Her Kind of Case: A Lee Isaacs, Esq. Novel

by Jeanne Winer

  Lee guessed he was talking about the habitual offender counts, but wasn’t sure. In any event, she knew better than to admit the truth.

  “Look, I just got the case today. Give me a week to get up to speed and then we can discuss your options.”

  He looked at her in disbelief.

  “Which means none. Oh man, I am so fucked.” He crossed his arms and turned away from her.

  Lee wondered what she could possibly do if she quit being a lawyer.

  Finally, Ellen returned and the hearing began. For the next ninety minutes, Lee sat woodenly beside Felix, staring straight ahead. A number of witnesses took the stand and were examined by both sides. Lee followed along as best she could, straining to understand the constitutional issues at stake. Although she knew it was irrational—she was just a baby lawyer—it was hard not to feel stupid and inadequate. Eventually, she gave up listening and watched the judge’s face for any sign that he might miraculously grant the defendant’s motion; she didn’t see any. Finally, the prosecutor made his closing argument and it was Ellen’s turn.

  Ellen stood up slowly and walked to the podium. She was obviously tired. Turning sideways, she pointed at the various piles of paper on the table.

  “Lee, could you hand me the cases as I mention them?”

  Lee nodded, grateful for something to do. She moved the first pile closer and read the name of the case, Mapp v. Ohio, 367 U.S. 643 (1961). As Ellen began her argument, Lee decided to pour her a glass of water. Careful not to make any noise, she reached for the stainless steel pitcher and a few of the unused cups. Maybe she’d pour a glass for Felix as well. When she turned the pitcher upside down, the cover, which should have been screwed in tight, dropped with a clunk onto the table. A flood of water followed, immediately swamping the paper and dripping over the sides of the table.

  Ellen looked down from where she stood and gasped. Lee used the arm of her blazer to sweep some of the water away. The two uniformed guards sitting behind Felix reached into their pockets and pulled out identical white handkerchiefs. Lee grabbed them and began blotting as many pieces of paper as possible. The judge cleared his throat and then ordered Ellen to continue.

  When Lee glimpsed her future client’s expression, a mixture of horror and despair, she wanted to die but kept on blotting. Each time Ellen mentioned a new case, Lee stopped and found it, shook it out, handed the limp wet pages to her colleague, then continued blotting. Somehow the time passed and the hearing finally ended. As expected, the judge denied their motion. Ellen sighed and then gathered up her things.

  “Sorry, guys, I have to run. I have loads to do before I leave the office.” She wiped her forehead with the edge of her sleeve. “Look, Felix, we knew it was a long shot, but I’m sorry. I really am. You and Lee will just have to make the best of it. Good luck.” She reached out her hand and Felix, after a moment’s hesitation, took it.

  “Thanks anyway,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, okay?” Then she hurried out.

  Once again, Lee and Felix were alone. The guards behind them waited at a respectful distance. Felix seemed lost in thought, which was fine with Lee. Finally, she stood up.

  “I’ll see you next Friday.”

  “Wait,” Felix said, grabbing her arm. “This isn’t some kind of joke? You’re really my new lawyer?”

  It was yet another insult, but Lee was way beyond caring.

  “Yes, I’m really your new lawyer.”

  “Okay then.” He was nodding to himself. “So as soon as you see Ellen, ask her to call the DA and see what he’ll offer.”

  “You want her to plea bargain the case?”

  “Well, it has to be reasonable, but yeah.”

  When Lee returned to the office, she told Ellen what Felix had said. Ellen was delighted. Within minutes, everyone in the office knew about it. Suddenly, Lee was a hero. They clapped her on the back and congratulated her. Half the lawyers wanted to give her their most recalcitrant clients.

  “No way,” her supervisor said, laughing, “but it was a great result.”

  At the end of the day, as Lee was ready to leave, she knocked on her supervisor’s door and then strode into his office. He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of manila folders. His gray hair was mussed and his eyes looked bloodshot.

  “Would you have really allowed me to try it?” Lee asked.

  He knew she meant the Garcia case.

  “Of course. You’ve tried more than a dozen misdemeanors and won most of them.” He studied her face. “What? You think we set you up?”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “Well, we didn’t.”

  “Good, because I would have quit.”

  “See you tomorrow, Lee. Close the door on your way out.”

  Lee drove straight to a dojo on Pearl Street, where she’d just started taking karate. Learning the movements was hard, but she’d already glimpsed the possibility of elegance. Halfway through class, she fell and sprained her ankle. Limping back to her car, Lee swore she would pay her dues to become a great lawyer and an equally great karateka. But after that, she would never be a beginner again.

  Thirty-five years later, she was sitting in the same district courtroom on the second floor of the Boulder county courthouse. That day with Felix was just the beginning of countless humiliating experiences that quickly thickened her skin and forged her into the lawyer she would finally become. Tales from the trenches, she thought, and smiled. Felix had probably been released and imprisoned two or three more times in the intervening years, Ellen had eventually become a judge, and Lee? No longer a beginner. She smiled again and checked the clock on the wall. The Matthews hearing would begin in twenty minutes. She’d been sitting there since eight, enjoying the peace and quiet, the lull before battle.

