lawyers. A good chunk of the gallery space would be taken up by the screen, and any spectator who sat behind it wouldn’t get to see the show.
    “Bright and early,” I said to Minton.
    He looked over from his work and seemed a bit surprised to see me in early as well.
    “Have to work out the logistics of this thing. It’s kind of a pain.”
    “You could always do it the old-fashioned way and just look at the jury and talk directly to them.”
    “No, thanks. I like this better. Did you talk to your client about the offer?”
    “Yeah, no sale. Looks like we ride this one to the end.”
    I put my briefcase down on the defense table and wondered if the fact that Minton was setting up for his closing argument meant he had decided against mounting any kind of rebuttal. A sharp jab of panic went through me. I looked over at the state’s table and saw nothing that gave me a clue to what Minton was planning. I knew I could flat out ask him but I did not want to give away my appearance of disinterested confidence.
    Instead, I sauntered over to the bailiff’s desk to talk to Bill Meehan, the deputy who ran Fullbright’s court. I saw on his desk a spread of paperwork. He would have the courtroom calendar as well as the list of custodies bused to the courthouse that morning.
    “Bill, I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. You want something?”
    “No, man, but thanks. I’m set on caffeine. For a while, at least.”
    I smiled and nodded.
    “Hey, is that the custody list? Can I take a look and see if any of my clients are on it?”
    “Sure.”
    Meehan handed me several pages that were stapled together. It was a listing by name of every inmate that was now housed in the courthouse’s jails. Following the name was the courtroom each prisoner was headed to. Acting as nonchalant as I could I scanned the list and quickly found the name Dwayne Jeffery Corliss on it. Minton’s snitch was in the building and was headed to Fullbright’s court. I almost let out a sigh of relief but kept it all inside. It looked like Minton was going to play things the way I had hoped and planned.
    “Something wrong?” Meehan asked.
    I looked at him and handed back the list.
    “No, why?”
    “I don’t know. You look like something happened, is all.”
    “Nothing’s happened yet but it will.”
    I left the courtroom and went down to the cafeteria on the second floor. When I was in line paying for my coffee I saw Maggie McPherson walk in and go directly to the coffee urns. After I paid I walked up behind her as she was mixing powder from a pink packet into her coffee.
    “Sweet ’N Low,” I said. “My ex-wife used to tell me that’s how she liked it.”
    She turned and saw me.
    “Stop, Haller.”
    But she smiled.
    “Stop, Haller, or I’ll holler,” I said. “She used to have to say that, too. A lot.”
    “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be up on six getting ready to pull the plug on Minton’s PowerPoint?”
    “I’m not worried. In fact, you ought to come up and check it out. Old school versus new school, a battle for the ages.”
    “Hardly. By the way, isn’t that the same suit you were wearing yesterday?”
    “Yeah, it’s my lucky suit. But how do you know what I was wearing yesterday?”
    “Oh, I popped my head in Fullbite’s court for a couple minutes yesterday. You were too busy questioning your client to notice.”
    I was secretly pleased that she would even notice my suits. I knew it meant something.
    “So, then, why don’t you pop your head in again this morning?”
    “Today I can’t. I’m too busy.”
    “What’ve you got?”
    “I’m taking over a murder one for Andy Seville. He’s quitting to go private and yesterday they divided up his cases. I got the good one.”
    “Nice. Does the defendant