Ms. Lawyer

by Lea Coll

  I looked everywhere for my client, Kevin McNulty, the guy accused of stealing air conditioning units from an apartment building. Cops had been in the area and became suspicious when his garage opened and there were twenty AC units in there. There was a report of stolen units from the nearby apartment complexes too. Kevin told the officers he’d bought the units from the owners, so it was his word against the owner’s. Plus, he didn’t have a receipt or any proof of sale.

  Kevin was definitely late. I called and left a message for him to call me immediately.

  Court started, but I waited outside for my client. Logan was aware that my client hadn’t arrived yet, so he agreed to hold off on calling the case. I decided to talk to the officer to see what his take on the case was since I had the time. While I was talking to Officer Tanner Green, my disheveled client ran through the front doors. He stopped abruptly at the security area like he forgot he needed to go through there first. He hurriedly dumped the contents of his pockets out and walked quickly through the metal detector. He looked up and saw me, stuffed the change and wallet back into his pants pocket and jogged over to me.

  “Did I miss it?” Kevin walked up to me looking concerned.

  “No,” I said, as I steered him away from the officer, “but where were you?” I did not like it when clients put me on the spot.

  “I worked third shift at Archer. There was a problem with the scale not being calibrated correctly. So I needed to fix it before I came here.”

  “What scale?” I asked, because the judge might request an explanation as to why he was late and I wanted to have a good idea.

  “We use a scale to measure the bulk metals. It wasn’t measuring right, so I needed to fix it.”

  “Oh, okay.” I guessed I understood that well enough to explain it to the judge. “The officer is here today for your case. I talked to him already, and he indicated that they asked for proof of sale for the AC units and you never provided any.” I knew this to be true because he didn’t provide me with proof either.

  “Well, I’m not big on paperwork. I offered him money for the units, I paid him, and loaded them up.”

  The more details I could get the better it would be to prove this was a legitimate sale, so I asked, “How much did you pay for them?”

  “I don’t remember honestly. I paid him cash, I know that.”

  “The problem is the apartment owner will testify that you stole the units and that they weren’t for sale. He had no intention of replacing the units.”

  “Well, he’s lying then,” Kevin bit out, frustrated.

  “The other issue is that you have a prior conviction for theft. In the eyes of the court, your testimony is tainted. Theft is considered a crime of moral turpitude or dishonesty. Once convicted, the court deems your testimony not to be credible in future cases too. In other words, your word isn’t as good as the apartment owner’s word.” It was more likely that he stole the units than not if he had a prior history of theft.

  “Well, that’s bullshit.”

  “I know it’s frustrating, but that’s what happens when there’s no paper documenting the sale and you have a prior theft conviction. Now the state’s attorney is offering thirty days in jail due to your prior conviction.”

  “I’ll lose my job if I go to jail at all,” Kevin said.

  “I can ask for time served,” I said, waiting for his response, “but there’s no guarantee. The judge can do whatever he wants.” I glanced down at his file to see how many days he’d already served before he was granted bail.

  “I don’t have any other options?” he asked.

  “The police saw your garage open filled with AC units, more than one would have in a home. They had a report of missing AC units, so they investigated. You have no proof of sale and the owner will testify that he didn’t sell them. We could try the case and see what happens, but I guarantee the state’s attorney is going to ask what you were doing with all of those AC units. Do you have an explanation?” I asked. I wanted to know what he would say before court.

  He looked really uncomfortable and his eyes were shifting around like he didn’t want to answer that question. “So if I plead guilty, you will ask for time served?”

  “Yes, and the state will ask for thirty days. The judge could grant either of our requests, he could award less than thirty days, but he could also give you more than thirty days. It’s completely up to the judge, although usually the judge will stay within the request of the state.”

  “Okay, let’s do that then.”

  I prepped him on what to expect during the plea agreement and waited for the case to be heard. The judge gave him thirty days but allowed him to do weekends so he could still work. It was a win for the client.

  When I got back to the office after court, I checked my messages. “Ms. Ryan, this is Eric Sweeney, Missy Koon’s boyfriend. She wants me to contact you to request to reduce her sentence. She said you talked to her about it after court. I figure it’s the least you can do after that shit performance in court. She shouldn’t even be in jail.”

  The last thing I wanted to deal with was that case again. The timing was a little suspect too. I get an unhappy voicemail from him the same morning I got the nasty text message. Plus, he grabbed my arm in court. He could be my harasser.

  All I knew was that he was Missy’s boyfriend and he was pissed she was sitting in jail for ninety days. It was unlikely a judge would even rule on the motion before she was due to be released from jail, but I would do it to make this guy happy.

  I returned his call and left him a message regarding filing the motion. Then my supervisor, John Raymond, popped his head in my doorway. “Got a second, Emma?”

  I did not have a good feeling about this. “Sure. You want to talk in my office?”

  “Yeah, it won’t take long.” He moved the case files from the chair onto the floor and sat down. “You know we have filing cabinets for these?” he asked, smiling.

