by Jeanne Winer
“You think you’re going to suppress his confession,” he said.
“Well, I’m certainly going to try.”
“I figured that and did all the research. You’re not going to win it, but even if you do, it won’t make any difference.” He finished his drink and set it down.
“Because the judge will still find the statement to be voluntary?”
“Exactly. Your client will have to take the stand. There’s too much circumstantial evidence. When you put him on, we’ll still be able to impeach him with the statement. As good as you are, you can’t pull it out, Lee.”
“What if I convinced the judge that the statement was involuntary?”
“It’ll never happen.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see. Just out of curiosity, when you finally get around to offering the co-defendants forty-eight years, what will you offer my client?”
“I never said I’d be offering them forty-eight years.” He leaned back and surveyed the room, which was jammed with casually dressed Millennials staring at their phones.
“Theoretically,” Lee said. Nothing, of course, would be settled today. They’d be talking for months. Today, they were merely sniffing around, establishing the perimeters.
“Theoretically, I’d offer your client forty.” He started to put his coat on.
“Which means thirty-six, which is still too much. He’s just a kid.” She shook her head. If her client took it, he’d either die in prison or wish he had.
Dan shrugged sympathetically, then stood up and wrapped his scarf around his throat.
“Just out of curiosity, Lee, what would you take after the judge finds the statement admissible?”
“Well, no matter what the judge rules at the motions hearing, I can’t see taking more than fifteen.” She’d picked the lowest number she could say with a straight face. She actually had no idea what she’d settle for.
“Which means you’d take twenty, and even if he agreed to testify, which I understand he won’t, I’d never go that low.”
Lee stood up to face him.
“Well, it’s always good to talk.”
“Absolutely.” Dan stuck his hand out. “This’ll be interesting, Lee. I love it when I have a worthy opponent.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, shaking his hand. “You hate it. So do I. We have to work too hard.”
“Oh, you’re good, Lee. You’re really good. But this time, I have all the cards. It hardly seems like a fair fight. I actually feel kind of bad.”
“You couldn’t be happier.”
“Walk me to my car,” he said, smiling.
She pulled on her own black wool coat and fell in behind him. Outside, she recognized his classic dark green Jaguar. It was a beautiful car.
“Frankly,” he said, “beating you twice in a row will be a huge boost for my morale. Especially after the Remmington case, which should have been a slam-dunk. I don’t know what happened.”
“Do you ever think about retiring?”
He was searching through his pockets for his car keys.
“Sometimes, but my wife says she’ll divorce me if I quit before I’m seventy. She thinks I’d be lost without the job. Which is true.”
A few snowflakes were just beginning to fall, dissolving before they hit the ground.
“How old are you?” she asked, shivering a little. She was getting nosy in her old age.
“Fifty-three.”
“So you’re probably fifty-eight.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’m a year older than you. Which makes me fifty-four.”
“Right.”
Lee sat in her 4Runner, the heater running. It was later that day and, in the past hour, the snowstorm had begun in earnest. The temperature, meanwhile, had been steadily plummeting since noon. A strong wind was blowing the snow sideways and the world outside her car was disappearing under a layer of heavy white mush. From only twenty feet away, the metal stairs leading up to the detention facility were barely visible.
Why was she here? Why not go home, change her clothes, and go for a walk in the foothills? During a snowstorm, the landscape she knew so well looked totally different. Magical. The usual intrusive sounds got lost in the hush of falling snow. The few people, like Lee, wandering around on foot always grinned and waved. Fellow travelers. Lee could never stay unhappy when it snowed. Go home and play, she told herself.
Ethically, she was supposed to convey every offer a DA made to her client, but in this case, Jeremy had already told her he wouldn’t take any deal that required him to testify against his co-defendants. So why bother? Did she think he’d be impressed that she’d come during a blizzard to see him? That he’d suddenly open up and tell her all his secrets? Fat chance. So why was she sitting here freezing her ass off in this parking lot?
Because she couldn’t bear to lose. And pleading the kid out to forty years, or even thirty-six, was the same thing as losing. It’s what a competent, unexceptional lawyer would do. Not Lee. No matter how bad the facts were, she was an alchemist. Or at least she used to be. Pleading him out to so many years would be a public acknowledgement that she’d devolved into mediocrity, that she was now just an old entertainer who’d run out of rabbits and could barely pull a few yards of cheap, brightly colored cloth out of her sleeve. No, she thought. Not yet.
Plus, although she’d never admit it to Carla or anyone else, she felt bad for the kid. He kept insisting he was fine, but he wasn’t. Each time she visited him, he was thinner and sadder than before. It was almost as if he were on an undeclared hunger strike. Privately, she was beginning to think her client wanted to die, so of course she had to save him. No one died on her watch. She wouldn’t allow it.
Finally, she turned off the engine and climbed out of her car, leaving her briefcase behind. There was at least five inches of snow on the ground. Her short black boots were completely inadequate and would be soaked before she made it inside.
On her way up the stairs, Lee grabbed a handful of snow, packed it into a tight ball, and stuck it in her coat pocket. She had no idea what she would say to her client. Begging was useless; she’d already tried. Maybe she’d just hand him the snowball and go.
