Rogue Lawyer

“It’s hard to say.”

“A minute later? An hour later?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“It’s hard to say because you don’t know, right? In your opinion, legal sanity is like a switch that flips on and off, rather conveniently for the defendant, right?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Max pushes a button and the screen disappears. The lights are brightened as everyone takes a breath. Max whispers to an assistant and picks up another legal pad covered with notes. He shuffles to the podium, glares at the witness, and asks, “What if he hit him thirty times, Dr. Taslman? You’d still diagnose him as legally insane?”

“Under the same set of facts, yes.”

“Oh, we’re talking about the same facts. Nothing has changed. What about forty times? Forty blows to the head of a man who’s clearly unconscious. Still legally insane, Doc?”

“Yes.”

“This defendant showed no signs of stopping after only twenty-two. What if he landed a hundred shots to the head, Doc? Still legally insane in your book?”

Taslman earns his money with “The greater number of punches is clearer evidence of a deranged mind.”

27.

It’s Friday afternoon and there’s no way we can finish the trial today. Like most judges, Go Slow likes to jump-start the weekend. She warns the jurors about unauthorized contact and recesses early. As the jurors file out, Esteban Suarez glances my way one more time. It’s as if he’s still looking for the envelope. Bizarre.

I spend a few minutes with Tadeo and recap the week. He still insists on taking the stand, and I tell him that will probably happen Monday morning. I promise to stop by the jail on Sunday and go through his testimony. I repeat my warning that it’s never a good idea for the accused to testify. He’s taken away in handcuffs. I spend a few minutes with his mother and family and answer their questions. I’m still pessimistic but I try to hide it.

Miguel follows me out of the courtroom and down a long hallway. When no one is listening, he says, “Suarez is waiting. Contact confirmed. He’ll take the money.”

“Ten grand?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Sí, senor.”

“Then go for it, Miguel, but just leave me out of it. I’m not bribing a juror.”

“I guess then, senor, that I need a loan.”

“Forget it. I don’t make loans to clients, and I don’t make loans that’ll never be repaid. You’re on your own, pal.”

“But we took care of those two thugs for you.”

I stop and glare at him. This is the first time he’s mentioned Link’s boys—Tubby and Razor. Slowly, I say, “For the record, Miguel, I know nothing about those two. If you whacked ’em, you did it on your own.”

He’s smiling and shaking his head. “No, senor, we did it as a favor for you.” He nods to Partner in the distance. “He asked. We delivered. Now we need the favor returned.”

I take a deep breath and stare at a huge stained-glass window the taxpayers paid for a century earlier. He has a point. Two dead thugs are worth more than ten grand, at least in the currency of the street. The breakdown comes with the communication. I didn’t request two dead thugs. But now that I benefit from their demise, am I obligated to return the favor?

Suarez is probably wearing a wire and maybe even a camera. If the money can be traced to me, then I’m disbarred and headed for prison. I’ve had close calls before, and I prefer life on the outside. I swallow hard and say, “Sorry, Miguel, but I will not be involved.”

I turn and he grabs my arm. I shake him off as Partner approaches. Miguel says, “You’ll be sorry, senor.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. A promise.”

28.

There are fights tonight, but I’ve seen enough bloodshed for one week. I need to find another sport, and at the moment it happens to be chasing the most lovely Naomi Tarrant. Since we’re still meeting on the sly, or at least afraid of being seen by someone who might recognize her as a teacher, we are visiting dark bars and low-end restaurants. Tonight we go to a new place, a Thai restaurant east of town, far away from the school where Naomi teaches Starcher. We are confident we will not be seen by anyone we know.

Not quite. Naomi sees her first, and since she can’t believe it, she asks me to verify. It’s not easy because we don’t want to get caught. The restaurant is sufficiently dark and it has a series of meandering nooks and alcoves. It’s a great place to hide and have a meal without seeing many people. As Naomi returns from the ladies’ room, she sees three booths in the rear of a dining room. Seated in one of them, side by side and deep in conversation, are Judith and another woman. Not Ava, the current partner, but someone else. A curtain of beads is partially closed at the booth and blocking some of the view, but she is certain it’s Judith. Common sense would say that the two women, if only friends or associates or colleagues, would be sitting across the table from each other. But these two women are shoulder to shoulder and lost in another world, according to Naomi.

I sneak around to the men’s room, duck behind some fake potted plants on a shelf, and see what I desperately want to see. I hustle back to the table and confirm it all with Naomi.

I consider leaving and avoiding an embarrassing situation. We don’t want Judith to see us, and I’m absolutely certain she doesn’t want us to see her.

I consider sending Naomi to the car, then crashing Judith’s little rendezvous. How cool it would be to watch her melt and start lying. I’ll ask about Ava, send my regards.

I consider Starcher and what this might mean in the war being waged by his biological parents. His mothers aren’t legally married so I suppose it’s okay for one or both to see other women, though I seriously doubt they have an open relationship. How am I supposed to know the rules? But if Ava finds out, there will be even more warfare, more grief for the kid. And more ammunition for me.

I consider calling Partner and getting him to follow Judith, maybe take some photos.

As I consider all of this and sip a whiskey sour, Judith appears from around the corner and walks straight to our table. In the distance I see her friend leave hurriedly through the front door, one last furtive, tell-all glance over her shoulder. Judith, in full-bitch mode, says, “Well, well, didn’t expect to see you here.”

I’m not about to allow her to intimidate Naomi, who’s temporarily stricken. I say, “Didn’t expect to see you either. Here alone?”

“Yes,” she says. “Just picking up some takeout.”

“Oh really. Then who’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The girl in the booth. Short sandy hair, buzzed on one side in the current fad. The girl who just broke her neck getting out of the front door. Does Ava know about her?”

“Oh, that girl. She’s just a friend. Does the school allow its teachers to date its parents?”

“It’s frowned upon but not prohibited,” Naomi says coolly.

“Does Ava allow you to date other people?” I ask.

“Wasn’t a date. She’s just a friend.”

“Then why did you just lie about her? Why did you lie about the takeout?”

She ignores me and glares at Naomi. “I guess I should report this to the school.”

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll report it to Ava. Is she keeping Starcher while you’re out fooling around?”

“I’m not fooling around and my son is none of your business right now. You blew it last weekend.”