“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about it.” The young hotshot lawyer did seem to want to help though. “You must’ve made some kind of an arrangement.”

“Well, I guess so. But then some snitch sees Cochise walking in a place with a golf bag full of electric razors and that’s it. We were picked up, you know, before anything was paid.”

“I don’t know anything about it, so don’t ask, okay? But I’ll see where we stand with the porpoise. You say porpoise or porpoises, plural?”

“Either way,” Maguire said.

“Nice clean animals,” Marshall said. “Give me a call in a couple of days.” He turned to go back into the courtroom.

“What about the Pattersons? You think you can get ’em off?”

“I don’t lose if I can win,” Marshall said. He paused, hand on the door. “It’s too bad they didn’t pull the kind of dumb stunt you did, leave some snapshots in the car. I’ll see you.”

Andre and Grover Patterson drew 20 to life.

A few days before they were sentenced, Maguire gave Andre’s wife a list of things to tell Andre and two questions, in particular, to ask him, when she went in to see him on visitor’s day.

She came out of the Wayne County jail, Maguire waiting, and they walked the three blocks south to Monroe, Greektown, for a cup of coffee.

Andre’s wife said, “Yeah, he understand. You out and he’s in, that’s all. That dumb, stupid man”-shaking her head, sounding tired-“he’s always in. Must miss his friends at Jackson so much, got to get back to them.”

“You tell him I got a job waiting for me, but I want to do something first?”

“Yeah, I told him.”

“I’m gonna write to him all about it. And give you his money? You tell him that?”

“I told him.”

“Good.” Maguire sipped his coffee. “And you asked him the man’s name? He told me once, but I wasn’t sure. I might’ve got it mixed up with somebody else.”