“Counsel approach, please.” The judge pressed a button on his bench that made static noise play through the speakers so no one in the courtroom could hear what they were talking about. Ganche waited until both Brigham and the prosecutor stood in front of him.
“Mr. Theodore,” the judge whispered, “you’re new, so I’m going to take it easy on you. But once I’ve made my ruling, I’ve made my ruling. You don’t question me. I am the law in here. Do you understand?”
“She shouldn’t be locked up, Your Honor. She’s not a threat to anybody.”
“I think she is. And what I think is more important than what you think.”
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
The judge smirked. “A wet dream Jefferson had. Now get back to the podium.”
Brigham walked back and stood there as the judge’s clerk searched for a date for the roll call. His anxiety and nervousness had turned to anger. He wanted to lash out at the judge, but he looked over at Molly. She moved her palm down, reminding him to calm down.
“Two weeks from today,” the judge said. “Make sure Mr. Dale is here so we can settle this, Mr. Heil.”
Brigham put his arm on Amanda’s shoulder. “I’ll come visit you soon.”
He watched as the bailiff pulled her back into the holding cells, and the door slammed shut.
Seventeen
The weather had turned from rainy and gray to sunny and cloudless in an instant. Brigham sat in his office reading a law review article from the University of Texas describing the standard of proof in mental health defenses. Scotty shuffled in. He paused in the doorway, but changed his mind and left. Then he stopped in the hallway, mumbled to himself, and came and sat down across from Brigham.
“What’s up, Scotty?”
“This case makes me nervous.”
“What case?”
“Amanda Pierce.”
“Why does it make you nervous?”
“’Cause you seem like a nice kid. I’ve seen a bunch of lawyers grow bitter because of what happens in court. I just don’t want that to happen to you.”
Brigham couldn’t help but grin. Scotty’s concern seemed genuine and it wasn’t a trait he’d seen in many law students or attorneys. “I’ll be okay.”
Scotty nodded sadly and rose, wringing his hands as he trudged back to his office.
Molly came in after that and sat down without a word. She ran her finger along the edge of the desk, wiping off some debris that had fallen from the wood-paneled ceilings. Brigham put the law review article down and looked at her.
“What?” she said.
“I think you’re starting to care about this case.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hating to lose.”
“There’s nothing wrong with caring about a case, either.”
She looked out the window. A car was parking and a man in a suit got out, wiping his nose. A woman stumbled out of the passenger seat in a nearly see-through dress. “I have to admit, this is more interesting than divorce cases. You have someone’s life on the line.”
Brigham watched her. The way the ends of her hair rested on her shoulders. The perfect outline of her face, her hands with the slender fingers that ended in brightly colored nails.
“I’d like to take you to dinner and a movie tonight,” he said.
“Like a date?”
“Not like a date. A date.”
“That’s pretty forward of you.”
“I’ve been practicing in the mirror.”
She chuckled. “I can see it . . . okay, yeah. Dinner and a movie. But I’m paying. I’m not having you miss your rent because you took me out.”
“I’m secure enough in my masculinity to accept that.”
“Tonight then. After work.”
Her phone buzzed and she rose, answering it as she walked out. Brigham went back to his article but couldn’t concentrate. Excitement tingled in his belly. He finally put the article away and decided he needed to be somewhere else. The coffee shop seemed as good a place as any. He strolled over there casually and found a seat near the entrance.
He checked Facebook, something he hadn’t done for at least a month. Old friends from back home were posting photos of their children. He flipped through, a smile on his face as he watched a video of a young boy trying to get the family dog out of his bed. He’d always figured twenty-six was too young for children and marriage, but now he wondered if he’d missed something, if that age—the age where you’re dirt poor and have to scrape together enough to eat every night—built some sort of bond in the marriage that was required to last long-term. Everyone he knew who had married later in life got divorced.
“Brigham?”
A man with brown hair and glasses stood in front of him, a Columbia coat wrapped tightly around him though it wasn’t that cold. The man had studied with Brigham at the library for the Bar, along with probably a dozen other graduating law students.
“Terrance, what’s up, man?”
Terrance sat down, removing the backpack that hung from his shoulder. “Haven’t seen you since the internship,” Terrance said. “How you been?”
“Good. Did they finally offer you a position?”
“No, unfortunately. The public defenders are usually the first thing cut in a budget crisis. They said they’d keep my résumé for whenever a position opened up, though.”
“Seems like a fun place to work.”
Terrance grinned. “Better than clerkships and big firms, man. I never wanted to go that route.”
Brigham noticed a ring on Terrance’s finger. “Are you married?”
Terrance held up his hand, displaying the ring fully. “Yup. Two weeks ago. Can’t afford a honeymoon yet, but hopefully soon.”
“Your wife’s cool with that?”
He shrugged. “What can she do? We don’t have the money. And our parents aren’t helping us. So where you working nowadays?”
“Law Office of TTB.”
