Winter's Law

by Penner, Stephen

  But what bothered her even more was her first thought when he offered to buy her dinner: it wasn’t butterflies at being asked out, it was relief at the thought of one free meal.

  It was time for Talon to check in with her own lawyer.

  By the looks of his office lobby, Samuel Sullivan was doing just fine, thank you. First of all, his office was in Seattle, not Tacoma, so rent was much higher. Second, it was on the top floor of a ten-story building with a deck overlooking Elliott Bay. But then again, that had been part of why Talon had hired him. Everyone wants a successful lawyer—it shows they win a lot.

  With a frown, she wondered what her new office showed about her.

  Before she could get too melancholy, the receptionist hung up the phone and announced, “Mr. Sullivan will see you now.”

  Talon’s frown turned into a practiced smile. She stood up and straightened her skirt. “Thank you.” She really hoped Sullivan had good news.

  She followed the young receptionist back to Sullivan’s office, passing several smaller associate attorney offices along the way. Talon couldn’t help but wonder if he might be hiring. But they reached the office door and she returned her thoughts to her role as the client.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan,” she said, extending her hand. “Thank you for finding the time to meet with me.”

  Sullivan stood up from his large, ornate desk, and stuck a meaty hand in hers. He was a large man, well over six feet and at least 250 pounds, with thick white hair and stubbly jowls. “Of course, of course,” he answered. “I always have time for you. Sit down, sit down. Can we get you anything to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  Talon took a seat across Sullivan’s desk. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Sullivan nodded and dismissed his receptionist with a quick gesture. She slipped out and closed the door behind her. Then Sullivan lumbered back to his desk and dropped into his leather chair.

  “How the hell are you, Talon?” he asked. “How’s the new practice going? Taken over the world yet?”

  Talon smiled. She appreciated his confidence in her. Or at least the flattery.

  “Not yet,” she admitted with a light laugh, “but I’m working on it. I just got a client charged with murder. My first big case.”

  Sullivan raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Well, my only case,” Talon admitted. “But a good one to start with.”

  Sullivan pushed out an approving lip and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That should get your name in the papers. Free advertising never hurts. Can he pay you?”

  Talon shrugged. “Barely, but yes.”

  Sullivan smiled again. “Did you charge enough?’

  Talon shrugged again. “Probably not, but it’s all he can afford. And I want the case.”

  “For the publicity?” Sullivan confirmed.

  But Talon shook her head. “No, because he’s innocent.”

  Sullivan’s eyebrow shot back up. “Innocent? Really?”

  Talon had to pause before replying. “Well, maybe not completely innocent. But he shouldn’t be convicted either. It’s a twenty-year-old cold case. Even if he did do it, he’s moved on. He’s got a wife and couple of kids, a good job.”

  Sullivan took a moment to size her up, his thoughts masked behind appraising eyes. “Sounds like he hired the right attorney.”

  Talon surrendered a half-smile. “Thanks. But I didn’t come to talk about his attorney. I came to talk with my attorney. How’s the case going?”

  Sullivan provided his own half-smile. “Oh, you know how these civil cases are. They take forever. Not like criminal cases.”

  Talon shrugged. “I guess so. I’m still getting used to the criminal practice. Negotiations are a little different. Lives instead of money.”

  Sullivan nodded. “That’s why I stay the hell away from criminal cases.” He looked around his opulent office. “I like money.”

  Talon wasn’t allergic to it either. Especially lately. “Speaking of which,” she broached, “have they made any settlement offers?”

  She hoped her voice didn’t betray her financial concerns.

  Sullivan frowned. “No, not yet. That’s not how these go. You know that. We have a lot of discovery ahead of us. Interrogatories, requests for production, depositions. The only offer now would be a nuisance value offer. Five thousand and go away. But I didn’t take this case to get thirty-three percent of five-k. That won’t pay a week’s rent here.”

  It would pay Talon’s rent for the month. But she knew Sullivan was right. The case would be worth a lot more if she could be patient and get it all the way to a jury.

