“The policy covers everything — civil and criminal.”
“And if he’s found guilty, the insurance company’s going to send one of its directors to take his place in prison?”
“I mean it covers legal fees.” Webster insisted. “And the insurance company has specifically asked us to take the case.
“What they insurance company has asked you to do is irrelevant. Elias… Mr. Claymore — in other words, the client — has specifically requested my services.”
“Well in that case, he may have to pay you out of his own pocket. We are the designated law firm in the policy.”
Alex had kept his calm when Webster had first approached him and had agreed to this meeting “without prejudice.” But he was getting irritated now.
“I think Mr. Claymore is more than capable of paying my fees. And I’m more than capable of working pro-bono if necessary.”
“Oh come on Mr. Sedaka, you’re a one-man band. We’re a large law firm. We’ve got dozens of lawyers and a network of experts and other contacts that you can only dream about.”
“I’m not disputing your size, but that’s not necessarily an advantage. If the accused marches into court with an army of lawyers, that can actually count against him.”
“There’s also the logistical aspect. You’re up there in the Bay, we’re down here in the Basin. Ventura’s in our backyard. What are you going to do? Commute down from San Fran every day?”
“You seem to be assuming that the trial is going to stay in Ventura.”
“Are you going to move for a change of venue?” asked Sherman.
“I might. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if we could get it transferred to a county with better demographics.”
“I thought you wanted a speedy trial,” said Webster. “A change of venue motion will give them a pretext for a delay.”
“Also we’re in a better position than you when it comes to a change of venue,” added Sherman.
Alex’s ears pricked up at this.
“How so?”
“We’ve got a whole department for demographic analysis. And we work with LawData.”
LawData was a firm that provided support for law firms, including public opinion research and computer-based demographic analysis.
Alex thought about this for a moment.
“You may have a point. But it’s not for me to decide. It’s Claymore’s call. I’m his lawyer and I’m here for him as long as he wants me.”
“But you could talk to him,” said Webster, “convince him.”
“I’m not even going to try to convince him. The most I’m ready to do it put your offer to him.”
Arthur Webster leaned forward, like he was about to speak again. But a frail-looking man, who must have been pushing eighty, held up his hand to silence him. This was Aaron Levine, the senior partner in this firm. Webster slumped back into his seat and left it to his lifelong friend to address Alex.
“Could I ask you a question, Mr. Sedaka? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but is it a matter of professional pride? Because if so you needn’t worry. Your reputation precedes you. We all remember your remarkable achievement in the Sanchez case.”
The obsequious flattery was more irritating than the arrogance.
“It has nothing to do with professional pride. But I’m not just Elias Claymore’s lawyer: I’m also his friend.”
“Isn’t that all the more reason to step aside. A doctor wouldn’t treat a family member.”
Alex smiled at this. Levine was a playing the soft cop — a man of gentle persuation rather than blustering aggression. But Webster leaned forward again, unable to contain himself any longer.
“Just remember one thing Mr. Sedaka: we have resources that you can only dream about.”
“Then let’s pool our resources.”
This silenced them — Webster and the others — for a few seconds.
“What do you mean?”
Levine again. He was the only man in the room with the gravitas to break the silence, or the moral courage to meet Alex’s eyes.
“I’m offering you second seat.”
Webster’s intensity flared up again.
“We’re not asking for second seat. We want you to — ”
Again Levine’s hand silenced his partner.
“Could you elaborate?”
“Yes. Let’s work on this case together, with me as point man and your formidable resources to back me up. You pick your best man — or woman — to take second seat to report back to you.”
“But you lead?” said Levine, half-question, half-statement.
“I take first seat,” Alex confirmed in a tone of finality that made it clear that this position was not open to debate.
A cheerful smile graced Aaron Levine’s face, changing the mood for almost everyone.
“I think we can live with that,” he said, looking at Webster in a way that demanded his agreement. Webster nodded, his face taut to maintain its neutrality.
“Good. Then I guess we can roll up our sleeves and get on with it.”
The tension was collectively released from the lungs of those present and the awkward smiles spread like a contagion round the table.
“I think it stinks,” said Joanne Gale, a woman in her late thirties, sitting forward to meet Webster’s eyes. She was actually the only women partner in the firm.
“Why?” asked Webster.
“You know why. The man is a rapist.”
“A rape suspect!” Webster corrected. “And it’s never bothered you before.”
This was true. The firm had defended rape suspects before. Indeed Jo herself had taken first seat in several rape defenses — and in some of those cases there was little room to doubt the guilt of the accused.
“This is different. He’s done it before.”
“And he’s served his sentence,” said Alex. “But that doesn’t make him guilty this time. He’s not the same man now that he was then.”
“He got off lightly last time.”
“That’s not for us to judge.”
This was Webster again. Everyone else remained silent, including Alex. It was tempting to speak up in defense of Claymore, or even to lecture this woman on the finer points of legal ethics. But it wasn’t his job. If she had a problem with Levine and Webster being involved in Claymore’s defense, that was between her and her colleagues..
Again, it was left to Aaron Levine to break the silence.
“The question we should be focusing on is do we how do we go about winning? There’s not much kudos in losing a high profile case.”
The other partners, looked down or away, anything to withdraw from this pragmatic way of looking at the issue. Alex realized that the question was directed at him. He met the old man’s eyes.
“It's going to be an uphill struggle.”
“How steep uphill?”
Alex thought about this for a moment.
“There’s a lot of evidence for us to refute — not to mention that we still have to overcome the effect of Claymore’s past. It won’t be easy. The problem is I can’t desanctify the victim without seeming like a bully.”
“‘Desanctify the victim’?” Levine echoed softly.
Jo Gale spoke into the silence that followed.
“A euphemism for character assassination… used by sleazy shysters who like helping rapists and wife-killers beat the rap.”
Alex smiled, not in mockery, but out of respect for Jo Gale’s feisty attitude.
“I prefer to think of it as, leveling the playing field after the DA’s finished milking the sympathy of the jury for all it’s worth.”
“Well if you can’t ‘desanctify the victim,’” asked Jo Gale, “how do you propose to level the playing field?”
“By making Claymore seem harmless.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
Alex looked around the table to gauge the mood. It was obvious that no one else had anything more to say. This was turning into a grudge match between himself and Jo Gale.