Her Kind of Case: A Lee Isaacs, Esq. Novel

by Jeanne Winer

  The judge cleared his throat and said, “All right then, Mr. Matthews, to the added count two of second-degree murder, how do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”

  “Guilty.”

  The judge removed his glasses and closed his file.

  “We’re almost done, Mr. Matthews. But before I accept your plea, I’d like some acknowledgement of your guilt. If a jury had already found you guilty, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

  “Like, what do you mean?”

  “Well, at the motions hearing, your lawyer argued that your statements weren’t trustworthy, that they might not be true.”

  “I-I said everything they said I did.” He was starting to bounce again.

  “Judge,” Dan interrupted. “I’m sure Ms. Isaacs would stipulate that the facts presented by the prosecution at the motions hearing last Wednesday provide a sufficient basis for the plea.” He motioned Lee to back him up.

  Before she could, the judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Andrews, but I’m looking for a bit more reassurance here. The defendant is very young. He could later claim he was confused. That would be difficult if he acknowledged some culpability.”

  Lee simply nodded now. She had no obligation to make the court’s advisement any more airtight than it was.

  “Mr. Matthews,” the judge began again, “did you act as the lookout while the others kicked the victim?”

  Jeremy looked up at the ceiling and then down again. Twice, he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it.

  Finally, he said, “Not really.”

  “Not really? Mr. Matthews, would you like a moment to speak with your lawyer?”

  “Please Judge,” Lee said. Then she and Jeremy stepped back a few feet.

  “Jeremy,” she whispered, “you have to make up something to satisfy the judge or he won’t accept your plea.”

  “I’m supposed to lie?”

  “Well, yes. If you want the deal.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Only if you’re innocent.”

  Dan jumped in again, sounding desperate.

  “Your Honor, would the court accept an Alford plea?” Like a nolo contendere plea, an Alford plea allowed a defendant to enter a guilty plea without admitting guilt. Essentially, a defendant did not admit committing a criminal act but acknowledged that the prosecution would likely prove the charge at trial. It was entirely up to a court’s discretion whether or not to accept the plea.

  Lee waited silently, a tiny hope having sprung deep inside her.

  The judge was shaking his head.

  “Mr. Andrews, I have never accepted an Alford plea unless there was an ongoing civil case. I will not accept it here.”

  “What do you want, Jeremy?” Lee whispered.

  “What do I want?” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I want this all to be a dream. I-I want to be somewhere else. I want Sam to be alive again.”

  “Well, this isn’t a dream. It’s your life. What do you want to do here?”

  He leaned in close, his face only a few inches away from hers. There were tears in his eyes, but he looked more angry than sad.

  “How should I know? I’m only seventeen!”

  “Which is why you’re so scared. But you know what,” she heard herself saying, “I’m fifty-nine and I’m almost as scared as you are.”

  “You’re fifty-nine?” He looked astonished.

  “Yes, but the point is, I’m scared too. If you take the deal, you’ll do thirty years for a crime you didn’t commit. If you go to trial, you could end up doing life and I’d feel terrible for not being able to save you.”

  “Except it wouldn’t be your fault.”

  “It wouldn’t matter. You’d be sentenced to life on my watch. I’m not sure I could go on lawyering after that.”

  “Well, so then what would you do?”

  Their noses were almost touching. He had a small dimple above his right cheekbone that she’d never noticed, and flecks of green in his eyes.

  “You mean if I quit being a lawyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  Judge Samuels and Dan were waiting, but for once she didn’t care. This—whatever the hell it was—was more important.

  “Good question. I’ve spent my entire adult life being a lawyer. I always meant to travel but never found the time. Maybe I’d spend five or six months hiking in the Himalayas.”

  “But-but wouldn’t your husband get upset if you went away that long?”

  “I don’t have a husband. I mean, I had one, but he died five years ago.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know. Did he, like, get cancer?”

  “No. He was a mountain climber. He died in an avalanche.”

  “Oh wow. But then you never got another one?”

  “Hey, five years isn’t that long.”

  “Were you afraid if you got a new husband, he’d die too? Because, you know, that’s what I’m afraid of. That if I ever get a new boyfriend, he’ll die just like Sam did.”

  Lee made herself stop and think. A knee-jerk reaction to any of his questions could sink them. Although this was new and unfamiliar territory, it felt surprisingly right. As if they’d always been headed here, even if they hadn’t known it.

  “Honestly,” she told him, “I don’t think so. Unless of course I married another mountain climber. Which I wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t either.”

  They both smiled.

  “But here’s an opposite thing,” he whispered. “I’m also afraid that I’ll never meet anyone that I’ll love as much as Sam.”

  “Well, I might be afraid of that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ms. Isaacs,” the judge said, “I don’t mean to pressure you, but we don’t have all day.”

  “I’m sorry it’s taking so long, Judge. This is a difficult and important decision.”

  “Can we resolve this in the next five minutes, or should we continue the hearing?”

