By Monica Alonzo
By Stephen Lemons
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Dulce Paloma Baltazar Pedraza
By Ray Stern
By Pete Kotz
By Monica Alonzo
By New Times
Denney repeated the story to Weiss.
And then Denney received a visit from his old pal, Max Dunlap. On January 7 of this year, Dunlap dropped over, unannounced, to Denney's home. "He dropped by to ask me about the things I had said to Sellers about him."
And suddenly, the realization hit Denney that Max Dunlap hadn't told him that story about the money, after all.
Denney seemed truly flustered now.
"I had been following the case very closely," he said. "I read the newspapers. I think they confused me."
As a prosecutor, Granville possesses an effective, low-key style. He does not display a domineering attitude. He allows witnesses to jump into their own mistakes.
Defense attorney Miller took over the questioning. He was extremely friendly. He referred to Denney as "Bill." And Denney referred to him as "Murray." This was a nicety the jury might well pick up on. It was the kind of subtle lawyer's technique that might make a difference in the end.
"As I said, Murray, I could never understand why Max was involved. A guy gets kicked off the racing commission. Are you going to have a contract over that?"
Denney told Miller of his anguish over the matter.
"I spent six or seven nights when I couldn't sleep. All because I said things that weren't true. I had created these things in my mind over the years."
Miller got into Marley's relationship with Dunlap.
"The guy was like a father to him. Marley was like an old cowboy. If my father asked me to do something like that, I probably would have done it, too."
Miller wanted to make sure the point was made to the jury that Dunlap hadn't brought the money as a favor to Marley.
"Max never told you these things, did he?" Miller asked.
"I got it from the papers, Murray," Denney said. "I absorbed it like a fish. I apologize to the court."
Over in his chair, Dunlap shook his head and took a deep breath. He had dodged another bullet.
Judge Hall told Denney that his presence was no longer required and that he was free to go about his business.
Denney's training as a television personality took over. He raised both hands expressively and gave the jury a big smile. It's the same little shtick he uses as an exit gimmick after delivering the nightly scores.
But by now, the jurors seemed puzzled. After all, was this a man who really knew the score?