Mrs. Donaly.
Hmm.
Mm-hmm.
Hmm.
Yes, your husband did show remarkable foresight in taking those pictures,
and, yes, absent a swimming pool,
the presence of a pool man would appear to be suspicious.
But, madam, who is the real victim here?
Let me suggest to you the following.
Your husband, on a prior occasion, had slapped you... beat you.
I think that word is not inappropriate. No, I...
Let me finish, please.
I'm not concerned with who slapped whom first.
Your husband, who had beaten you repeatedly... No, he never...
Please... repeatedly, was at the time brandishing your firearm.
- It was his gun. - And we'll get it back for you.
Trying, in his rage, to shoot an acquaintance,
a friend of long standing.
They never really cared for each other.
And if not for your cool-headed intervention,
his tantrum might have ended this schmo's life and ruined his own.
As for the sexual indiscretion which he imagined took place,
wasn't it in fact he... who was sleeping with the pool man?
No? Am I going too far here?
Were his sexual... No. I don't...
Sorry. I'm not omniscient.
The point is that he acted upon an assumption which he cannot prove,
and I take it you deny.
- Well... - Fine. I'll take the case.
It's imperative that I meet with Oliver Olerud before we proceed any further...
so that I can massage the kinks out of our testimony.
Do you really think we can put all this across?
The truth is so self-evident to me, Mrs. Donaly,
that I'm sure I'll be able to make it equally as transparent to anyjury,
should your husband decide to take it that far.
We'll need to caucus again to draw up a picture of your husband's net worth.
A map of enemy territory, so to speak.
You said he's a television producer? He has a soap opera... The Sands of Time.
It's a silly show.
[Chuckling] Well, it'll be yours soon.
Thank you very much.
Thank you, Mr. Massey. Yeah. Bye-bye.