  “For the record,” Dan stated, “the People object to any continuance. The defendant has been adequately advised and pled guilty. The facts presented by the People at the motions hearing in this case provide a sufficient basis for the plea.”

  “Ms. Isaacs?” the judge prompted.

  Lee turned to Jeremy and whispered, “Any chance you’re ready to decide?”

  “I’m still pretty scared, Lee.” It was the first time he had called her Lee. “What-what do you think I should do?”

  All right then. Some very good lawyers might differ, but Lee agreed with Harry S. Truman that the buck stopped here. When a client asked what she thought he should do, he had the right to an unequivocal answer. Other lawyers might list the various options but leave it up to the client. Lee thought that was bullshit, that lawyers and other professionals, if asked, should be forced to make the ultimate decision. It’s what they were paid for.

  “Go to trial,” she said. “It’s your only chance to be free.”

  “But what if I lose?”

  “You’ll be sentenced to life in prison and I’ll end up trekking in the Himalayas.”

  “Would you come back sometimes and visit me?”

  “Regularly.”

  He thought for a moment and then said, “Okay.”

  “I’ll tell the judge.”

  “Will he be mad?”

  “He’ll get over it.” They both stepped up to the podium. “Your Honor, after thinking it over, my client continues to maintain his innocence.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” The judge sighed as he reached for his glasses. “In which case, I won’t accept his guilty plea. The trial is once again set for two weeks beginning May 23rd. I’ll rule on all miscellaneous motions by the end of the week. Good luck, Mr. Matthews.” He banged his gavel. “Court is adjourned.”

  As soon as the judge left the courtroom, Phil and Carla rushed up to her, grinning like lunatics.

  “Thank you, Lord Jesus!” Phil shouted.

  Carla looked as if she’d been crying.

  “I
knew you’d do something, Lee. I just knew it.”

  “But I didn’t,” Lee protested. “Not really.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lee saw Peggy hugging her nephew while Mr. Clean hovered over them, beaming.

  “Let’s meet tomorrow in my office at ten,” Lee told them. “And then we should all visit Jeremy. He’s going to need constant reassurance.”

  “I’ll have to call Mrs. Weissmann,” Carla said. “I told her last Friday that Jeremy was going to plead. She’ll be so relieved.”

  “Drinks anyone?” Phil asked. He was pretending to swing a tennis racket.

  Lee shook her head and said, “You can’t drink, Phil. It’s a condition of your bond.”

  “Is she always such a Grinch?” he asked Carla.

  “Often but not always. Come on, I’ll buy you a nice, cold cranberry juice.”

  “Cranberry juice without vodka tastes disgusting.”

  “I’ll see you both in the morning,” Lee said. She would pick up a sandwich at Alfalfas and then head to the office, where she’d probably work till midnight. Life was good again.

  As she exited the courtroom, she saw Dan standing near the window pretending to read the Boulder Weekly, which he held upside down—a major clue.

  “Hey, Dan,” she said.

  “Oh hi, Lee. Do you have a minute?” He looked calm and cheerful, as if the hearing had gone exactly the way he’d expected.

  “Of course.” She walked over to him and glanced out the window. “The days are getting longer.”

  “Thank God. Do you suffer from SAD?” He meant seasonal affective disorder.

  “No, do you?”

  “Nope, but I’m pretty sure my wife does. We get along so much better after the spring equinox. No more arguments till October. Today’s our twenty-fifth anniversary.”

  “No kidding? Congratulations. Did I ruin your day?”

  “Of course not. Well, kind of.”

  “I didn’t plan it, you know.”

  “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m not angry.”

  Suddenly, a distraught woman holding an infant in her arms burst out of another courtroom shouting, “How am I gonna feed my baby if they lock him up?” One of her eyes was swollen shut and there were various green and yellow bruises around her face. A number of people were standing close by, but no one responded. A moment later, a teenage girl ran up and took the baby from her.

  “Come on, mama,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Everyone watched in silence as the girl led her mother down the stairs.

  “It’s an imperfect system,” Lee observed sadly.

  “I agree,” Dan said, “but it’s the only one we have.” He folded the newspaper under his arm. “Oh, before I forget, do you know of a good Italian restaurant? I’m taking my wife out tonight.”

  “I’ve always liked Carelli’s.” It had been her and Paul’s favorite restaurant, the place where he’d asked her to marry him.

  “Carelli’s? I’ll make a note of it.” Then, affecting a look of nonchalance, he asked, “So, what’s going to be your theory of defense?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’m still working on it.”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dan. You have three eyewitnesses and my client’s statements. Can’t I have anything?”

  “Ideally, no.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “All right, fine. Do you have a favorite dish at Carelli’s?”

  “I always order the eggplant Parmesan. It’s very good.” She set her briefcase on the floor. “So was twenty-eight your real bottom line? I’m just curious.”

  “When your client was wavering, I almost came over and offered you twenty-five.”

  “Yikes, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have been very hard to turn down.”

  “Should I be kicking myself for not offering it?”

  “No. We would have turned down anything over fifteen.”

