chair. The campaign was not my proudest moment; let's just say it
involved me, a lunchtime knitting class, and a decade's supply of ugly
booties for the woman's baby.
Now someone had taken my vacation as an opportunity to run off with the
spoils of my labor. The culprit clearly lacked two essential pieces of
information. First, I would stop at absolutely nothing to get that
chair back. And second, I'd have no problem proving ownership. The
day I got no, make that earned- my chair, I committed vandalism against
county property by scratching my initials in a secret spot and vowing
we'd be together forever.
But for now, I was stuck with a sorry-looking lump of stinky blue tweed
on casters.
Otherwise, the new office was a step up. In my old office, I had an
L-shaped yellow metal desk with a cork board hutch. Now I had an
L-shaped gray metal desk with a cork board hutch, plus a matching gray
file cabinet all to myself. Whoever had done the move had replicated
my old office (minus my special chair) to a T, all the way down to the
two pictures stuck in the corner of my cork board: one of Vinnie
gnawing on his rubber Gumby doll, the other of my parents in front of
their tree on my mom's last Christmas.
I met Frist as requested in his new corner office, legal pad and pen in
hand, ready for a fresh start in a new unit, with a promotion I had
wanted since I joined the office. It took most attorneys five to seven
years of good work and shameless ass kissing to get into MCU, and I'd
done it in less than three with my pride largely intact. Given my
Stanford law degree and three years in the Southern District of New
York at the nation's most prestigious U.S. Attorney's Office, some
would say I was actually running behind.
I took a seat across from Frist, trying not to think about the last
time I was there with the office's previous tenant.
True to his reputation, my new boss skipped the small talk and got down
to business. 'I thought we should touch base since you're new to the
Unit and I'm still getting used to this supervision gig. You know the
deal: we handle all non domestic person felonies, basically murders,
rapes, and aggravated assaults. Robberies we treat like property
crimes and send down to the general felony unit. You can decide
whether you want to bring any files over from your old DVD caseload,
but I'd recommend against it. You'll have your hands full enough here
without having to juggle Drug and Vice.'
It took some concentration to focus on the substance of what Frist was
saying. He had one of those deep voices you have to tuck your chin
into your chest to impersonate, a common practice around the DA's
office. He sounded like that antiwar governor from Vermont who ran for
president, but this proud conservative ex-marine would never oppose a
war, let alone go to Vermont. Frist was booming something at me, but
his eyes kept darting alternately between my breasts and somewhere just
above my forehead.
'You're starting out with something less than a regular load. Usually
we'd give you the cases of whoever left, but O'Donnell obviously had
some doozies that'd be hard to start out with. So I took over his
caseload, kept about a quarter of mine, and gave you the rest. As the
new person, you'll be on screening duty.'
MCU's screening assignment is a notorious time-waster. Paralegals dole
out the incoming police reports among the various trial units: major
crimes, gangs, drugs and vice, general felonies, domestic violence, and
misdemeanors. But to make sure that no one misses a heavy charge and
issues it as a throw-away, any report that even arguably establishes
probable cause for a major person felony goes to MCU for screening. The
problem is, cautious paralegals end up finding potential felonies in
every run-of-the-mill assault. Now I'd be the one to waste hours
separating the wheat from the chaff. So much for my big impressive
step up in the prosecutorial food chain.
Frist covered a handful of issues he thought I should be aware of on
the cases I'd inherited from him, then changed the subject. 'Now, as
for this Easterbrook matter, I talked to the boss. I don't think he
intended to throw you into the middle of things so quickly. You know,
he figured the judge'd turn up in a couple of hours, and he wanted to
make sure we did what we could in the meantime. But now this thing's
looking like it's got real potential.'
When I first started in the DA's office, I was sickened by how excited
the career prosecutors seemed to get over a juicy incoming murder case.
I swore I'd never treat human tragedy as career fodder. But it had
since become clear to me that attorneys who have stuck with this job
for any amount of time handle it one of two ways: They either get off
on the adrenaline of their files or they become apathetic. Compassion
is a straight path to burnout. I wasn't yet to the point where I
looked at a person's murder simply as a trial challenge, but, when I
did, I'd rather approach my cases as a passionate competitor like Frist
than yet another of the lazy plea-bargaining bureaucrats we keep around
here.
But precisely because Frist was competitive, he wanted in on this one.
'Go ahead and ride the case solo while she's missing, but if a body
turns up, you don't want this as your first murder.'
I opened my mouth, but Frist was all over me. 'Zip it, Kincaid. I
know you're hungry, but you can forget about running this on your own.
And don't think I'm picking on you for being new. Or because you're a
woman.'
Out the window went the staples of my reliable boss-fighting arsenal.
Clearly I'd need to be more creative.
'We always have two attorneys on any death penalty case,' he explained,
'which this may very well be, if it's a kidnap gone wrong. And
Clarissa Easterbrook isn't exactly your typical murder victim. Every
person out there who thinks he can benefit will be crawling up our
asses to scrutinize every aspect of this investigation and
prosecution.'
'Is it still my case, or should I go ahead and tell MCT to call you the
next time they find a shoe in the gutter at four o'clock in the
morning?'
'Nice try,' Frist said, shaking his head and smiling. 'But whereas
