The Advocate's Devil by Alan M. Dershowitz Page B

cases.”
    Dinner tonight was a Mideastern couscous, one of Rendi’s specialties. It was delicious, and Emma, Abe, and Jon all complimented
     the chef. “I don’t understand you, Rendi,” Emma said as she picked through the couscous to avoid eating any meat. “You’re
     the most modern, liberated, independent, and uncompromising woman I know, and yet you cook for my father as if you were his
     slave. How come?”
    “Because I choose to,” Rendi answered without a trace of ambivalence. “I love to cook for your dad and for you. It brings
     out the domestic side of me that I rarely get to feel in my work.”
    “But why don’t you make Dad help—at least do the dishes?”
    “Because he doesn’t enjoy that, and it would make it seem like a trade-off. I don’t
need
your father to do the dishes in order to prove that he regards me as an equal. He shows that in every way. Our relationship,
     whatever else it may not be, is certainly equal.”
    “Wow!” Jon exclaimed. “What a beautiful statement.”
    “Don’t get too excited,” Emma said, resting an arm on his shoulder. “That was Rendi talking, not me. If you ever want
me
to make
you
dinner, it’s shopping, dishes, and dessert from you.”
    Over baklava and Turkish coffee, the foursome talked about Jon’s decision to pick Stanford over Harvard and Emma’s choice
     to attend Barnard rather than Brown. Abe was happy they would be in different places. Although he would be pleased to have
     a son-in-law like Jon
eventually
, he really wanted Emma to date other guys. Abe wasn’t thrilled with Barnard’s location on the Upper West Side of Manhattan,
     but he knew it was exactly the right kind of school for his very political daughter.
    Abe would miss these dinners. He would miss Emma’s physical presence in the house. When Emma left for college, his real period
     of mourning for Hannah would begin.
    By ten-thirty the next morning, Abe’s whole office suite was packed with reporters, TV cameras, and microphones. It was not
     the first time. In fact, the office neighbors had complained that the sight of cameras in the building was upsetting their
     clients. Well, there was nothing Abe could do, except try to explain that it was hard to practice law these days without an
     occasional media blitz.
    At exactly eleven A.M ., Abe began. “This case endangers the civil liberties of all Americans. If a rape charge can be brought on the basis of this
     evidence—or really lack of evidence—then nobody is safe from false charges. If you read the arrest report—which I am making
     available now—carefully, you will see several important facts. First, the alleged victim acknowledges that she originally
     consented to sex. Second, it does not take much reading between the lines to see that this is not the first time this woman
     has falsely accused someone of sexual misconduct. I urge you to look into this carefully and have the courage to report as
     fully on the relevant background of an accuser as you report on the background of a celebrity accused.”
    Abe paused and looked directly at Mike Black—who had published a column that morning, saying that if Abe Ringel really believed
     in his client’s innocence, why didn’t he put his own credibility on the line, rather than hiding behind Campbell’s boilerplate
     assertion of innocence? “I will stake my professional reputation on the prediction that Joe Campbell will be acquitted, if
     this case even goes to trial. No responsible prosecutor should be willing to go forward with this kind of case.”
    As soon as he finished his statement, questions began.
    “Mr. Ringel, I noticed that in the police report you gave out, you didn’t white out the name of the victim. Was that inadvertent?”
    “No, I gave you the entire report with no omissions. Jennifer Dowling is not presumed to be a victim. She’s an accuser, and
     we intend to prove that she’s a false accuser.”
    “Do you want us to publish her