As soon as she sat down in the room, a huge bald guard with an earring in his left ear, like Mr. Clean, brought Jeremy in to see her.
“There’s no rush,” the guard told her. “He’s yours for as long as you like. Looks pretty gnarly out there.”
“It’s not for the faint-hearted.”
“My shift doesn’t end till midnight. I live in Longmont. Maybe I’ll find a spare bed, hole up until the morning.”
“Do you have four-wheel drive?” she asked.
“I don’t even have front wheel drive.”
“Then you should spend the night.”
“Yeah, I think I will. Just knock when you’re ready.” He paused and then placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I don’t think he’s doing so well. Lots of nightmares.”
“I-I told you,” Jeremy said. “They’re just dreams. I’m fine.” As usual, he looked anything but. There was something about his affect, his complete lack of concern, that reminded Lee of another client, a Vietnam veteran suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome who’d strangled a man trying to steal his backpack. When Lee suggested a mental health defense, he fired her, went pro se, and took a deal for forty-two years.
“Whatever,” the guard said, and left.
Jeremy took his usual seat on the edge of the couch, as if he might need to spring up at any moment and dash for the door.
Lee reached into her pocket and handed him the snowball.
“What’s this?”
“A present,” she answered and was rewarded with a rare smile from her client.
He tossed the ball back and forth in his hands, looking pleased.
“Thanks.”
They sat quietly for a while. Eventually, Jeremy tossed the ball into a wastebasket.
“It-it was starting
to melt.”
She nodded amiably but didn’t say anything. The room, after so many visits, was beginning to feel like a second office.
Finally, Jeremy asked, “So did the DA make us an offer?”
“Not one you’d accept. Thirty years if you agree to testify. I told him no.”
“Well, Rab said to be patient, that they won’t make any real offers until it gets closer to trial.”
“You know Rab and the others might not end up in the same facility as you. In which case they wouldn’t be able to protect you. Even if you were in the same prison, they can’t watch your back 24/7.”
“I know.” He was staring at the floor.
Go home, she told herself. Soon, the roads would be clogged with abandoned cars, hysterical drivers, and snowplows trying desperately to maneuver around them.
“Jeremy, is there anything else you can tell me that I could use as leverage to get you a better deal?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“You’re holding out on me,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what it is or whether it’s important, but it’s something. Everyone has secrets. Normally I wouldn’t pry, but I’m your lawyer. I was hired to protect you. I need more ammunition.”
Finally, he looked up at her. His eyes seemed vacant, as if he were standing on the window ledge of a tall building and had already decided to jump.
“You just wish I was innocent, but I’m not,” he said, turning to face the door. He obviously meant to leave.
Lee put her hand out to stop him.
“Just tell me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why you went along with it.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess it was just easier. You should probably get going. The snowstorm sounds pretty bad.”
“Okay, I give up. Would you at least make an effort to start eating? Right now, you wouldn’t last a day in the penitentiary. There’s an invisible bulls-eye on the back of your head.”
He actually reached up to touch the back of his head.
“What-what do you mean?”
“You’re a ninety-eight pound weakling, a walking target.”
He looked indignant, which was what she’d hoped for.
“I’m stronger than you think.”
“Great, let’s arm wrestle.”
His mouth dropped open.
“Are you right-handed?” she asked.
He nodded, looking uncertain. Lee stood up, walked over to the side of the couch, and squatted down beside it. She put her left arm, her weaker one, on the armrest.
“Come on,” she said.
“This is stupid.”
“Are you chicken?”
“No!” He scooted back a little, his feet planted firmly on the floor.
Lee waited a few seconds and then smiled at him.
“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars I can pin your arm in a second.”
“I don’t have a thousand dollars.” He was trying not to smile back.
“You can owe me. Put up your arm.”
After a moment, he did. In a split second, she’d pulled it all the way toward her.
“All right,” she said, “that was practice. This time, try as hard as you can.”
In another split second, she’d pinned his arm on the top of her knee. His face was red, mostly from embarrassment.
“You’re like really strong,”
“I am,” she said, standing up, “but seventy-five per cent of the inmates in your pod will be stronger. Everyone will be able to push you around.”
“What should I do?” He actually looked concerned.
“Eat everything they give you and then beg for more. You also need to start exercising.”
“How? There’s nothing here. Just a yard outside.”
“You can exercise in your cell. Start with fifteen pushups and a hundred sit-ups four times a day. As soon as that’s easy, double it.”
“Wow,” he said. “Can you do that?”
She walked over to the door and knocked.
“It doesn’t matter what I can do, Jeremy. I’m not the one going to prison.” She knocked again. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. We can arm wrestle again if you like. I’ll still win, but maybe it won’t be as easy.”
“Maybe I’ll beat you.”
“It’ll never happen,” she said. Goading him to try harder. To live.
