The coffee mug clattered to an upright position. “All right, fine. You win, but you’ll do it under my supervision.”
“Wahoo!”
“Hold your applause.” Bennie waved her into silence. “You’ll report to me at every stage of the proceedings.”
“Agreed.”
“You’ll still be responsible for your other matters. You have that antitrust article to do—get a draft to me on time. The journal editor told me they’ve been waiting on it to cite-check. Don’t screw around.” Bennie thought a minute. “As I recall, you have seven other fairly active cases, all civil. They have to be worked, just as before. Those clients were there first and they didn’t kill anybody.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bennie ignored it. “Finally, since you didn’t bother to see if Lucia could pay for your services, your services to him are free. That means the time you spend on this matter is your own. You bill none of it, to him or to me. That’ll teach you.”
It took Judy aback, but she saw the rightness of it. “Fair enough. My money where my mouth is.”
“And you’re on a short leash. Stay in touch on every decision. That’s your final punishment for showing initiative. You have to spend time with me.”
“What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,” Judy said, then ducked as a pencil came flying at her.
“Don’t press your luck, Carrier. This firm is doing better than when we started. You ain’t the only law review editor in the sea. Now get out of my office. One of us has to make some money.” Bennie hit a key on her keyboard, opening her e-mail, and Judy rose happily, despite the situation. She had gotten the case, even if she’d have to work her ass off. But there was a problem, and it nagged at her.
“One last question. What do I do about representing a guilty defendant?”
“Why are you asking me?” Bennie didn’t look away from her e-mail. “You took the case, you have to answer it for yourself.”
Judy blinked at the sharpness of the response. So much for bonding. “Uh, well, I mean, I know he’s entitled to a defense, but I also know he’s guilty. It bothers me, even though it’s not supposed to, as a legal matter.”
“You always were academic, Carrier, so here’s the short course.” Bennie clicked away, responding to one e- mail after another. “Under the Code of Professional Responsibility, your only ethical constraint is that you can’t put him up on the stand and elicit that he’s innocent if you know he’s guilty. That’s suborning perjury, essentially permitting a known falsehood to go to the court. And obviously, Code or no, I wouldn’t represent to the jury in your opening or closing that he’s innocent.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t think so. You’re a lousy liar anyway. I don’t know how you got out of law school.” Bennie hit “send” and opened the next e-mail, and Judy suddenly didn’t know how to talk to her.
“I meant more . . . as an emotional matter. Have you ever represented a guilty defendant?”
“I did in the old days, when I took mostly murder cases. Frankly, it’s why I got out.” Bennie’s large hands covered the keyboard as she typed another response, giving no indication she remembered that anybody else shared the room.
“So how did you handle it?” Judy asked anyway. “Defending the principle, not the person? Innocent until proven guilty?”
“It doesn’t matter how I dealt with it,” Bennie answered, typing away. “It only matters how you deal with it. You want to defend a guilty man? Do it your way.”
Judy detected a change in Bennie’s voice. It softened, though she still didn’t look up from her computer. “Can you give me a hint or is that against the rules?”
Her fingers poised expertly over the keyboard, Bennie raised her eyes, and Judy was surprised to see them filled with concern, not indifference. “I told you, don’t argue what you don’t believe in. The converse is also true. Do you believe in him?”
“I think so.”
“Figure it out. Figure out if he’s guilty or innocent, in your own mind. But don’t analyze it as a legal matter or an academic question. That’s too abstract, too safe. Don’t be a judge, there’ll be a judge there already. He’s the one in black. You be the advocate.”
Judy was understanding. She knew she tended to be a little academic. It had gotten her A’s in law school, but nowhere else. “But let’s say that I decide that he’s innocent, in my own mind. What good does that do him?”
“It will help you build a defense. If you believe in him, your conviction will carry through to the judge and the jury. In your voice, in your manner, in everything you do. If you don’t believe in him, Lucia doesn’t have a chance.” Bennie’s attention returned to her monitor. “And you’re the worst thing that ever happened to him.”
The words shut Judy down, and she stood rooted for a minute, listening to the quiet tapping of the keys. Outside the door, phones rang and lawyers yapped, but the workaday sounds receded. Judy had the sinking feeling she had bitten off more than she could chew—and she had one of the biggest mouths in the city.
“Don’t you have an arraignment to go to?” Bennie asked, breaking the silence. “It’s tough to get bail for murder. Wear a suit jacket over your dress. And lose the shoes. You can borrow my brown pumps from the closet in reception. I got a whole second wardrobe in there. You’re welcome to all of it.”
Judy checked her watch. It was almost three. She had to get downtown. She’d have to set aside her angst and her clogs. She murmured a hurried thank-you and let herself out of the office as Bennie returned to her e- mail.
Judy couldn’t know that after she left, Bennie spent a long time staring at the computer screen, unable to write a single word.
Chapter 7
The press thronged outside the Criminal Justice Center, spilling off the curb and onto Filbert Street, a colonial street wide enough to accommodate only a single horse and buggy, not reporters and their egos. Both blocked traffic, waiting for something to happen, chatting in the sunshine and blowing puffs of cigarette smoke into the clear air. Judy wondered what case they were feeding on this time.
“There she is!” a photographer with a light meter around his neck shouted, turning to Judy. “Ms. Carrier, just one shot!” “Over here, Ms. Carrier!”
Judy was surprised but didn’t break stride. She couldn’t, in Bennie’s too-big pumps. She hurried ahead, dragging her heels across the cobblestones, feeling like a kid dressing up as a lawyer, in case anybody missed the point. Her thoughts raced ahead. How did the press know about the case? Why did they care? They were all turning to her. Reporters flicked aside their cigarettes. Cameramen hoisted video cameras to their shoulders. Stringers surged toward her with notebooks in hand. She put her head down and wobbled through the crowd as it rushed to meet her.
“Ms. Carrier, is Bennie Rosato on this case for Tony Lucia?” “Ms. Carrier, is he guilty or innocent?” “Judy, is Mary DiNunzio gonna work with you on the case?” “Ms. Carrier, the Coluzzi family is already on record as saying your client’s the killer. Any comment?”
Judy plowed shakily ahead, taking a bead on the brass revolving door at the courthouse entrance. It wasn’t the worst thing to be swarmed by reporters. Bennie and Mary never liked it, but Judy had played coed rugby in her time. Reporters jostled her, but she jostled them back. Justice as contact sport. She got bumped in the arm by a TV camera but didn’t stop to flip the bird. It might not look professional on tape.
“Ms. Carrier, what do you think about the Commonwealth’s evidence?” “Will Mr. Lucia plead guilty?” “Do you think he’ll get bail?”
“No comment!” Judy shouted, hustling toward the entrance. Over the door the stained-glass mural caught the sunlight in vivid yellows, blues, and golds, but she didn’t pause to enjoy it as she usually did. She had a pigeon to defend, and from the research she had done, it was iffy whether he’d get bail. The case law was against it; her only hope was his age and record. The reporters bumped her around and shouted questions she wouldn’t answer, to the amusement of a blue sea of cops in summer uniforms, waiting by the door to be called to testify. A couple of civilians stood nearest the door with them, and Judy had almost tottered to the threshold when she felt a strong
