In Defense of Guilt

by Benjamin Berkley

  “I know there’s nothin’ more you can do. You’ve done everything you could. And I thank you. I thank you for it,” Maze offered.

  Ryan crossed the room and pulled a black umbrella out of the can. “Hey, remember, she’s never lost a case. We’ve never lost a case.” Then he turned to Lauren, holding up her umbrella. “Mind if I borrow this?”

  “Yeah,” Maze interjected. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

  Lauren looked at Ryan. “Take Maze back to his hotel room.” Then she ordered Maze, “Go get some sleep, and take your medication.”

  “I can’t get the regret out of my mind.”

  “Dose up.”

  “I threw them away when the jury took the case. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at her, Miss Hill,” Maze babbled on. “Maybe I should have controlled myself more. Maybe I should have stayed with her all night instead of leaving her alone.”

  “Hey,” Ryan said, taking Maze by the arm. “You had a marital argument, a natural dispute. Everyone does. You’re making yourself out to be responsible for something beyond your control.”

  “But I’m the one condemned.”

  As Lauren watched the two of them head for the exit, she pondered Maze’s last statement. He wasn’t condemned, at least not by a jury. They were still in deliberation. Or was there something more to it than that? She didn’t know. In thoughtful silence, Lauren walked back to her desk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled over the darkening, purple heavens above the Hill homestead. The air was thick, saturated with an uncharacteristic humidity, even as the wind picked up. Soon, the fast-moving cold front was howling in the normally quiet, upscale community. Constance could hear the branches from the ripening lemon tree in the front yard as they scraped across the picture window of the living room. Thick drops smacked loudly against the hard surfaces outside. Soon, water ran in rivulets toward low areas. The torrent roared over the parched earth, unable to soak in. Lightning flashed, again. The lights flickered. Lost in her own world, Constance barely noticed.

  Then, suddenly, the raging tempest went from a steady downpour to an almost nonexistent, mild drizzle. The wind died down to a peaceful quiet. As quickly as it came, the storm rapidly moved off toward the eastern mountains and beyond. Once over the arid desert, the clouds dissipated. It rarely rained in Los Angeles and more rarely still in the California desert.

  Deep in thought in the dining area of the spacious, raised ranch, Constance was randomly sliding a stainless-steel fork across her plate. She picked at her chicken. It looked as if she were playing a weird game of keep-away from the broccoli spears. At first, Dennis watched her in amusement. He knew his daughter honestly did not care for green vegetables unless they were coated with a thick, hearty layer of melted cheddar. Since he was the chef that evening, as he was most every evening, that was not going to happen. Constance was going to have to do without. Wolfgang Puck, he was not.

  The longer he watched, however, the more he realized Constance wasn’t picking because she didn’t like what had been placed in front of her, but rather because she was lost in a world of her own creation. What world that was, he had no earthly idea, but he had a pretty good idea his daughter wasn’t having pleasant thoughts. Dennis cleared his plate and began speaking from the sink. Constance didn’t hear a word her father said.

  Dennis shook his head and turned on the hot water. He squirted a generous amount of dish soap into the steady stream. Suds thickened and rose up from the water. Dennis hardly ever ran the dishwasher. He felt it was more work loading and unloading it than if he simply washed them by hand. Dennis placed the dishes in the sink, glancing at his daughter between each item placed on the draining board. Through it all, Constance never moved. He turned off the water and stepped away from the domestic duties he had grown more accustomed to since Lauren started her own practice eight years ago. As his wife had spent longer and longer periods of time at the office and wherever else entailed playing lawyer, Dennis’ chores had steadily increased. Lauren rather unlovingly left notes for him, to-do lists of what she expected to have accomplished by the time she walked through the door after an exceedingly long, tedious day. It surely wasn’t how he had envisioned his life, the embarrassing role reversal, but someone had to take care of their child.

