Mercy (A Neon Lawyer Novel Book 2)

by Victor Methos

  Brigham shook his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t watch you get convicted.”

  Ted, a melancholy smile on his face, said, “Yes, you can. Because you’re all I’ve got left.”

  He went inside, leaving Brigham alone in the darkness of the porch.

  31

  When Brigham woke for the trial, he checked the clock and saw he’d gotten only about two hours of sleep. But he felt wired and energetic, a result, he guessed, from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through him.

  He had several voicemails from Molly, but he didn’t check them. Not now.

  A few days before, he’d been fitted for a proper suit, as his accountant had recommended. The suit fit so well that it almost made him uncomfortable, as if he were showing off. He hoped the jury wouldn’t see it that way. To counteract this, he retrieved a watch from his dresser drawer: a Donald Duck watch, a present from his nephew when he’d gotten into law school. He made sure the watch was visible from all angles and then slipped on his shoes and headed out the door.

  The bike ride to the courthouse took only ten minutes in light traffic. The sun wasn’t fully out yet, and the sky was that odd color of orange between darkness and light. As he got to the courthouse steps and locked up his bike, he stared at the sky for a few seconds and couldn’t move.

  This was madness. Rushing the trial as they had, essentially, they were throwing witnesses up there and seeing what was going to come out of their mouths. He had no idea what was going to happen. But one good thing, he thought, was that the prosecutor didn’t know either.

  What choice did he have? He could either withdraw or respect his client’s wishes. And he didn’t want to withdraw—not now that he knew his client hadn’t done it.

  He went through the metal detectors, and his shoes made the scanners go off. He was asked to step aside, and was wanded.

  He took the elevator up to Judge Lawrence’s floor, who had inherited the case since she didn’t actually do the preliminary hearing. The elevator was packed, but he couldn’t understand anybody’s conversations. It was like background noise. Everything was in slow motion.

  Innocence or guilt wasn’t really something he had ever considered. Brigham had looked only at what was fair and wanted that outcome for his clients. Looking back over the past year, he could think of only perhaps two or three clients that he felt were truly innocent and being unfairly prosecuted. Two or three out of five or six hundred. Those cases were for minor offenses, though. Shoplifting, pot possession… things that wouldn’t haunt them for the rest of their lives.

  Ted Montgomery would die in prison if Brigham lost this trial. An innocent man, confused and frightened, covering for his brother. Possibly.

  Brigham wanted to believe everything his clients told him but had been burned too many times. In most cases, they were people with long criminal histories who had spent a lifetime lying to protect themselves and didn’t understand when someone was truly there to help them. They lied to their own lawyers as much as to the police and prosecution.

  Brigham wasn’t certain if Ted was telling the truth, but there was an easy way to find out.

  The courtroom wasn’t open yet, but Ted was already there, along with his three children, Tim, and his wife.

  “Tim, can I talk to you for a second?” Brigham said.

  Ted’s face dropped. Brigham knew he didn’t want it discussed with Tim, so he would have to be careful.

  Brigham opened a door to a small room marked Attorney/Client and waited for Tim to enter. Ted stood up and was about to say something but Brigham cut him off and said, “One minute.”

  Brigham sat across from Tim and just held his gaze. Tim was larger than Ted and had more gray hair, though he was the younger brother. He clearly lifted weights, and his muscles bulged under the polo shirt he was wearing. His eyes were a steel gray, and for a long time, the two men simply stared at each other.

  “Did you?” Brigham asked.

  Tim looked down. He folded his hands on the table, his fingers interlacing. “He told you?” he asked softly.

  “Tim, he’s going to go to prison for the rest of his life. How can you sit by and let that happen?”

  “You think I want to? I’ve tried to go to the police, like, ten times. Ted kept saying he would deny it and say I’m just covering for him. He’d get really pissed about it. The one thing he asked is that I watch the kids while he’s gone. I love those kids; I’d do it anyway.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “Hey, this isn’t easy for anybody. I loved Ruby. She was like my sister. I stuck a damn needle in her arm, and she was dead after that. That shit haunts me every night.” He leaned back in the chair and released a big breath. “What can I do to help him?”

  “You can take the stand, and tell the jury what you did.”

  “Ted wouldn’t take that. He’d just get up there and contradict it.”

  “Not if he testifies first.”

  Tim held his gaze. “You’re his lawyer. You know you’re going against his wishes, right?”

  “He can be pissed with me all he wants later. At least he’ll be outta prison.”

  The word “prison” sent a small tremor through Timothy’s face. His eyes widened and his lips parted slightly as he realized what testifying would mean.

  “They’re going to come after me hard, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe. But they might be so embarrassed that they had the wrong person they might give you a deal just to get this case outta the news.”

  “What kinda deal?”

  “I don’t know. But if Ted is acquitted, I will represent you for free. It would make Ted a former client with no repercussions available, since jeopardy would attach and they couldn’t try him again. Which means I can use any information I want to defend you.”

