Speaking rapidly in order to fit all his facts into the hour allotted to
him, Fitzgerald did not slow his clipped delivery as he came to the most
dramatic statement of the trial. "You just think it's coincidence that Cheney
was writing this?" he asked rhetorically, before answering his own question.
"There is a cloud over the vice president. He wrote on those columns. He had
those meetings. He sent Libby off to the meeting with Judith Miller where Plame
was discussed. That cloud remains because the defendant obstructed justice. That
cloud is there. That cloud is something that we just can't pretend isn't there."

"That cloud" was like the sudden appearance of a thunderhead over the
proceedings and the administration. In no uncertain terms, in his most public
statement, Fitzgerald made clear that he believed that Cheney was the one behind
the crime for which he was prosecuting Libby. It was Cheney who was the boss,
Cheney who gave the orders, and Cheney to whom Libby was the loyal soldier, and
it is Cheney for whom Libby is covering up.

"Madness! Madness! Madness!"

When Pat Fitzgerald got up, thundering those words in mock outrage, he
grabbed all the energy floating about the courtroom like static electricity, and
held it to himself, never to surrender it, save during a brief, late sidebar
we'll get to in a minute. This is not a reflection of my personal
experience: this is my observation of what happened all around me.


I don't quite know how to explain it, other than to say Pat shocked
people. His demeanor throughout the trial had been fairly direct,
occasionaly subtly snarky or self deprecating, but he had not once raised his
voice. . . until that moment. It jarred people. It commanded
attention. Fitzgerald became a one man spontaneous passion machine from
that point on. Yes, there were moments when his voice modulated, but his
intensity never wavered. His command of the details of exhibits, including
exhibit numbers, was unmatched by any other attorney in the case: he
rattled them off like the names of his friends.

All about me, right from the outset of Pat's closing argument, I saw people
begin to look at each other. Furtive, sidelong looks popped out all
over. There I sat just behind the defense table, and I watched the lawyers
sag and share occasional "oh shit" looks. Wells had his forehead resting
on his hand, anchored on the table, remaining virtually immoble
throughout. Junior defense attorneys, unconsciously mirroring his tone,
slumped a bit in their seats the way my fifth grade basketball team used to do
during a serious ass whupping early in the game with three quarters left to
play. Just like my old basketball team, defense attorneys snuck looks at
the clock (when will it be over!?). Libby's brother, who could pass almost
for his doppleganger, put his arm around Scooter's wife. Fitz laid out a
long, proper drubbing, and the jury, most of all, hung on every word and
breath.

I can remember at whiles looking sidelong at Jane or Sidney, and they at
me, especially when Fitz so clearly put Cheney's actions up for all to
see. Whoa. We had not expected Fitz to go that far. No words
passed among us, but we all had that, "Shit, he's really going for it" look in
our eyes. We had all expected Fitzgerald to be the headline maker of the
day, but he exceeded even our expectations, for all the fire and damning content
he laid out.

As well as Marcy kept up with Fitz's rapid fire pace in her live blogging
notes, the notes don't - they can't - capture fully what it was like to be
there, to hear it and see it and see everyone else hearing and seeing it. .
. especially the defense team. This was no Fred Thompson
television lawyer fakery. This was the real deal, immediate, authentic and
vibrant, frankly unlike anything I've ever seen in any film or stage play.
Tonight I'm seeing Richard III at the Shakespeare Theater in DC. I'll let
you know how it compares....

Sometimes Fitz's voice seemed to quaver with righteous fury, other times he
mocked himself, as in the time he went shuffling through his exhibit book and
said to the jury something like, "This is where I pretend to look organized,
shuffling through my papers, and you pretend to believe I actually know what I'm
doing." This got a giggle, not big laughs, but he was not playing for
laughs: he was just being genuine and a bit authentic. The jury was
with him every step of the way, from all I could see.