“Haven’t heard of them. What type of law?”
“Criminal defense.”
“Seriously? Good for you.”
“It’s nothing serious. I get a cut of any cases I work. No salary or benefits.”
“Better than nothing, which is what I got right now. I might have to fall back on my computer science degree and get another programming job. That’s what I was doing right before law school put me eighty grand in debt. I think law was a bad decision.”
“Too late now.”
Terrance smirked as he glimpsed a couple coming inside the coffee shop. “Ain’t that the truth.” He stood. “It was nice seeing you. Stay in touch.”
“I will. You on Facebook?”
“I am. Look me up.”
Brigham surfed the Internet another few minutes before a smell caught his attention. He saw someone with a panini and a bag of chips. He pulled out his wallet. Exactly two dollars.
Brigham bought a bag of chips for a dollar seventy-five and left the quarter change in the tip jar. He ate slowly by the window, hoping to drag out the snack to make his brain think he was fuller than he was. A light drizzle of rain began. It pelted the window and his reflection looked speckled. The streets were quickly gleaming wet.
Across the street near the Trax station, an officer sprinted after a man trying to flee. The officer tackled him at the waist and two more police cruisers pulled up. Brigham pictured the man in jail and then in court. He saw the officers testifying about what happened, embellishing the man’s attempt to flee. He saw himself in court, trying to fight for him in a system where fairness had no place.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
The first date came quickly. Brigham stood in front of his bathroom mirror and stared at every hair to make sure it was in the right place. His best shirt, a blue polo shirt he’d go
tten at a secondhand store, looked about two years past its prime. He flipped the collar up, decided he looked like a frat boy, and then folded it down. Then he tried it with a jacket, then with a baseball cap. Eventually, he decided the best policy was to be himself. Molly was clearly out of his league, and there was no way there was going to be a second date so he might as well relax and have fun. He left the shirt on but took off the slacks and put on jeans and sneakers.
She picked him up and he felt elated in a way he could only describe to himself as giddy. Then he felt stupid for being almost thirty and feeling giddy, and tried to play it cool. Which, of course, backfired when he brought up Battlestar Galactica on the drive to the restaurant and Molly looked at him like he was crazy.
The dinner was in a trendy Italian restaurant. Boccio’s. The lights glimmered like gems in the dark as they strolled inside, a doorman holding the door open. The doorman looked to Molly, who wore a beautiful gown, and then his brow furrowed when he looked to Brigham.
I know, Brigham thought.
Brigham felt awkward there among people for whom money was just a given, like air. He had a deep sense that they were different than him. Not better, but different.
“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” Molly said between the main course and dessert.
“That obvious?”
“I don’t either.”
“Really? You seem like a pro. I don’t mean pro, I mean . . . I don’t think you’re a hooker, I meant . . . I’m going to go ahead and be quiet now.”
She chuckled, and Brigham thought making her laugh had to be the best feeling he’d ever had.
“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she said.
After dinner, Brigham insisted on paying but Molly took the check. “You buy the ice cream,” she said.
A sense of relief washed over Brigham. Though he had planned on paying, the check was more than he spent on groceries in a month.
The two of them strolled downtown. Though Utah had a reputation as being conservative, downtown Salt Lake City at night was always packed with crowds rushing into the various bars and clubs, art shows, and improv theaters.
“Why Salt Lake?” he said, as his hands went inside his pockets and Molly hooked her arm in his.
“It’s slow. People are more friendly here than in California. Less stress, I guess. That’s the great destroyer of civilizations now. Stress.” She paused. “You don’t seem that stressed to me.”
“Maybe I just shove it way down where I don’t think it’ll affect me.” He looked to her. “Until I blow up and jump off a bridge, I guess.”
She smiled. “Well, don’t jump just yet. I’m actually having fun.”
Molly leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was light, a peck, but his lips seemed to buzz afterward. As though the touch rejuvenated him. A sense came over him that Molly could have asked him to do just about anything for her right now and he would’ve done it. But all she did was rest her head on his shoulder as they walked the clean sidewalks, and gaze at the stars in the clear sky on the way to an ice cream parlor up the street.
Eighteen
Two weeks came and went in the blink of an eye. Brigham’s days were spent researching motions and drafting cross-examinations for the eventual preliminary hearing and trial. He used Scotty as his mock jury, but he frequently fell asleep because of an anti-anxiety medication he was on. Brigham let him sleep and kept going.
The roll call was as packed as the arraignment. Brigham came early to the courthouse so he could get the first spot. He went into the holding cells and sat in a chair in the corner. A bailiff shouted, “Pierce. Your lawyer’s back here.”
Amanda quietly walked out with a rattle from the chains. She sat across from him and tried to smile. She looked pale and skinny.
“Everything all right at the jail?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“They’re feeding you okay and everything?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If you’re having any problems, let me know.”
She looked up at him. “I’m fine. What’re we doing today?”