  He shook his head. “How the hell did it come to this?”

  “Why did you do it? If you could’ve gotten her to Oregon, euthanasia’s legal there.”

  “I know. We tried. Her doctors and the hospital said it was a liability issue, and they couldn’t release her. I think they just didn’t want her to die, had some moral thing against it. And she didn’t want to go until the very end. But by then she was in so much pain the doctors didn’t believe her. They thought she was delusional from the pain.”

  Brigham leaned forward. “Help me, Tim. Help me save your brother’s life. Testify for him.”

  He nodded. “I’ll do it… I’ll do it.”

  32

  Brigham stepped out of the Attorney/Client room and saw Ted glaring at him. Brigham brushed past him and into the courtroom. If Ted asked him what was happening, he’d have to tell him. And Ted would ruin it during his testimony. The trial just had to start as quickly as possible so Ted could be distracted.

  Brigham wasn’t entirely sure about what he’d just done. He’d purposely disobeyed the wishes of his client. But he felt his duty was more than just doing what his clients wanted. His job was to look after them, and sometimes that meant doing the opposite of what they wanted if it was good for them in the long term.

  He felt sorry for Timothy, too. With a baby on the way, he would likely be in prison for the baby’s birth, unable to see his child grow up. But Brigham felt he could create enough of a stir in the media about the DA’s office having arrested and put on trial an innocent man that he could push them into giving Tim a good deal. Maybe even avoiding prison altogether and just serving a few months in the county jail.

  But Timothy was not his client right now. Ted was.

  The courtroom was cold, though there were no windows or open doors. He walked to the defense table and saw Debra setting up some poster-board presentations. The homicide statute was most prominent, as was diminished capacity and a discussion of how the burden of proof shifted to the defense for diminished capacity: the defense actually had to present evidence for it, and the State was not required to provide any to the contrary. Brigham was required to provide proof of their affirmative defense befo
re trial, but he wished that wasn’t the law. It seemed unfair that a man fighting for his life had to tell the prosecution beforehand how he was going to defend himself.

  Brigham sat at the defense table and rested his hand on it. It felt cool.

  What he was about to do would be considered unethical. He was disobeying a direct request by the client not to reveal information learned through confidential communications. Ted, if he filed a Bar complaint, could get Brigham suspended, maybe even disbarred if the Utah State Bar felt the violation was egregious enough.

  The weight of it made him anxious, but the weight of losing this trial and watching an innocent man with three children die in prison was heavier. He would do it and deal with the repercussions as they came.

  Debra crossed the courtroom and stood next to him with her arms folded. “Want to talk?”

  “Is there a point?”

  “Same offer as before.”

  “Then no, we don’t need to talk.”

  She shrugged and went back to her table.

  Brigham heard the double doors leading into the courtroom open. He glanced back to see who it was and saw Molly walking into the courtroom. She smiled slightly at him and then sat at the prosecution table. He stared at her, not believing what he was seeing. She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

  Brigham was on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

  “What?” Debra said. “She’s second-chairing.”

  “What are you talking about? She was a partner at the firm that’s defending him. She can’t do that.”

  “Take it up with the judge.”

  Brigham looked at Molly. “Really? You’re good with this?”

  “I objected to it. But I was ordered to come down and do the trial.”

  “Ordered? What are you, cannon fodder? Fuck Vince Dale. Quit.”

  “Brigham,” she said, “calm down.”

  “Calm down? He’s got my girlfriend going up against me, my girlfriend who heard me talk about this case, and I’m supposed to be calm. He’s doing this to screw with me, Molly. How could you go along with it?”

  “I’ve got a job to do and so do you. We don’t need to make this personal. And by the way, answer your phone. I tried calling you a dozen times to tell you.”

  Brigham shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”

  He sat back down at the defense table, unable to look at her. Losing his temper wasn’t something he did often, and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. All the emotions were boiling up inside him and growing louder, and he didn’t know how to get them out. He rose and stormed out of the courtroom, brushing past Ted and his family.

  Outside the courtroom, he found an empty Attorney/Client room. Locking the door, he paced around the room, and then seemingly with a burst of energy he didn’t know was coming, he flipped over the table. A loud crash echoed in the small room and he shouted, “Shit.”

  He covered his face in his hands and took a deep breath. Then he leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Not only could he be disbarred over this case, he was pretty certain his relationship of one year had just ended.

  His head dipped low, against his arms, and he closed his eyes. There was only one person in the world he felt like calling right now, and it made him feel like a child that he wanted to do it. But he pulled out his phone and dialed the number anyway.

  “Brigham, oh my gosh, how are you?”

  “Hey, Ma. I’m okay. I just wanted to call and say hi.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “How’s everybody there?”

  “Good. Same as always. You remember Candice Robbins? From church? You two used to play together and you said you would get married when you got older.”

  “Yeah, I remember her.”

