Guilt by Association

by Kelvin L. Reed

CHAPTER TWELVE

  A few hours after he and Connie had met with Stone, Jayson sat in his office reviewing a brief Victor had drafted supporting a motion to dismiss a complaint. Jayson had accepted the case only because the defendant, charged with assaulting the girlfriend of her husband, attended his church. A paper cup filled with iced tea lay within reach. His desk lamp and the overhead lights were on because the sun, which wouldn’t set for nearly three hours, no longer shone directly into his office.

  He played with a red erasable pen and a highlighter, lightly tapping them on his desk like drums. Jayson felt reasonably comfortable, having taken off the jacket to his suit. He raised his eyes toward the glass wall and mostly glass door long enough to catch a glimpse of Victor, who wandered back and forth in front of his office like a father-to-be outside a delivery room.

  Jayson finished his drink and the last page of the fourteen-page document, and judged Victor’s first try at independently drafting a brief to be impressive. The young man had a talent for writing and understood the fine points of the law; he would be an exceptional asset to the bar some day. Of course, Jayson thought, give credit where credit was due: he had given the kid a three-year-old brief he had drafted to use as a guide. Jayson had read that Buddhists say a student can only be as good as his teacher—or had he heard those words from Professor Seth Greenberg in law school?

  Victor came into view again. Jayson suppressed the urge to laugh and decided to put the young man out of his misery by waving him into the office.

  Victor rushed in and closed the door behind him. He straightened his tie. “Well?”

  Jayson stood and stepped around his desk, leaving the document on it. “I’m impressed. It’s good. Very good.”

  Victor smiled. “I put a lot of work into it.”

  “And it shows,” Jayson acknowledged. He pointed at the top of his desk. “There were just a few places I marked. I want you to look them over tomorrow and read my notes. Probably won’t take you a half-hour to make the changes.

  Victor nodded enthusiastically and held out his hands. “I’ll take care of it right now.”

  Jayson shook his head. “No. Leave it. We’ve got plenty of time. Look at it tomorrow with a fresh pair of eyes. I don’t even want you to hold it in your hands until then.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Victor agreed. He turned to leave but turned back. “Um, if you were giving it a grade, well, what would you give it?” He looked like a five-year-old seeking approval from his father.

  Jayson approached Victor and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I would give it a B+.”

  “Damn,” Victor muttered. He put his hand over his mouth and grimaced. “Oops, sorry about my language.”

  Jayson chuckled. “It’s okay. Look, you did real well. Just got a little wordy, like you do on occasion. Remember, sometimes—”

  “Less is more,” Victor chimed in. Apparently preferring to stay a while longer, he brought up another topic. “Um, what’s your take on the Stone case?”

  “Well,” Jayson replied, “you know Samira withdrew the second degree offer?”

  “Um-hmm,” Victor said. “I thought she would. The way your dueling interviews and formal statements have been—”

  “And don’t forget leaked information.”

  “And leaked information played on the news, it’s no surprise. What did she say?”

  Jayson mimicked Rahmani’s voice. “‘The offer of second degree is withdrawn. Your client’s going to rot in prison for the rest of his life for first-degree felony murder.’”

  “Did she add just the right touch of righteous indignation?” Victor inquired.

  “Not too much; not too little,” Jayson said. He pinched his index finger against his thumb. “Just right.”

  “Does what Stone said to Connie this morning change anything?”

  Jayson rolled his eyes, laughed and pointed at Connie, sitting at her desk talking on the telephone. “For me, yeah. She’s been insufferable. You know she’s going to be impossible to work with for the rest of the week.”

  Victor laughed as well. “You’re right, but she was so proud of herself.”

  Jayson’s tone became businesslike again. “But to answer your question, what Stone said isn’t going to matter. I didn’t go into law school with my head all full of crap from watching TV. I knew most of my clients would be guilty.”

  Victor leaned against the small work table a few feet from Jayson. “So how do you justify what you do for a living when people ask you at parties or whatever?”

  Jayson shrugged. “I usually give them the standard speech, you know? My job’s to provide a vigorous defense for my client, forcing the state to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt. What I do, and what all defense attorneys do, is keep those who serve the state honest in how they prosecute those charged with a crime, thereby protecting the rights of everyone and anyone charged with a crime.” He laughed and made gestures as if he were playing the violin.

  Victor joined him, playing a few imaginary notes himself and laughed. He stopped and pointed at the floor. “I’ve learned more here in a couple of months than in two years at Northeastern.”

  Jayson shrugged again. “I’ve met some pretty good attorneys who went there.” He pointed at himself. “I went to Mass School of Law, where the kids without money go. My dad’s a bus driver and my mom checks in patients at a hospital.” He leaned against his desk. “I’ve told you about my law school mentor, Seth Greenberg?”