  “Should we suggest a settlement amount?” she asked anyway.

  Sullivan frowned slightly. He shook his head. “No, not yet. It’s too soon. We need to do some discovery. Get their documents. Depose the partners. Make them sweat. Make it hurt. Then, maybe, we can talk settlement.”

  He leaned forward onto his desk. “Are you getting cold feet, Talon?”

  Talon shook her head. “No. No, definitely not. It’s just—” She hesitated, unsure for a moment whether she should share her thoughts. Then she recalled the nature of their relationship, and how much she hated it when clients wouldn’t tell her the whole story. They always did eventually, but in the meantime it could really skew her strategy and waste her time if the client wasn’t honest about their true goals. “It’s just that it’s hard setting up a practice. Harder than I expected, I guess. If there was a lot of money on the table, I’d be tempted to take it.”

  Sullivan leaned back in his chair again. “That’s what I thought. Sorry, Talon. There’s no money on the table at all. We’re going to have to earn that. Pry it out of their good-for-nothing hands.”

  Talon nodded. “Right. We can do that.”

  “Let me do some work on this,” Sullivan offered. “Take a look at where we’re at. Maybe we can accelerate things a bit, put some pressure on them. Who knows? If they see how strong our case is, maybe they’ll blink first and we can get that settlement for you after all.”

  “Okay.” Talon was glad to hear it.

  “But let me ask you this,” Sullivan went on. “What would you tell your murder client if the prosecutor made a crappy offer?”

  Talon thought for a moment. “I’d advise him to reject it.”

  “Why?” Sullivan pressed.

  Talon considered for a moment. “Because he shouldn’t be convicted. Any offer is a crappy offer. Better to go to trial and win.”

  “You go to trial,” Sullivan countered, “you could lose.”

  Talon nodded. “I know that.”

  “Then know it here too,” Sullivan answered. “We could lose. But I’m going to do everything I can to win.”

  Talon thought about it for a moment. Then she met Sullivan’s gaze and smiled. “Me too.”

  Chapter 6

  As with her own civil case, there was no offer in Michael Jameson’s criminal case yet either. That was fine with Talon, though. She knew not to be the first one to make an offer. That was Negotiating 101. And if it applied to salary negotiations or buying a new car, it sure as hell applied to plea negotiations on a murder case. Besides, Jameson hadn’t given her authority to make any offers. So, Talon would wait for the offer from Quinlan and then she and Michael could talk about it. In the meantime, there was a barbeque to attend.

  Michael’s son was graduating from high school. Michael had invited Talon to the party. She knew not to say no. They didn’t need to be friends, but they needed to trust each other. Something less than friends, but more than attorney-client.

  Plus, it would give her insight into her client. Never a bad thing.

  The first thing Talon noticed when she arrived at the Jameson residence was that Michael—or his son—was very popular. She had to park two blocks away. The next thing she noticed was that Michael—or his wife—was highly competent. There were probably over a hundred people there, and every one of them looked like they had all the drinks, food, or whatever they could
possibly want. Michael was at the grill, slinging burgers and dogs into waiting buns. He nodded at Talon when she stepped through the gate into the backyard. Before she could nod back, Mrs. Jameson appeared out of nowhere and took her gently by the arm.

  “You must be Ms. Winter,” the forty-something African-American woman said. She was average height, with toned arms and an enviously flat stomach. Probably a runner, Talon thought with that mixture of admiration and disdain non-runners had for runners and their lean runners’ bodies. “I’m Alicia, Michael’s wife. Nice to meet you finally. Michael’s told me all about you.”

  Talon relaxed into Alicia’s grip as she guided her into the backyard, surrounded by a mixture of high schoolers and their parents. “Good things, I hope,” Talon said.

  “Yes, definitely,” Alicia confirmed. “I’m glad you came. Michael wasn’t sure about inviting you. Mixing business with pleasure, and all that. But I wanted to meet you, and not at your office. Anyone can look good in an office. I wanted to meet you on my turf.”