Outside, it was a full-blown blizzard. She scraped her car windows, and then climbed into the driver’s seat, waiting for the heat to come on. She shivered stoically. The case was going nowhere, but maybe her client would at least get fit enough to survive his first few days in prison. Christ, was that all she could hope for? Eventually, she pulled out of the parking lot into a line of cars that were barely moving. She’d be lucky to get home before dark. She thought of Jeremy’s sad grateful face as he tossed the snowball back and forth in his hands. At last, there was plenty of snow. Time to pray for manna.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lee had been asleep for almost two hours when the phone rang. According to the alarm clock on her bedside table, it was 2:08 in the morning. Lee cursed, turned on the light, and fumbled for the phone. She knew it was her investigator. She’d talked to her dad earlier, and Mark and Bobby weren’t in the habit of making inappropriate late night phone calls.
But Carla was, especially on the weekend.
For the past few days, Carla had been canvassing the neighborhood in Denver where Jeremy lived at the time of his arrest. She was determined to find one more character witness, someone who could say that Jeremy had been a peaceful cooperative neighbor. Lee was skeptical of her efforts. All the character witnesses in the world wouldn’t help, she told Carla, unless their client suddenly remembered he was innocent and was willing to explain to a jury why he’d told the police otherwise. World peace seemed likelier.
“This better be good,” Lee said, struggling to sit up.
“Hey, Lee. I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s Carla.”
“I know. And yes, for some inexplicable reason, I was sleeping. What’s up?”
“Man oh man, in your wildest dreams, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“How much have you had to drink?” Lee asked.
“What makes you think I’ve been drinking?”
“Just a guess. Are you driving?”
“How else am I going to get home?”
“You could take a cab. If you get busted for DUI, I’m not going to represent you.” The room was freezing. With one hand on Charlie, who was curled up next to her, she pulled the comforter up to her chin. Much better.
“Oh stop being such an old fart. I’ve had three and a half Manhattans. I’m fine.”
“That’s a lot.”
“They were watered down with too much cherry juice and were a complete rip-off. Anyway, what was I … Oh, so I called to tell you that I just found the most amazing character witness. The kind you dream about but almost never find. Her name is Mrs. Weissmann and she’s ninety-one.”
“You found her in a bar?”
“No, silly. I found her this afternoon. Then I went to the bar, a new one at the Westin that my friend Sheila told me about. I only meant to have one drink, but I met this cute guy who told me he’d recently separated from his wife. We talked for hours, and not just about him, which is the usual give-away. I was really starting to like him. And so then, guess what?”
Lee shook her head, assuming some kind of betrayal.
“What?”
“His wife calls and he tells her, right in front of me, that he had a flat tire and was waiting by the side of the road for someone to come and fix it. And he’s smiling at me as if the whole thing is just a big joke! So I toss the rest of my watered-down, ridiculously expensive drink in his face and leave.”
Lee politely counted to three.
“The witness?”
“Oh right. Mrs. Weissmann. Did I tell you she was ninety-one?”
“You did.” Lee was wide-awake now and c
urious. “So, why was she so amazing?”
“Well, for one thing, she’s a concentration camp survivor. She spent a year at Auschwitz.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Anyway, she said that she and Jeremy were friends. It started with Jeremy shoveling her walk a few times when it snowed. He lived across the street from her. He always came over when his roommates were gone. In the spring, he helped her with other things, like carrying her groceries inside and putting them away. Sometimes he rang her doorbell and asked if she needed anything. He clearly wanted to help, so she asked him to move the dresser in her spare bedroom, change some light bulbs in a chandelier she couldn’t reach, that kind of thing. Afterward, she always served him lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. ‘He was even lonelier than me,’ she said.”
Lee was silent. The new information didn’t surprise her as much as it should have.
“Lee?”
“Yes, go on. I’m listening.”
“Okay, so mostly they talked about Jeremy’s future. He was studying to take the high school equivalency exam. Wanted to go to college. He never discussed his parents or why he wasn’t living with them. Mrs. Weissmann didn’t pry. Occasionally, she tried to warn him about his roommates, but he’d smile and say they weren’t as bad as they looked. Twice, she offered him money, but he wouldn’t take it.
“One day in August, when it was very hot, he removed his sweatshirt and she saw the swastika. She could hardly breathe. When he asked what was wrong, she pointed at his forearm. He immediately put his sweatshirt back on and apologized. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t hate anyone.’ For some reason, she decided to trust him. ‘After all those years,’ she said, ‘it was time to trust someone.’ So she told him about her year in Auschwitz and Jeremy was horrified. He’d read about the Nazis in high school but it hadn’t sounded quite so bad. Mrs. Weissmann was his first Jewish friend. When he left that day, she wondered if he was ever coming back. But he did, two or three times a week until the police arrested him.”
Lee stared at one of Paul’s dramatic photographs on the opposite wall. He’d taken it from the top of K2 after almost turning back twice because of storms. A few days after his return, three South Korean climbers were blown off the mountain and killed. Paul was philosophic, but for once, Lee wasn’t. Her husband was tempting fate, risking their happiness. But asking him to quit would have been like asking him to stop taking deep breaths. And then, she thought, there was Jeremy, living a dangerous surreal life and longing for the safe predictable one he no longer had.