  “The one who had the stroke?”

  “Yeah,” Jayson replied. He stared absently at the carpet as he spoke. “I’ll never forget the first class I had with him years ago, when his body had just begun to bend with age but he hadn’t been victimized by that first stroke.” Jayson leaned forward and imitated the professor’s gestures. “The old man pounded his hand on the podium and delivered the gospel to a roomful of wide-eyed law students, including me.”

  “What did he say? What did he say?” Victor asked, excited.

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Jayson said. He squinted and changed his voice to sound much older. “‘In our system of justice, all people charged with a crime get their day in court and a fair trial from an impartial jury or judge. The police don’t get to coerce suspects into confessing, plant evidence on them, or falsify information about them even if they’re guilty.’” Jayson shook his finger and continued. “‘They also don’t get to charge people with crimes that, according to the letter of the law, they didn’t actually commit. They don’t even get to be sloppy in how they gather evidence or present evidence. If they do, then it’s your job to see to it your client goes free, even if you saw him commit the crime yourself.’”

  Victor clapped his hands. “Wow. He must’ve really been something.”

  “He really was,” Jayson agreed. “Still is.” He leaned against his desk again. “A lot of non-lawyers—and even some lawyers—just don’t understand. Sometimes I’ll get an angry family member of a crime victim who’ll accost me in the hallway outside of some courtroom. The father, mother, son, whatever will cuss me out and swear that when I die I’m going straight to hell. They yell: ‘That son of a bitch raped my daughter! That bastard stole thousands of dollars from my company! That drunk got behind the wheel and killed my child! How could you represent such a person?’”

  Victor made a face. “I bet that’s no fun.”

  Jayson raised his hand and brought it quickly downward. “I’m used to it. But months, sometimes even years later, after they or a member of their family get arrested, some of those same people will knock on my door and beg me to take money from their life savings or their pension plans or the second mortgage they took out on their homes.” He pointed at the brief Victor had written. “Shoot, that woman from my church who knocked two of her husband’s girlfriend’s teeth out had just told a bunch of folks a couple of weeks ago that I should be ashamed of myself for taking the Stone case.”

  “But you still accepted a retainer from
her and from those other people, right?”

  “Of course. I’m not the kind of guy to hold a grudge.”

  Victor placed his hand over his heart. “A real humanitarian, that’s the man I work for.” He and Jayson shared a loud laugh. Victor cleared his throat. “Um, Jayson, can I ask you kind of a personal question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Um, what did your family, I mean like, your mom and dad, think about you going into criminal law?”

  Jayson shrugged. “They were fine with it. I come from humble stock. My folks think being a lawyer is like what you see on TV—I defend innocent people wrongly accused of crimes. They’re just thrilled their son’s a lawyer.” He pointed at Victor. “What do your folks think about all the unsavory characters you’ve been exposed to here?”

  “They don’t know.”

  Jayson raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean they don’t know?”

  Victor lowered his head. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?” He looked up, saw Jayson shake his head, and continued. “My dad’s a strict, self-made, successful businessman who came to America with virtually nothing. He sent me to business school and law school with the expectation that I’ll join the family export business.”

  “You’d make a fine lawyer, whatever area you choose,” Jayson said.

  “Thanks, but I hate the family export business.”

  “Have you explained this to your father?”

  Victor lowered his head again. “You don’t understand what traditional Chinese families are like. My mom’s never held a job outside of the home. My dad doesn’t show affection to her or to any of his kids. We don’t talk like this, like you and I are doing right now.”

  At that moment Jayson understood his loyal intern’s devotion to him a little better. The psychiatrists called it “transference.” Apparently Victor’s father didn’t understand that his son, having been born and raised in America, wasn’t Chinese but Chinese American, and like most American children desired some warmth from his parents. “Well,” Jayson said, “what are you going to do?”

  Victor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Jayson opens his hands. “Hey, if you’re interested, I still know a few people at the Public Defender’s Office. I could put in a word for you. Just let me know.”

  Victor beamed in that little boy way again. “Thanks. I will.” He turned to leave but Connie appeared.

  She stepped into the doorway, blocking his path and took him by the shoulders to gently spin him around. She pointed at him. “Hey, Jayson, this one’s been keeping secrets from us. You know today’s his birthday?”

  “Really?” Jayson replied. “Well, happy birthday.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You know you shouldn’t even be working today.”

  Connie hooked her arm under Victor’s. “And I’m taking you out for a drink right now, remember?” She backed up, pulling him along with her.

  Victor flashed an embarrassed smile and spoke to Jayson. “You coming?”