  Dennis hated his lot in life, but after his meeting with his publisher earlier in the day, he felt he might have finally crested that long hill to see something better on the other side. Setting the dish towel on the counter, he walked to the table, pulled up a chair next to his teenage girl, and patiently waited.

  After a few moments, Constance finally realized her father was there, and she asked if he had said something. Forgetting what it was about schoolwork he had wanted to ask her, Dennis shrugged. It wasn’t that important. What seemed to be bothering his daughter was. “Doesn’t matter. What’s on your mind?”

  “Think I wanna go see Mom.”

  Dennis wasn’t expecting it. He thought maybe she had a problem in school or an argument with her best friend. Not that. Dennis looked up at the clock. 5:22. “You mean now?”

  “Right now.”

  Surprised at the urgency in her voice, Dennis stared blankly at his daughter.

  “She’s not still in court at this hour, is she?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. I heard on the radio, earlier, they handed the case over to the jury, so I assume—”

  Constance bolted out of her chair and grabbed a sweater out of the closet. She was even more determined to find out what her mother was up to. Still rather sticky outside, it was much too warm for a raincoat. She only needed something to provide a scant amount of protection from the light drizzle.

  Dennis put up mild resistance. “I don’t know. By the time we get downtown, it will be close to half past six.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s likely your mother will be on her way home by then and we’ll pass her on the freeway without ever seeing her. Besides, it’s a school night.”

  Constance folded her arms across her chest, annoyed. She tapped her foot on the hardwood floor. Relenting, Dennis pushed away from the table and stood up. Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, “Okay, I guess we can go. But first, text her and see if she’s free.”

  “Mom’s never free.”

  Dennis hoped his daughter was just referring to time and not thinking of other, less becoming meanings. Either way, he couldn’t argue with Constance: Lauren rarely answered his texts. “Well, at least try.”

  Constance grabbed her phone off the table, and soon her thumbs were flying on her iPhone. Dennis got the set of keys off the counter, and the two of them headed out the door. Surprisingly, the temperature had dropped noticeably since the massive cold front had moved through. That was rarely the case. But it felt good. The two of them opened their doors, slid in, and buckled their seat belts. Dennis then started the car.

  “So, is your mom available?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t replied.”

  “She’s likely busy. Maybe we shouldn’t go. We’ll see her later tonight,” he said, turning the car off.

  “No. I wanna go see her. Please. She’s probably still working at the office.”

  Dennis thought for a moment. What’s with the women I live with? he wondered. Both are so demanding. It must be in the genes; at least this one says please. Before he even finished his thought, Dennis knew he would give in. In reality, he was just as curious to see what his wife was up to. It wasn’t unheard of for her to come home late on deliberation days, but it was only in recent months that he questioned Lauren’s whereabouts during the day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ryan asked Maze to wait outside of Lauren’s office. The young attorney wanted a few minutes alone with his boss. Maze glanced at Lauren, and she nodded approval for him to leave.

  “Weird, but he feels responsible, somehow,” Ryan said.

  “I suppose.”

  Just t
hen, a meek knock sounded at the door. It was Rose. “It’s only me, Ms. Hill. Sorry to bother you, but I have the court transcripts you asked for.”

  “That’s okay, Rose.”

  The secretary hastily placed the files on her desk. “Also, I printed what you asked me to read earlier. It’s clipped on top.”

  Nonchalantly, Lauren walked to her desk and picked up the files Rose had left. Removing the paperclip, she immediately became transfixed by Proverbs and only faintly heard Ryan speak. Finally tearing herself away from Scripture, she asked him to repeat his response.

  “You’re obviously distracted. I said I’ve been seeing them for weeks straight,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, but did you get a good look at them today?”

  “Yeah, I saw them. What are you reading, by the way?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped, curtly. “What did they look like?” Lauren was determined not to stray off subject.

  “The jurors? Like damn jurors.”

  “Nothing unusual, then?” Lauren eyed him.

