“Anything else, Ms. Stone?” Judge William West asked from the bench.
Alex Stone thumbed through several pages of notes she’d scribbled on her legal pad.
“As I said, Your Honor, the police did not have probable cause for entering my client’s home without a search warrant, and therefore any evidence they obtained from that illegal search must be suppressed.”
Judge West stared at her, his hooded eyes half-hidden, his hands clasped across his broad belly.
“And as I said, Counsel, do you have anything else that I haven’t heard you repeat three times over the last hour?”
Alex pursed her lips, fighting the urge to shout, “What difference would it make? We both know that you made up your mind before I said it the first time.” But she couldn’t say a word, not after agreeing to serve her clients up to him for maximum sentences, a deal she’d made in the aftermath of a tragedy for which she took the blame. Now she longed for a way out of a bargain that had come back to haunt her. She turned her head toward her counsel table, where her client, John Atwell, was sitting, wondering if this would be the moment when she found the courage she’d been lacking. When he shook his head, Alex looked back at Judge West.
“No, Your Honor.”
“If I may,” Kalena Greene said.
“You may not,” Judge West answered. “I understand the state’s position. I’ll take the defendant’s motion to suppress under advisement. We’re adjourned.”
After the judge and his court reporter left, Atwell rose, briefly leaning in close, whispering to Alex before a sheriff’s deputy took him back to his cell, leaving Alex and Kalena alone.
“Your client should take the deal we offered him last week,” she told Alex.
“Why?”
“Because Atwell is guilty and this is the best deal he’s going to get.”
“Fifteen years? For a jewelry-store stickup? That’s not much of a deal.”
“It’s a Class A felony. He could get thirty years or life. And we’ll drop the armed criminal action count. We both know Judge West loves using that to double the sentence. So fifteen years is a bargain.”
“Fifty percent off,” Alex said. “You must be worried about my motion.”
“I’m not. We want your guy off the street before he sticks up another jewelry store or assaults another old woman who pisses him off.”
“The assault happened a year before the jewelry store, but you didn’t charge him. If you had, he wouldn’t have done the robbery.”
“Except the victim recanted because Atwell was twice her size and she believed him when he said he’d come back and finish the job if she testified against him, but you and I both know he beat the shit out of her and he would have still done the jewelry store, so who are we kidding here?”
“Knowing and proving are two different things. I thought they taught you that in law school.”
Alex had been a public defender for fifteen years, long enough to handle a young assistant prosecuting attorney. But Kalena Greene wasn’t a typical newbie. Alex met her during the Dwayne Reed trial a year ago when Kalena’s boss, Tommy Bradshaw, wouldn’t let her do more than escort witnesses to the stand. Since then, Bradshaw had given up trying to hold her back, her unflappable tenacity and innate trial instincts earning her the right to handle cases he usually reserved for more experienced lawyers.
Alex shared Kalena’s love for the courtroom, but there were differences between them. Alex was white, tall, and athletic, deliciously rugged according to her partner, Bonnie Long. Kalena was African American, slender, slight, and attractive. If she spent time in the gym, it didn’t show. But Alex had seen her in action enough not to mistake softness for weakness.
“Like I said, you should take the deal.”
“If Judge West grants my motion, you’ve got no case. Knock it down to five years less time served.”
“Wild Bill West cutting a defendant a break? That’s what you’re counting on?”
“The motion is solid. West might deny it, but Atwell will have great grounds for an appeal. You want to tell Tommy Bradshaw that you turned down my offer and blew this case just when he’s given you your wings?”
Kalena ignored the bait and packed her briefcase. “You want to tell John Boy that he’s going away forever?”
Alex wanted to say yes, she’d love to tell him that, because everything Kalena said about Atwell was true. He’d been in trouble since he was a teenager. One court-appointed psychologist, noting his disregard for himself and others, persistent anger, arrogance, lying, manipulation, penchant for violence, and lack of remorse or guilt, had diagnosed him with antisocial personality disorder.
Her motion to suppress had been an exercise in mediocrity that belied all her legal skills except for the one she was forcing herself to learn-the ability to do just enough to meet her obligation to her client while ensuring his conviction.
Ever since she’d won an acquittal for Dwayne Reed only to have him go on a killing spree, she’d promised herself that she would do exactly that rather than allow another monster back on the street. And that’s what she’d done over the last year, leaving a credible paper trail of modest defense motions and driving soft bargains with the assistant prosecuting attorneys on the other side of the table. No one in her office had questioned her, and her clients had accepted her advice that their deals were the best they could get in light of the incriminating evidence.
Trials were trickier because there was an audience-judge, jury, and prosecutor-for everything she did. Every objection she made or ignored, every question she asked or avoided, every witness she chose to call, and every opening statement and closing argument she made had to be carefully calibrated to meet the constitutional standard of an adequate defense.
She’d tried half a dozen cases in the last twelve months, losing all of them. That wasn’t an unusual track record for a PD, and none of the lawyers in the Public Defender’s office appellate division had filed a motion for a new trial on the grounds that she’d failed to provide an adequate defense. The strength of the evidence against her clients had insulated her against critical scrutiny.
A few judges had raised their eyebrows when she’d let something slide, but she ignored them just as she ignored the occasional smirks from the assistant prosecutors, who were happy to reap the benefits. She glossed over any worry about her professional reputation or regret at her ethical lapses with memories of the innocent people Dwayne Reed had slaughtered and her determination to save others from the same fate. She accepted the irony that the images that woke her during the night also got her through the night, allowing her to forgive herself for what she’d done to her clients.
Atwell’s case was different. There was no doubt that he was guilty, but there was substantial doubt about whether the search that resulted in the discovery of crucial incriminating evidence was legal. If she did her job, she had a great chance of winning-and losing again. She was straddling a line, a balancing act that threatened to rip her apart, leaving her wondering if she could turn her back on another client for the greater good.
She’d managed to write a subpar motion, gritting her teeth as she typed because it would have been so easy to write a great motion, but going on the record in open court proved more difficult than she had imagined, as she slammed the police and prosecutors for their callous disregard of John Atwell’s constitutional rights against unlawful search and seizure. She didn’t know whether it was because her client was watching or because of her ingrained courtroom combativeness or because she finally remembered that she’d become a public defender because there was honor in protecting the individual against the state when life and liberty were at stake. And it felt fantastic.
“My client understands the risks.”
Kalena snapped her briefcase shut. “Good, because I’m not waiting for the judge’s ruling. Today is Tuesday, September fourteenth. Mark it in your calendar, because when the sun goes down, the offer goes away forever, and so does John Boy.”