  The courtroom door opened and a woman in a blonde wig entered. It was Mary Matthews, except she wasn’t supposed to be there. Lee had instructed Carla to dissuade her from coming because the DA would request the sequestration of all witnesses that might later be called at trial. Sequestration meant she would have to sit in the hall outside the courtroom. She might as well have stayed home.

  “Hello, Mary,” Lee said, swiveling around to make sure there were no other people in the courtroom. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “I know, but here I am.” She was refusing to make eye contact.

  “Why don’t we go to that conference room down the hall? If the DA sees you, it could be awkward.” An uneasy thought occurred to her. “He hasn’t subpoenaed you for this hearing, has he?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  When Lee and Dan last spoke, they’d agreed on four witnesses between them: Detective Bruno, the lead detective on the case, Detective Roberts, who’d telephoned Jeremy’s parents and later interrogated their son, Detective Armstrong, who’d escorted Jeremy to the juvenile detention center, and Ethan Mitchell, the kid who’d been Jeremy’s best friend in Colorado Springs. Lee had specifically decided not to call Mary because she wanted to keep Jeremy’s sexuality a secret for as long as possible.

  “Someone called a few weeks ago,” Mary was saying, “but Leonard told him to leave us alone, that we didn’t want to participate, and that if he tried to subpoena us, we wouldn’t be cooperative.” She stared at the floor. “Anyway, I guess it worked.”

  “Well, good.” Something was up and, whatever it was, Lee needed to nip it in the bud. She rose to her feet. “Come on, let’s go to that conference room. We can talk in private there.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” But she let Lee take her arm and lead her out of the courtroom.

  When they reached the conference room, Lee escorted her inside. The light was on and the blinds already closed. There was a briefcase and a box of Kleenex on the table. Lee pushed them to one side.

  “Have a seat, Mary.” As soon as they were both sitting down, Lee said, “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Mary said. “Really.”


  Lee glanced at her watch. She had thirteen minutes before the most important hearing in her client’s case.

  “Come on, Mary. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Well, then how important is it that I testify at Jeremy’s trial?”

  Lee’s stomach lurched, but she wasn’t especially surprised. Witnesses routinely balked at testifying. As hearing and trial dates drew closer, Lee spent much of her time rounding people up, quelling their fears, reminding them of their promises or obligations, and then urging them to do the right thing.

  “Mary, if you don’t testify, your son will be convicted. He’ll go to prison and very likely die there. You are a critical witness.”

  “But he could still lose even if I testify.”

  “That’s true, but you’re the only witness that can corroborate his sexual orientation. Without your testimony, the jury will almost assuredly convict him. You have to testify.”

  Mary was shaking her head.

  “And-and if he loses, then both our lives will be over.”

  Lee wanted to strangle her, but nodded sympathetically instead. Dissemble or find another profession.

  “Have you talked to Leonard about testifying?”

  “Of course not. He would order me not to.” Mary took a deep breath and then leaned in closer as if to confess something important. “Things have been going better at home.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “Leonard has been making a real effort to control his temper. He’s been taking me out regularly and acting like, I don’t know, like a real gentleman. He’s even asked my opinion about things.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Lee said. “Can I ask you one more question?”

  “Of course.” Mary reached up to adjust the wig, which had slipped a little. Her pale blue eyes blinked nervously.

  “If you choose your husband over your son again, will you be able to live with yourself?”

  Mary burst into tears. Lee sat still for a moment and then handed her a Kleenex. Someone knocked on the door and started to come in. Lee jumped up, blocking the doorway.

  “Hey,” the intruder said. He was a young, good-looking lawyer in a sleek Italian suit. A heavily made-up woman stood meekly behind him.

  “Sorry,” Lee said. “This room is being used.”

  The young lawyer tried to push his way in.

  “We were here earlier. We need the room again.”

  Lee reached back and grabbed the briefcase off the table.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, handing him the briefcase. “You’ll have to find another one.”

  “Why don’t you find another one?”

  “I’m in the middle of an emergency,” she whispered. “Don’t embarrass your client by getting into a pushing match with me.”

  The lawyer hesitated, and then turned to leave.

  “Come on,” he told the woman, “there’s a room down the hall.”

  “Thank you,” Lee whispered.

  “Crazy bitch.”

  Lee shut the door and then checked her watch. Four minutes until show time.

  “Mary, I have to run. We can talk next week. In the meantime, think about how you’ll feel if you betray your son again.” If kindness didn’t work, there was always brutal honesty.

  Mary stood up, clutching her Kleenex.

  “That isn’t fair, Lee.”

  “Actually, I think it is.” She reached for the doorknob.

  “Wait a minute,” Mary pleaded. “Leonard says it’s in God’s hands, that if Jeremy is guilty, he should be punished, and if he isn’t, God will intervene.”

  “Cut the crap, Mary.”

  Mary’s shoulders sagged and she began to weep. Not cry, but weep.

  Lee checked her watch again.

  “Mary, please, we can talk about this later. You don’t have to decide now. Talk to your sister. Pray, if that helps. But not to Leonard’s God. To yours.”