  “I don’t know what it is you think I didn’t see, but I certainly saw them, and then we basically said, ‘Here ya go, another man’s fate. You be the final arbitrators.’ I have to admit though, this is my favorite part, sitting back and waiting for the phone to ring.”

  “You’d rather wait for the bell than finish the fight?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Because you do tend to be on the lazy side.”

  “I do not,” he snapped, surprised at Lauren’s tone. Then, changing his own, “I submit I’m actually overworked and underpaid.”

  Lauren smirked. “Uh huh. That’s the way it should be. It’s the difference between the eagle and the dodo.”

  “Really,” Ryan smiled. “How’s that?”

  “Hunger makes you lean, smart, and mean. Satiation, on the other hand, leaves you fat, feeble, and fed on.”

  “Gawd, I’ll have to ask Constance the next time I see her. You must be a barrel of laughs at home.”

  Lauren’s cell phone buzzed with a text from Bradley.

  One last quickie?

  Sure, she thumbed her reply.

  Looking up at Ryan, “You leave my daughter out of this. I laugh as much as anyone else when something is funny. Murder trials aren’t humorous.”

  Hotel? Bradley’s text read.

  “Okay, okay. Touché.” Ryan said dejectedly.

  My office, she texted.

  “But don’t you ever let up, Lauren?” Ryan continued. “Don’t you at least like to bask in the fact that the work is done? Now we just sit back and wait,” he said, folding his hands behind his head for emphasis.

  See u in 20.

  “Who keeps texting you?” Ryan asked.

  “Oh, nobody.”

  “Nobody?”

  Lauren played it cool. “So, where were we?”

  BZZzzzz!

  Lauren didn’t read the text but held it up without reading it to show Ryan. “See, nobody,” she said, flipping it into the top desk drawer. “Oh yes, I remember. You were about to attempt to explicate the virtues of chance over the vice of control.”

  “Cute.”

  “Oh, enough of this. Take Maze back to the hotel and stay with him. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

  “Why? What is it you think he’s gonna do?”

  “I don’t really know, but once again, I’ll take control over chance any day.”

  “I should have seen that coming.” Picking up the umbrella, he repeated, “You don’t mind if I use this?”

  “Take it,” she said, with a wave of the hand. “Just bring it back.” Lauren watched him gather himself together. Then, as an afterthought, she said, “He’s obsessive, you know.”

  “Think it’s just the stress, or something more?”

  “He’s a manic depressive.”

  Ryan took his hand off the doorknob and turned. “What?”

  “Yeah. Cyclothymia.”

  Ryan had never heard of the condition. He held out his hands at a loss and stared blankly at his employer.

  “I had him diagnosed. Just trying to cover all bases.”

  “What is it?”

  “A form of mania, but milder.”

  “You mean something similar to what his wife had?”

  Lauren nodded. “That’s why the police had been called to their house so often,” Lauren laughed. “I fucked Bradley.”

  “You mean with discovery.”

  “No, literally.” Lauren interrupted. “I fucked him a few times during the trial.”

  “What? Wait . . . What?” Ryan studied her to see if she was pulling his leg.

  “Other than the buzz I currently have, it’s the best way I know to take the edge off.” Lauren winked. The vodka was working brilliantly. She was feeling no pain.

  Truth serum. “Oh, shit,” he thought, “she isn’t kidding.” Ryan was dumbfounded. He stood there stammering for a moment. Unethical, hell, her decision was potentially career-ending, for her and the prosecutor. However, this was his boss.

  Knowing too much in certain circles could get one killed. Ryan didn’t feel he had anything to worry about in that regard. He didn’t believe Lauren was capable of doing what Maze did (Ryan now thought Maze was just as guilty as Charles Manson, John Wayne Gacy, or that pretty boy, Ted Bundy). But what the hell was he going to do with this disclosure?

  In the end, there was nothing he could do or at least was willing to do. He hadn’t asked to be privy to such private and certainly damaging information. Ryan decided to forget she ever told him. The less he could recall, the better.