  “Yeah, well that’s what I thought.” He checked his watch, which looked expensive. Lee had never spent more than thirty dollars on a watch and never would. Her court clothes, on the other hand, had cost a fortune, but that was different. By definition, anything that helped you win was essential.

  “So, would you like the chance to interview the three co-defendants?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, if you’ll tell me your theory of defense, I’ll ask their attorneys.”

  “Great. I’ll think about it.”

  “No, you won’t.” Suddenly, he looked genuinely thoughtful. “Setting aside all the strutting bullshit, you know what I really feel?”

  “That it’s too bad we both can’t win?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding.

  “But we can’t, can we?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “So it’s back to the strutting bullshit?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  After a moment, she picked up her briefcase and headed for the stairs.

  “Happy anniversary,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Lee.”

  It was eleven-fifteen and she was still at the office. She’d stopped working because the words on the page had gotten blurry. Maybe she needed glasses? Of course she did, but she’d managed so far without them. If she closed her eyes for a while, they might perk up again and let her work for another hour. In the meantime, while she rested, she’d call her father.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said when he picked up.

  “Hi, kiddo. How’d it go today?”

  She closed her eyes, put her feet up on the desk.

  “Jeremy couldn’t go through with it.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” He was lighting a cigarette and not even trying to disguise the sound.

  “Yes, it’s very good.” Then she told him what happened. “Everyone thinks I did something to make him change his mind, but all I did was talk to him. Somebody besides me is looking out for him.”

  “The God of Lost Boys again?” he asked, inhaling deeply.

  “Yup, showed up at the last possible moment. I wasn’t sure she’d make it.”

  “Well, I’m glad she did. Is there a God of Lost Old Men?”

  “If there was, what would you pray for?”

  “May I be purely selfish?”

  “You may.”

  He took another puff and then extinguished his cigarette.

  “I would pray for Miriam Adler’s bridge partner to move away from Boston.”

  “So no world peace?”

  “I’d rather be Miriam’s partner.” Suddenly, he started coughing. When he could finally speak again, he said, “That’s what I get for being selfish.”

  “No, that’s what you get for smoking.”

  “Honey, I’ve decided to die by having a massive cerebral hemorrhage. It won’t matter if I smoke.”

  “You could get lung cancer first. The chemo could interfere with your ability to play bridge.”

  “Hmm,” he said, pretending to take her seriously. “I never thought about that.”

  She smiled, laced her fingers behind her head, and let her mind drift for a moment. It had been a long surprising day. Lots of hard work ahead and maybe, in the end, not the outcome she hoped for. But she couldn’t think that far and more importantly, she wouldn’t. For once, she would take Paul’s advice and be here now.

  “Speaking of chemo,” her father was saying, “Ed, my Tuesday bridge partner, just got diagnosed with stage four liver cancer. He drank too much for years but finally went to AA and got sober. Reconciled with his wife. Six months later, he gets the big C.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, he’s a goner. We had a party for him this afternoon and he basically said good-bye. Nice guy, decent player. Not even eighty yet. It’s going to be hard to replace him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.” She tried to think of something wise and comforting to say, but nothing came to mind. Although she was well acq
uainted with violence and tragedy, there was something about her father’s stories that often left her speechless. “What about Hal and Freddie?” His two longest-standing bridge partners. “Are they still okay?”

  “Freddie’s fine.”

  “Oh good.”

  “But his son wants him to move to Florida. He thinks his father would be better off in one of those soulless, one-size-fits-all retirement communities.”

  “Does Freddie want to go?” She hoped, for her father’s sake, he didn’t.

  “Not really. He hates the weather, his son’s never available, and his daughter-in-law is a biggie in the Florida Right to Life movement.”

  “Now that’s depressing.”

  “Tell me about it.” Her father sighed. “Eventually, of course he’ll go, but hopefully not for a year or two.”

  “And Hal?” Her father hadn’t mentioned him in a while. What was his problem again? Diverticulitis? Prostate cancer? Diabetes? That was it: diabetes.

  “Hal’s turned out to be a real survivor. He’s only got one toe on his right foot and two on his left, but he still shows up to play. It’s really something.”

  “Yikes. Can he walk?”

  “He totters.”

  “Jesus,” she muttered.

  Her father began to chuckle and then they both started laughing. For a while, they gave themselves up to it. Eventually, she sat up and wiped her eyes.

  “On that note, I think I’ll say good-night. Promise you won’t die before I call you again?”

  “Okay, but call soon.”

  “Ciao, Dad.”

  “Ciao, kiddo.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  On the first Saturday in May, Lee and Carla were sitting in The Cave, a dark, nondescript joint that Carla had found on a side street about four blocks from Colfax Avenue. The bar was filling up fast with locals who waved to one another and were obviously regular customers. At ten p.m., Lee and Carla were supposed to meet a guy named Barry Simmons, a former bar employee who might or might not recognize Jeremy and Sam from their pictures. Lee sipped lukewarm coffee while Carla nursed a watered-down whiskey sour.