  Talon couldn’t help but smile at Alicia. She liked her already. And she told her as much.

  Alicia laughed, but it was a polite laugh with a confident strength supporting it. “This is the most important thing that’s ever happened to our family. I trust Michael. But I trust myself more. I want to make sure our family can rely on you.”

  Talon felt the weight of the comment, and thought back on her conversation with Sullivan. He liked money. Good for him. She liked it too, back when she worked for Gardelli, High & Steinmetz. Now she was working for more than money. A man’s life was at stake. That much she understood from the get go. Alicia was now reminding her it was even more important than that. She had an entire family in her hands.

  Alicia nodded toward a gaggle of twelve-year-old girls talking and laughing on the deck. “The girl in the white dress is our daughter, Kaylee. She’s very social.”

  Then Alicia pointed to the back corner of the yard. “And that young man there is Marcus,” she said, the pride in her voice betraying the impending identification. “Our son.”

  Talon craned her neck slightly to get a good look at him, seated atop a picnic table, his status as guest of honor confirmed by the semicircle of friends attending him.

  “Nice looking young man,” Talon remarked. He had the build of an athlete, but the face of a scholar, with bright eyes and a staid expression. Almost too staid. “How’s he doing?”

  Alicia’s own expression slipped at the question. Or rather at the answer she had to admit. “Not well.”

  Talon nodded. She could hardly expect differently.

  “Come on.” Alicia took Talon’s arm again. “Let me introduce you.”

  The backyard was ample but enormous, and a short walk through the maze of guests brought them quickly enough to Marcus’ location. His courtiers gave way to Ms. Jameson and she stepped into the circle with Talon. “Marcus, this is Talon Winter. Dad’s lawyer.”

  Marcus regarded Talon. Maybe critically, but Talon wasn’t quite sure. His eyes were bright, but also guarded. Like light through cracks in armor. After a moment, he nodded in acknowledgement, and offered a barely audible grunt of greeting. It was then that Talon realized the entire time she’d been watching him, it was his friends who had been doing the talking. Marcus’s mouth had held a tight line the entire time.

  No matter. Lawyers can always fill silence. “Nice to meet you, Marcus. Congratulations.”

  Marcus offered a small, pained grin, somehow more frown than smile. “Yeah.”

  A couple of the friends decided to take their leave, offering an ‘I’m gonna get another soda’ and ‘I gotta pee’ as excuses. Talon knew they weren’t abandoning their friend; they were giving him privacy. A small-statured Asian girl climbed up onto the table and sat next to Marcus, taking his hand in hers. The girlfriend. Maybe she’d be more talkative.

  “Hi,” Talon tried. “I’m Talon.”

  The girl nodded. “Christie,” she practically conceded, with no words to follow. Guess not.

  Not only were lawyers usually adept at filling silences, they also knew that not filling a silence could prompt the other party to talk. So Talon waited a moment to see if Marcus might open up a bit. It might have worked too, except his mom was there.

  “Marcus,” Alicia admonished. “Be polite. Ms. Winter is our guest. And she’s helping your father, so show some respect.”

  Marcus frowned at his mother. Then he looked over at his father. Talon followed his gaze. Michael Jameson was at the grill, sliding a hamburger patty onto some other parent’s plate and generally pretending like he wasn’t facing the rest of his life in prison. Marcus looked back at Talon, then at his mom.

  “You had to hire a white lawyer?” he asked. “Are all the Black ones in jail?”

  Talon felt the force of the question. Race was never far from the surface for her, but it was nowhere but on the surface for Marcus.

  “Marcus!” Alicia responded. “That was uncalled for. You apologize right now.”

  Marcus frowned at Talon. “I'm sorry you're White.”

  Alicia released an audible gasp, but this time Talon placed her hand on Alicia’s arm. “It's okay, Alicia. I understand. He's got a point.” Then, looking back to Marcus, she added, “And anyway, I'm not White.”

  Marcus' frown gave way to a confused expression. He sat up slightly and looked to his girlfriend who only offered her own shrug in reply.