  But Bradley? Him? He nearly laughed. Never in a million years would I have guessed that.

  Lauren knew better than to place herself in such a hazardous position. That, too, was not like her. All humor aside, he raised a hand to his forehead.

  “I know nothing, but with the prosecutor? C’mon, Lauren! It’s the best way I know to get disbarred!”

  “You know what they say,” Lauren grinned. “Keep your friends close and your enemies—”

  “I know, I know . . . closer.”

  “No. By the balls.” She gestured palm up, fingers spread wide and pointing upward.

  Ryan couldn’t control himself. He burst into nervous laughter. Still, he was uncomfortable with the knowledge he now possessed. He only hoped Lauren knew what she was doing and was not getting herself into a hole she could not possibly crawl out of.

  “Sex softens a man’s mind. God bless his wife. She must be bored out of her fuckin’ mind. He fucks as mechanically as he did when I worked in the DA’s office.”

  Still laughing nervously, Ryan said, “No more, I can’t take anymore,” Ryan held up a hand as if warding off evil spirits. “Way too much information. Now, I’m probably under some ethical duty I intend to shirk.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Wait, what about—” He poked a thumb toward the door.

  “Maze? Hell no, I wouldn’t fuck him! I’m not a whore!”

  “No, not that! What we were talking about, before. Did Bradley know Maze was unhinged?”

  “Nah,” she said, swatting at the air as if there was a bug. “He never thought to check.”

  “But you never disclosed that?”

  “Look,” she said, getting down to business. “We don’t know that it’s relevant. The police did their investigation; the cruise line did theirs. Nobody bothered to pursue that possibility.”

  “You’re fuckin’ joking, right?” Ryan interrupted.

  Lauren folded her arms across her chest.

  “Wait, does Maze know any of this?”

  “No,” Lauren said, seriously annoyed. “It’s something I saw in him.”

  “Saw? Saw what? I don’t see anything.”

  “Just something,” she said, reflectively. “What was it exactly did I see? Oh, yes.” Snapping out of it, she continued. “Look, I don’t want to go into specific details, but I’ve seen it before. Classic symptoms. Anyway, I took him to a doct
or. He had been up and down: peaks were high, his lows extremely low. Doctors adjusted his medication, trying to find the right balance so there was a consistency between the previous dose and when the next one kicked in. They obviously didn’t get it right. His mind kept going into overdrive.”

  Ryan shuffled nervously.

  “Look, this is all about presentation, Ryan. You have to put them in the best possible light. We doll these jokers up—nice suit, tie, haircut, the works, right?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “But we don’t just stop there, with the outside,” Lauren continued. “We clean up their act on the inside, too. This is war, remember.”

  Ryan understood. He was truly beginning to see the ins and outs, those things that were not taught in the classroom. He was young, but far from stupid. “I get it, Lauren, but can you tell me something? What was all that about in court? The running out? And why take the Bible off the bench?”

  Coolly, Lauren looked up at Ryan. “I thought I saw God.”

  “Huh?”

  “I honestly thought I saw Judge Howell morph into God.”

  As much as he wanted to believe Lauren was playing another game with him, Ryan saw by her stone-faced expression that she might be serious. His initial reaction was to think that she, like her client, was losing touch with reality. That would explain the Bradley thing. Only, the more he looked upon her, the more that seemed unlikely. She appeared, as always, to be perfectly in control.

  “You’re not following me? I thought I saw God. He was talking to me, just as we are, now.”

  Seeing God was one thing. It could be chalked up to any number of things. But conversing with him was something on a different plane.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Lauren knew it was probably a bad mistake to let Ryan in on what had been taking place, that she should have just made something up. She only told him because she knew he would keep his mouth shut about it, at least for the time being, anyway. She wanted to tell someone, and he seemed the safest person. However, if this was his reaction, she could see it was an error. She applied her brand of damage control.