  “Well, she got married. It’s a banker from Wall Street. She’s moving to Manhattan. Can you believe that? Little Candice Robbins in Manhattan.”

  He took in a deep breath and stretched his legs out. “I miss your food. I could really use your bourbon chicken.”

  “Well, anytime you want to, you come out here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try to make it this summer… Listen, I gotta run to court. I just wanted to check up on you really quick.”

  “Aren’t you sweet, but I’m your mother.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I knew you felt crummy the moment you spoke. What’s the matter, baby?”

  He grinned. She had always had the eerie ability that mothers had to see through any façade he built. “Just work trouble. Nothing serious.”

  “Okay, well, if you need to talk to anybody, I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks, Ma. I’ll call you soon.”

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and stood up. He was glad nobody had come in to check when he’d tipped the table over. He straightened it and checked to make sure there wasn’t any damage. When he was convinced everything was how he’d found it, he left the room and went back to the defense table. The judge would be coming out soon.

  33

  The bailiff called for everyone to rise. Brigham did so, buttoning the top button on his suit coat. He glanced behind him and saw Ted’s family in the audience, surrounded by the media: several reporters from websites and blogs that followed the world of crime, as well as two cameras. Sitting next to him at the defense table was Ted, and on Ted’s other side was Rebecca.

  The judge took the bench and adjusted the files on her desk before turning on her computer. She then glanced at both parties and said, “You may be seated.” When the lawyers sat, she said, “Any issues before we bring out the jury panel?”

  “May I approach?” Brigham asked.

  “Certainly.”

  Brigham rose and went to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, the State has asked Ms. Molly Becker to second-chair this trial. Ms. Becker is a former partner at my firm. She was with my firm when Mr. Montgomery hired us. It’s a clear conflict, and I’m worried she has confidential information obtained by privileged communications that will be used against my client. I would ask the Court to remove the Salt Lake County District Attorney’s Office due to a conflict and the violation of attorney–client privilege.”

  “Ms. Flynn, what’s going on?”

  “Your Honor, the ethical rules allow for this situation as long as the party involved has no confidential information about the client. And even then, the rules allow the agency to continue on the case as long as the interested party was walled off from any involvement in the case previously. Ms. Becker has no confidential information whatsoever. Mr. Montgomery was Mr. Theodore’s client and has never said a word to Ms. Becker. Further, she knew nothing about the case other than that her firm was representing him.”

  The judge thought a moment and said, “Well, my question is, why am I hearing about this now?”

  Brigham replied, “I literally found out as she walked into the courtroom, Your Honor.”

  The judge said, “Let me look at the rules, hold on.”

  She turned to her computer and was on it a good ten minutes. The silence in the courtroom was palpable. Most people thought judges knew the law and ethics rules off the tops of their heads, but that just wasn’t true. Nobody knew. There was no reason to when all the codes, ordinances, and ethical rules could be kept on a smartphone.

  Brigham couldn’t bring himself to look over at Ted, much less at Molly. He kept his eyes on the wooden bench surrounding the judge in front of him. Someone had carved the words “Fight the power” into it with a pen.

  “Under Rule 1.8 K, it states that, ‘While lawyers are associated in a firm, a prohibition in the foregoing paragraphs A through I that applies to one of them shall apply to all of them.’ And in the preceding paragraph section B, it states that ‘a lawyer shall not use any information gained in the representation of a client to the client’s disadvantage in further proceedings.’ So basically, a lawyer can’t use confidential information to harm their client, and if a lawyer from one firm represents a client, these r
ules apply to all the lawyers in the firm. That was my previous understanding of the rules, as well.”

  Debra said, “But the key to that is that we can’t use any information detrimental to the client that was gained during the representation. There was no information gained during the representation other than his name and a general description of the case, which was public information anyway. Ms. Becker literally doesn’t have anything to hurt the defendant with.”

  “Your Honor,” Brigham said, “these rules are not meant to be bent when it suits the Court. It is a per se conflict, regardless of the amount of information or its quality. And the fact is, we don’t know what’s important right now. What if something that Ms. Becker overheard by the water cooler is pivotal in the trial?”

  The judge leaned back, thought a moment, and then said, “It’s going too far. I’m not going to allow it. Ms. Flynn, the conflict is clear, and Mr. Theodore is right; we don’t know what she knows until something pops up. You can either go forward with another second chair, or I will grant Mr. Theodore’s request that the Salt Lake County District Attorney’s Office be disqualified from the prosecution of Ted Montgomery.”

  Debra was going to say something but sighed instead and said, “We will be going forward without her.”

  “Very well, then. Anything further from either party?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Great. Then let’s bring out the panel.”

  Jury selection was the least interesting part of any trial for Brigham. Hundreds of millions of dollars a year were spent on jury-selection experts, and all the valid research that had been performed on them said that there was no correlation between money spent on experts and favorable jury outcomes. Human beings were too complex and too deceptive for anyone to ever truly know how they were going to rule on a particular case.