  A few seconds later, Mary wiped her eyes and nodded.

  “Okay, I will. Thank you.” She reached out for a hug.

  No, no, no, Lee thought, but then relented.

  A good lawyer will do almost anything for her client. A great lawyer, everything.

  As Lee expected, Dan started with the lead detective to give an overview of the facts and show how the defendant’s confession fit with the evidence. Because Phil was still a lawyer in good standing, Lee allowed him to sit at the defense table on the other side of Jeremy. Carla, who’d accidentally dyed her hair black, sat directly behind them with Mr. Clean, who had brought Jeremy over from the detention facility. It was a nice little cheering squad.

  As Detective Bruno described how the victim’s body looked when it was first discovered by the college students, Jeremy seemed more agitated than usual. He kept kicking the table leg and squirming.

  “You’ve heard all this before,” Lee whispered.

  “I know, but he makes it sound like Sam wasn’t real, that he was just a thing on the ground.”

  “That’s true, but they didn’t know him and they didn’t see him die. So they’re just describing what he looked like after you’d driven away.”

  Jeremy’s knees began bouncing up and down.

  “I shouldn’t have left him.”

  “Help,” Lee mouthed to Phil, who’d promised to babysit their client if necessary.

  “I’m on it,” Phil mouthed back and then put his hand on Jeremy’s arm. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered. “Check out the detective’s hair.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, it looks like … an animal pelt.”

  Jeremy’s knees stopped bouncing.

  “What-what kind of animal?”

  “I’m not sure.” Phil was squinting at the detective. “I once had a cat who looked just like that. Two Halloweens ago, he disappeared.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Phil interrupted him with a gasp.

  “Oh my God, it’s moving! Juju, is that you?”

  Jeremy had begun to giggle, which reminded Lee how young he was. And vulnerable. How his entire future depended on this hearing. There was a famous song that David Bowie and Queen sang in the ’80s, called “Under Pressure.” One of Lee’s colleagues used to sing it constantly until everyone in the office made him stop. Lee hummed a few bars before going back to note-taking.

  When Dan finished his direct, Lee stood up and walked to the podium. She had a couple of goals on cross: to nail down testimony for later use at trial, and to highlight any details suggesting Jeremy’s statements were involuntary, and that he was not in fact emancipated.

  “Detective Bruno,” she began, “you saw Sam Donnelly’s body at the scene before it was moved?” For Jeremy’s sake, she would try to personalize the victim.

  “Yes,” the detective answered, running a hand through his glossy black hair, careful not to muss it. Although he was short, about 5’7, his voice was loud, confident, and authoritative. In numerous cases over the years, his obvious and unshakeable confidence had persuaded jurors to dismiss their own doubts as inconsequential and to vote for the prosecution.

  “And from studying Sam’s body and the surrounding area, you and your team could determine that he had been kicked by multiple assailants?”

  “Yes,” he said. When the answer was a simple yes, Lee knew from past experience that the detective would not equivocate.

  “But you can’t say for sure how many.”

  “We know there were at least three assailants.”

  “But no conclusive proof beyond that?”

  “You are correct.” As if Lee were a student managing to answer the question right.

  “You collected various items at the scene for possible DNA analysis?” she asked.

  “Correct.”

  “My client’s DNA was not on any of the items.”

  “Correct.” Someone else might have tried to explain what that did or didn’t prove, but the detective was a pro.

  And so was Lee, who knew when to move on.


  “The jailhouse snitch in the case told you there was a party at Sam’s house a week before the murder?”

  “Correct.”

  “The three adult co-defendants were at the party, but not my client.”

  “The snitch, Mr. Heller, wasn’t sure.”

  Lee continued, undeterred.

  “You can’t prove my client was at the party.”

  “No.” He paused. “Not yet.”

  “The snitch also told you that the co-defendants discovered paperwork suggesting Sam was gay.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that there was talk about having a ‘boot party’ in Sam’s honor?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “There’s no proof my client knew about these plans.”

  “No, not yet.”

  In a neutral voice, she said, “Detective, you either have proof or you don’t. Which is it?”

  “We don’t.” But he couldn’t help himself. “Not yet.”

  Lee deliberately closed her notepad, signaling her intention to improvise.

  “When you say ‘not yet,’ you mean not until the co-defendants testify at my client’s trial?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you’re hoping they’ll implicate my client?”

  The detective crossed his arms and said, “I’m sure they will.”

  “And if they don’t?” She made it sound like a challenge, hoping he would take the bait.

  “They’ll lose their deal.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding as if he’d cleared things up for her.

  Dan immediately jumped to his feet.

  “Objection! The deal requires them to be truthful, not—”

  “This is outrageous,” Lee interrupted. “The prosecutor is coaching the witness.”

  Judge Samuels put up a hand.

  “I agree. Sit down, Mr. Andrews. You can ask the witness to explain his answer on redirect.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Dan sat down, smiling. He’d accomplished what he needed to do.

  “Right.” The detective was nodding in agreement. “They just have to be truthful.”

  Lee shook her head and opened her pad again. For the next thirty minutes, she questioned the detective about the facts leading to the arrest of the co-defendants and the seizure of their car outside the bar.