The Laws of our Fathers by Scott Turow

chubby in his inexpensive charcoal suit, his wiry, thinning hair barely combed, appears somewhat dumbfounded when I call on him for a response.
        'Judge Klonsky,' he says, ‘I received no notice of this motion. I came here to pick a jury. I have witnesses subpoenaed. This is the kind of last-minute -'
        I decide to save Tommy from himself. 'Mr Molto, let's start from scratch. Is this report fundamentally accurate? Is the state going to contend that it was Nile Eddgar's father who was the actual, intended victim of this crime?'
        Tommy takes a deep breath. He looks forlornly to Rudy Singh, who has taken a seat several feet behind Tommy at the prosecution table, where a diminishing circle of light appears on the oak-toned laminate. Eventually, Molto allows his shoulder to drop.
        'Basically, that's it,' he says. In the courtroom, there is a stir, particularly among the reporters, contending with the fact Dubinsky got it right.
        'So I take it, then, that the senior Mr Eddgar, the defendant's father, Senator Eddgar, will be a witness here?'
        Molto grimaces. I'm asking too many questions, as usual.
        'We expect him to testify for the People,' says Molto. Now there's a real riffle in the press seats. Hard news: prominent dad to implicate killer son . Nearby I hear a bracelet jingling, Annie or Marietta, readjusting, caught unawares.
        'And as the intended victim, he, too - Senator Eddgar - is without objection to this court presiding? In spite of our prior acquaintance? Have you taken that up with him?'
        'Judge, it's not a problem.' 'Period,' he seemingly would like to add. Clearly, Tommy has his orders. The mullahs in the PA's Office have met and concluded that Tommy should try the case and I should preside. Slowly, I am beginning to recognize that Molto is not especially content with either prospect. I turn my copy of the Trib in Tommy's direction.
        'Now looking at that headline, Mr Molto, I can't pretend to be pleased. You know better, the state knows better, than to try a lawsuit in the newspapers, especially when you're aware that the prospective jurors have not yet been admonished about viewing media accounts of this case. Now -'
        'Judge, as an officer to the court: I didn't speak to any reporters and I have no knowledge of anyone on our side speaking to reporters, I promise you that.'
        'Mr Molto, I'm pleased to have your representation. And I accept it, of course. But you and I are both grown-ups, and we know that someone intent on leaking is not going to send up a flare or call you for permission first.'
        The reporters find this very amusing. There are a dozen ways this could have happened. Some cop on the case wanted to poison the well, or perhaps it was one of Tommy's superiors. Either way, the police reports appeared in Stew's mailbox in a plain envelope. We'll never know from whom. Behind the reporter's shield law, Dubinsky's source will remain fathomless.
        'Judge, the defense had this information,' says Tommy. 'They had the statements of the witnesses. Our theory is obvious.'
        The book on Tommy is that he cannot stand down when he should not bother firing, and I lose my patience with him now.
        'Look, Mr Molto, are you suggesting that the defendant would find it helpful to try to pick a jury on the same day the state's theory of the case is detailed on the front page of the Tribune!' Molto is mocked by another rollicking burst of spectator laughter, ringing loudest from the press section. 'Res ipsa loquitur, Mr Molto. Remember that phrase from law school? The thing speaks for itself. Doesn't it? Again, I'm sure it wasn't you. But you should remind everyone on your side what their obligations are and let them know that if there's a repetition, there will be a hearing.' Sallow, still, Molto frowns unconsciously at my rebuke. 'For today, I suggest we deal with the situation that confronts us. Do you