  Jayson counted the papers on his desk. “Well…” He glanced at Connie, standing behind Victor, frantically shaking her head to indicate what his answer should be. “I better not. I’d really like to, but I’ve got a pile of work to finish up.”

  Victor stepped toward Jayson’s desk. “Do you need me to stay and help out?”

  Jayson put his fingers on his chin and decided to get even with Connie for being so puffed up all day about her success with Stone. “Well, there’s this other complaint you could…” He paused and glanced at Connie again, with her arms akimbo and an exaggerated glare on her face. “No. You kids go and enjoy yourselves. I’m hoping a service technician might still show up to take a look at the copier in my office.”

  Connie yanked on Victor’s arm, then literally pushed him to his table in the outer office and helped him gather his things. Jayson walked out of his office and approached Tenika, who stood behind her desk also gathering her belongings to leave for the day. He leaned against her shoulder, whispered a few words in her ear, and the two shared a not-so-private laugh at Connie’s expense. Connie turned around, catching their antics, and responded by balling up her fist and playfully shaking it at them. Jayson and Tenika poked each other on the arm. The ring of the telephone cut short their playtime.

  “Shoot, just when I was about to go home too,” Tenika complained. She turned off the light on her desk and answered the telephone. “Cook Law Office…Who may I say is calling?…One moment, please.” She pressed a button, putting the caller on hold.

  “Who is it?” Jayson asked.

  Tenika said nothing. Instead she watched Victor go through the front door with Connie lagging a few feet behind him. The ebullient paralegal turned to face Tenika and Jayson again. She licked her lips and rubbed her hands together as if she were about to devour a delicious meal. Tenika giggled as Connie ran to catch up with Victor, then she finally answered Jayson’s question. “It’s that woman we spoke about before. You know, Miss Thang?”

  Jayson attempted to read the information on the telephone console. “Is the caller ID information blocked?”

  “Yep, just like it always is when she calls.”

  “Um-hmm,” Jayson muttered. “Tell her I want to talk to her but I’m just finishing up on something, and ask her to call me back in ten minutes.”

  Tenika held her index finger right above the flashing button on the console. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Jayson said. “And we’re getting a bit swamped with paperwork. Call the temp agency in the morning and get us a bit of help.”

  “Okay.…you sure you want me to tell Ms. Thang to call back in ten?”

  Jayson smirked. “Yeah. I have a little surprise for her.” He walked toward his office. “Now you go on home but don’t lock the door. Someone might still swing by to look at my copy machine.”

  He marched back to his office, leaving the door open and sat at his desk. Tenika conveyed his message to the caller, then grabbed her purse and bid Jayson goodnight. After watching her leave, Jayson reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with some writing on it. He glanced at the address Juan the cab driver had given him and scrutinized the telephone number underneath it he had obtained through a simple Internet search.

  He picked up the telephone receiver on his desk and punched out a few numbers, blocking his identity. He could feel his palms begin to sweat. He switched the receiver to his left hand and wiped his right one on his pant leg. He heard the telephone ring once, twice, three times, then a woman’s voice—an older woman’s voice, no doubt the aunt Leslie had mentioned.

  “Hello, may I please speak to Leslie?” Jayson asked. He could hear the woman call her niece, and switched the receiver back to his right hand.

  “Hello?” the soft, sultry voice on the other end said.

  “Hello, Leslie. This is Jayson. I’m returning your call.”

  “W–w–what?” Leslie muttered. “How did you—I mean, I can’t talk right now.”

  The sound of the telephone going dead gave Jayson great pleasure. He gently cradled the receiver. “You’re playing in the big leagues now, bitch,” he whispered.

  The sound of the front door opening broke up Jayson’s self-congratulatory glee. A white, middle-aged bald man wearing a tie and an outdated, ill-fitting suit entered the room. He was accompanied by two, tall white males in their early twenties, one with dark hair and the other blond. Jayson had never seen the younger men, and he had not seen the older man in person in over three years, since his free speech victory on behalf of the Church of the True Savior. “You don’t have an appointment,” Jayson called out without leaving his chair, clearly irritated. “What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?”

  Gregory Morgan flashed a broad smile. “I’m fine counselor. How are you?” Jayson didn’t answer. “I just wanna have a little talk.”

  “I’ve got a few things I need to do.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll wait.”

  Jayson stood and watched his three visitors mak
e themselves comfortable in the waiting area. He closed the door to his office and returned to his desk, then picked up the telephone and dialed Tenika’s mobile phone number. Within a few seconds he heard her recorded voice mail. “Gregory Morgan’s here,” he announced. “Call me.” He dialed Connie’s mobile phone also but failing to reach her, left the same message. He hung up, grabbed another brief on his desk and starting reading it. “Let the son of a bitch wait,” he whispered.

  * * * * *