  “Those are the clients who call so frequently there’s no point in ever filing them. It’s too much work to walk them back and forth to the cabinet every day.” Most of the lawyers’ desks here were piled high with files. So it was nothing new. “What’s up? I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss the cleanliness of my office.”

  “Eric Sweeney called. He’s the boyfriend of your client, Melissa Koon. He was pretty upset about her case. He didn’t feel like you fought hard enough in court. He also wants you to file a motion for modification of sentence.”

  “Yeah, I just left him a message telling him I would. We didn’t have much to go on in Melissa’s case. She led police on a chase and threw the drugs out the window. She was also combative when they finally got her to stop.”

  “That’s what I thought. I think I calmed him down a little. He requested a new attorney to handle the motion, but I refused. First of all we represent Melissa, not him. Secondly, I don’t like clients thinking they call the shots. It means I don’t have faith in my attorneys, when I do. I know you’re new here and you don’t know how I operate, but I always back my attorneys.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” I always hated when clients requested a different attorney because they weren’t happy. It was usually because I told them something they didn’t want to hear, but I couldn’t change the facts or the law. It was my job to give them legal advice, not lie to them.

  “Good. So how do you like it here so far?”

  “I like it. A little quieter and a smaller case load than I’m used to, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Great. Let me know if you need anything,” he said, getting up from the chair and leaving the room. “Keep up the good work.”

  When he left, I drafted Missy’s motion right away so I could mail a copy to her boyfriend and get him off of my case. I liked to avoid clients calling my boss if at all possible.

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, I JOGGED down the steps of my apartment, intending to head to the farmers’ market, which was supposed to be pretty cool here, and I hadn�
�t been able to check it out yet. I just needed to run to my car first to see if I left my camera there. I hadn’t been able to find it since I’d unpacked everything. I also hadn’t checked on the car since I moved it from the street parking to the lot behind the courthouse a few weeks ago.

  As I walked up to my car, I spotted something on the windshield. I walked around the car and saw that all four tires were slashed. The word bitch was spray-painted on the windshield and there seemed to be some sort of substance on the car. I couldn’t tell what it was—maybe a milkshake? Whatever it was, it was a mess and disgusting.

  I looked around to see if the person who did it was still there, but it was quiet at nine on a Sunday morning. Most of the shops were still closed. I could kick myself for not checking on my car earlier. This could have happened at any time. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless. Because of that, I had no frame of reference for when it happened. Was it before or after I started receiving the threatening text messages?

  There was no mistaking that this was intentionally done, but why? I was new to town, so it seemed unbelievable that I had pissed off a client so soon. I had clients call me names before and express their unhappiness with a case, but it had never spilled over into personal threats or vandalism. I debated calling the police, as this could be random. There might even be a pattern of this happening in the area, so I decided I would at least make a report. Also, my insurance company would probably require one.

  I called 911 and the towing company to come get the car later in the morning. I didn’t use my car anyway, so it wasn’t a huge inconvenience. For the most part, I could walk everywhere in town. If I allowed myself to think about everything that had happened recently, it was overwhelming. By itself, I could brush the tire slashing off as mere vandalism by bored teens. But together with the texts, I couldn’t be so sure.

  The officer arrived on the scene and took my report. He said they hadn’t had any other reports of car vandalism recently. I was really hoping this was the act of bored teenagers, but that seemed less likely if I was the only victim. I asked if he would contact me if he had any more reports of vandalism, and he just gave me a look. So I told him I would follow up with the station in a few days to see. The officer didn’t seem too concerned, but then he didn’t know about the text messages I’d received either. I couldn’t avoid talking to Luke about it anymore. Not when things kept happening.

  I wasn’t used to relying on other people but this situation was getting out of hand. I needed Luke. I hurried over the farmers’ market. If I didn’t run into Luke at the market, I would call him.

  The farmers’ market was set up on High Street near the fountain and the courthouse. The road was closed to traffic and booths lined the street. Kids played with bubbles, chalk, and Hula-Hoops around the fountain area. There was a large bouncy house in Fountain Park. Fanning out from the park were tables of produce, candles, pickles, meats, cheeses, wines, baked goods, ice cream, flowers, and even hot food. It was what you would expect to see in a small town.

  I walked quickly to Sweet Treats Bakery’s booth, hoping to find Samantha so I could talk to her about what happened and keep an eye out for Luke.

  I saw that Samantha was busy with a few customers, so I walked around behind her booth and waited for it to quiet down. I poured myself coffee from the carafe she kept at the booth. I was still a little unsettled over what had happened to my car and didn’t want to talk to anyone I didn’t know.

  Once the last customer left, Samantha turned to face me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

  Samantha always seemed very perceptive of other people’s feelings. She was so sweet and concerned. “My car was vandalized. I haven’t driven it much lately, so I have no idea when it happened.”

  Worry clouded Samantha’s face. “What do you mean it was vandalized?”

  “Someone spray-painted bitch on my windshield and slashed all the tires.”