“We’re just going to be setting the case for what’s called a preliminary hearing. It’s kind of like a miniature trial. The state has to present enough evidence to convince a judge that a crime was committed and that you committed it. They have to show evidence for every element of every crime they’re charging you with. But the standard is much lower than a trial. Just enough to make sure they have the right person.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll call your case as soon as I can.”
Brigham hurried back to the courtroom. At least five lawyers were now ahead of him. As he went to sit down at the end of the bench, the doors to the courtroom opened and Vince Dale walked in.
The suit he was wearing probably cost more than anyone else’s in the courtroom. The knot of his bow tie today was perfectly flawed, just enough to show that it wasn’t a cheap pre-tied one. His pocket square echoed a glimpse of the lining of his suit. An assistant trailed behind him, holding his files and a laptop. Brigham had asked Tommy about Vince, and all Tommy had said was that Vince Dale was next in line to be district attorney. He had the political support of the county Republican Party, which was essentially a guarantee that he would be DA, and he had wealthy backers. Brigham wondered how it was someone found wealthy backers—probably with deals they wouldn’t want made public.
“Mr. Theodore,” Vince said, a smile on his lips. “So glad you could make it.”
“We’ll still take manslaughter if you wanna offer it.”
He scoffed. “I think we’re past the point of negotiation.” “Guess you’re right. Conviction in a big case like this right before an election looks pretty good, don’t it?”
Vince leaned down, close enough to whisper. “I eat cocky assholes like you for breakfast.”
Brigham grinned. “Yeah, that’s the kind of breakfast I’d expect of you.” He leaned back. “Might want to get comfortable. I’m last in line.”
“Nonsense. Now we can’t have poor Ms. Pierce sitting on pins and needles, can we?” Vince went up to the podium, practically pushing a female defense attorney out of the way, and said to the bailiff, “I’m ready on my case.”
The bailiff, as if receiving an order from his boss, went back behind the judge’s seat and through a door. He came back out a minute later and said, “All rise. Third District Court is now in session. The Honorable Thomas Ganche presiding.”
The judge sat down and turned on his computer before noticing Vince.
“Mr. Dale, pleasure to see you again.”
“You too, Your Honor. How was George’s graduation?”
“Four grandchildren down and two to go. Then I can retire once they’re all out of college.”
“Well, that would certainly be our loss.”
He grinned as the clerk handed him a red file. “Opinions vary on that, I think. What have you got today?”
“Amanda Pierce, Your Honor.”
Ganche scanned the courtroom and his eyes rested on Brigham. “Care to join us, Mr. Theodore?”
Brigham confidently strode to the defense podium to the sneers of a few defense attorneys. It reminded him of a group of vultures laughing at one of their own who was about to be eaten.
“What’s anticipated, Counsel?”
Brigham said, “We request a preliminary hearing, Your Honor.”
Ganche looked at both of them and then closed the file. “In chambers, please.”
Vince strolled around the podium and casually walked across the courtroom, following the judge through the door that the bailiff had used earlier. Brigham followed.
That was how powerful judges were, Brigham thought. That they cou
ld leave a hundred people at any time and the people would just have to wait for them.
They went back to the judge’s chambers, nothing but a large office with its own bathroom. An American flag hung on one wall, along with several photos of a young Thomas Ganche in military uniform. His diplomas, displayed prominently behind the desk where everyone entering could see them, said he received his undergraduate degree from Cornell and his law degree from the University of Texas.
“Don’t tell me you have your eyes on a trial,” he said.
Vince went to a mini-fridge and took a bottle of water. He sat down next to Brigham and unbuttoned his suit coat.
“Yes, we are going to trial,” Brigham said.
Ganche shook his head. “Son, that is just stupid. What’s the offer?”
“Homicide, fifteen to life,” Vince said.
Ganche turned to Brigham. “No death penalty. That’s a fine offer for something done with people around.”
“I’ll decide after prelim,” Brigham insisted.
Vince took a sip of the water. “After prelim, the offer’s off the table.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to make me do a prelim on a case that you should plead to.”
Ganche shrugged in an up-to-you way.
“I’ll talk to my client,” Brigham said.
“You do that,” Ganche said. “We’ll wait.”
Brigham hesitated and then rose. He went out to the courtroom and to Amanda, who was still standing at the podium.
“The prosecutor said if you don’t take the deal right now, it’s off the table.”
“I have to decide right now?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
She thought for a second. “What do you think?”
“I think we should tell them to shove their deal where the sun don’t shine. But if we lose, I’m not the one that’s looking at the death penalty.”
She shook her head. “They just want me to go away. I saw my case in the news. They want me to go away.”
“Maybe. It can’t look good to parents that someone who did what you did is facing the death penalty. You’d also be the first woman to face it in this state. I don’t think the prosecutor wants to be known as the first prosecutor in Utah to execute a woman.”
The Neon Lawyer Page 8