  “I'm Native American,” Talon explained. “While your ancestors were being enslaved, mine were being exterminated.”

  Even Alicia seemed surprised. Talon was used to it. Absent traditional garb, there wasn’t anything about her that screamed ‘Native!’ She just looked exotic. Hispanic maybe, or Italian. She could blend in as white. But not Marcus. And not Michael. Talon understood that, but she wasn’t going to wallow in it either.

  “Let's try to move past what you and I are,” she said, “and worry about what your dad is. Not guilty.”

  It was a nice sound bite, but Marcus hadn't become bitter without cause. “That's just it. It doesn't matter if my dad's not guilty. He's Black. So he's going to prison. That's how it works, right?”

  Talon wished she could just say no. But instead, she fell back reflexively on the law. “He's presumed innocent.”

  “Yeah, right,” Marcus laughed. He shook his head. “You know, growing up, Dad always told me I could be anything I wanted to be. A doctor, a lawyer, even President. But my friends, they told me no way. I'm Black and everything's gonna be twice as hard for half the reward, if I'm lucky. And that’s only if I don't get shot walking home from school, or arrested 'cause I was driving through a white neighborhood. And they knew. They knew because they went home to shitty houses, with cop cars slowing to look at them, and their own dads in prison. But me,” Marcus paused and gestured to his home: the large backyard, the yellow two-story house, the deck with the grill. “I came home to this. All this. And Mom, and Dad, and Kaylee. And even though everyone else said Dad was wrong, I believed him. Because of all of this. I believed him.”

  Marcus lowered his head for a moment, then punched the picnic table and looked up again. “But it was a lie. Because no matter how much good he did, no matter how hard he worked for his family, no matter how much he succeeded, he's still a Black man. And they'll go back twenty-five years if they have to, but they’ll take it all away. They can take it all away.”

  Talon looked over again at Michael Jameson. He was still manning the grill, but he turned his head and caught her gaze. He was acting the part of strong father, but she could see the fear in his eyes, even across the crowded yard. She turned back to Marcus and leaned into his space, grabbing him by the back of the neck and staring into his equally frightened eyes. “Not if I can help it.”

  Chapter 7

  It was easy enough to tell Marcus Jameson that she'd keep his dad out of prison. It was another thing to actually do it.

  Facts, it's said, are stubborn things. And words are empty t
hings. Full of meaning but devoid of anything tangible. The currency of politicians and cheating lovers, of con men and cult leaders. And lawyers.

  So when the offer from Quinlan finally came, Talon knew it was only so many words. But still, words she had to share with her client. Even the worst offer had to be communicated to the client; it was the client’s decision to accept or reject it, after appropriate advice from the lawyer. A lawyer who failed to communicate an offer was just asking for a bar complaint later—especially if the client got convicted as charged at trial.

  And the offer from Quinlan wasn’t the worst offer. Unfortunately, it was a pretty good offer. Unfortunate for three reasons. One, because she knew Jameson wouldn’t take it; two, because she would have to counsel him to at least consider it; and three, because her advice to at least consider it could threaten the trust they needed between them if they were possibly going to win the case at trial.

  It was best to do that kind of conversation in person. With a witness. So a few emails later, she’d scheduled a client meeting with both Michael Jameson and Curt Fairchild, to discuss the offer, then start preparing for the inevitable trial. Curt arrived a few minutes early, which was nice since it gave them a chance to prepare for the preparation. Hannah waved him through reception and he settled into one of Talon’s office guest chairs almost before she knew he was in her office.

  “Hey, boss,” he started with a boyish grin. “What’s the plan?”

  Talon felt a combination of irritation that Hannah hadn’t given her a moment to compose herself before Curt stepped into her office and pleasure at seeing him again even if she wasn’t fully ready for the meeting. And anyway, she was mostly ready. She knew he was coming after all.

  “Here,” she said, pulling a print-out of Quinlan’s email from her file and sliding it across the desk.