  “Have there been any other reports of the same kind of thing?”

  “The officer who arrived said this was the first report of vandalism recently. It seems more like a bored-teenager thing to do,” I said, hopeful she agreed.

  “Yeah, but the bitch comment seems more personal.”

  “It could be a pissed off client. Clients have called me a bitch to my face, so this doesn’t seem that far afield from that. People have no respect for ‘free’ attorneys.”

  “Hey, ladies!” Luke said, appearing at the booth at that exact moment. I almost jumped out of my skin. We didn’t even have a chance to respond before Luke said, “You seem pretty jumpy this morning, Emma.”

  “Um, no, it’s just that my car was vandalized this morning,” I said. “It’s stupid because I don’t even use the car here.” I felt relief now that Luke was here.

  Luke went from relaxed to cop mode in a split second, and I realized he would definitely be angry that I hadn’t immediately told him about the second text message. “What happened, Emma?” he asked impatiently.

  “When I checked on my car this morning, I noticed that my tires were slashed. Someone had written bitch on the windshield.” Before he could say anything, I rushed to add, “I’m sure it’s just some bored teenagers looking for trouble.” I held my breath hoping he would agree.

  “Yeah, but we haven’t had any vandalism reports recently. Normally, kids will hit a bunch of cars in one night, not just one. The threat makes me think it’s personal. Are you sure this isn’t a disgruntled client?” he asked. He was thinking like a cop and making a lot of sense.

  “No, I just started work and I can’t think of anyone I’ve pissed off. That I know of, anyway,” I said. He was taking this vandalism thing seriously which heightened my anxiety. He didn’t even know about the second text message. “There was that pissed off boyfriend who grabbed my arm. He complained to my boss recently, too.”

  “I don’t like it. Can you get me his name? I’ll look into it for you,” he said.

  “He just complained this week about the case to my boss. His name is. . .” I tried to rack my brain for it. “Eric Sweeney.” Luke punched the name into his phone. “The officer who took the report didn’t seem concerned,” I said.

  “Did you tell him about the text message?” he asked.

  “Well, no. I thought it would be better to talk to you.” I didn’t tell him I felt silly mentioning the text message. I wasn’t sure the other officer would take it seriously. I knew Luke would.

  Luke nodded. “I’ll look into it.” He glanced at Samantha who was helping a customer. Then he walked around her table until he stood next to me in the booth. He placed his hand on my elbow and pulled me a little to the side. He looked down at me with his brows furrowed with concern. “Please call me first next time. That’s why I gave you my number.”

  “Okay Luke.” If whoever was responsible for the threats and now the vandalism to my car intended to scare me, it worked.

  His eyes widened a little at my quick agreement. He pulled me in for a hug. I let myself relax into his arms. It felt good to rely on him for comfort and protection.

  “Let me talk to the officer about it,” he said, as he pulled back.

  “Sure. Thanks, Luke.”

  He nodded, his face serious as he turned to walk away.

  Samantha’s voice caused me to turn my attention back to her. “What did Luke say?”

  “He’s going to look into it. The officer who responded to my call didn’t seem to be concerned. I was really hoping Luke would feel the same way.” I didn’t say it, but the fact that he was so concerned made me worried.

  “I’m glad Luke is looking into it for you. Something is definitely going on and I don’t like it. You could really use his help.”

  “Hey Samantha,” someone called, breaking into our conversation.

  It was Jack and he was looking at Samantha with an almost adoring look. For the first time this morning, I took a good look at her. She was tall and thin, long blond hair fell down her back, and she wore h
er usual wardrobe of long dresses and strappy sandals. Her features were delicate and she usually spoke in a soft voice. Her most endearing quality was her ability to never speak ill of anyone. It was especially noticeable to me since I saw the worst of people in my job.

  “Morning,” she responded. I think she actually blushed.

  My eyes vaulted back and forth between the two of them.

  “I wanted to get some of your awesome muffins to take back to the firehouse,” he said.

  She blushed again and turned to grab a box to start putting his selections inside. “Which ones would you like?”

  “Which ones would you suggest?” he asked.

  “Well all of them are good. How about a couple of each kind?” she suggested, starting to put two muffins of each flavor in the box. “This is really nice of you. I’m sure the guys will love it.” Her hair fell partially in front of her face, obstructing her from view.

  “It’s my morning to cook for everyone so I’m taking the lazy way out.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, it’s really nice of you,” I said. I was feeling like an intruder since neither one had acknowledged me during this exchange.

  Jack looked over at me in surprise. “Oh, hi, Emma.” I don’t think he even realized I was standing there.

  “Good morning,” I smiled. I was enjoying this exchange between Jack and Samantha. It took my mind off of my car and the texts.

  Samantha finished packing up his dozen muffins and handed him the box.

  “How much?” Jack asked, fishing for money in his wallet.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Samantha said, ducking her head.

  “Yeah, but won’t Justin give you a hard time if you’re handing out muffins for free?” Jack asked, his hand still hovering with cash over his wallet.