The Lincoln Lawyer Collection

by Connelly, Michael

  Maggie tapped me on the arm and pointed toward a man seated at the prosecution table with three other lawyers.

  “That’s Rivas on the end.”

  “Okay. You go talk to him while I check in with the clerk.”

  “You don’t have to check in, Haller. You’re a prosecutor, remember?”

  “Oh, cool. I forgot.”

  We headed over to the prosecution table and Maggie introduced me to Rivas. The prosecutor was a baby lawyer, probably no more than a few years out of a top-ranked law school. My guess was that he was biding his time, playing office politics and waiting to make a move up the ladder and out of the hellhole of arraignment court. It didn’t help that I had come from across the aisle to grab the golden ring of the office’s current caseload. By his body language I registered his wariness. I was at the wrong table. I was the fox in the henhouse. And I knew that before the hearing was over, I was going to confirm his suspicions.

  After the perfunctory handshake, I looked around for Clive Royce and found him seated against the railing, conferring with a young woman who was probably his associate. They were leaning toward each other, looking into an open folder with a thick sheaf of documents in it. I approached with my hand out.

  “Clive ‘The Barrister’ Royce, how’s it hanging, old chap?”

  He looked up and a smile immediately creased his well-tanned face. Like a perfect gentleman, he stood up before accepting my hand.

  “Mickey, how are you? I’m sorry it looks like we’re going to be opposing counsel on this one.”

  I knew he was sorry but not too sorry. Royce had built his career on picking winners. He would not risk going pro bono and stepping into a heavy media case if he didn’t think it would amount to free advertising and another victory. He was in it to win it and behind the smile was a set of sharp teeth.

  “Me, too. And I am sure you will make me regret the day I crossed the aisle.”

  “Well, I guess we’re both fulfilling our public duty, yes? You helping out the district attorney and me taking on Jessup on the cuff.”

  Royce still carried an English accent even though he had lived more than half his fifty years in the United States. It gave him an aura of culture and distinction that belied his practice of defending people accused of heinous crimes. He wore a three-piece suit with a barely discernible chalk line in the gabardine. His bald pate was well tanned and smooth, his beard dyed black and groomed to the very last hair.

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” I said.

  “Oh, where are my manners? Mickey, this is my associate Denise Graydon. She’ll be assisting me in the defense of Mr. Jessup.”

  Graydon stood up and shook my hand firmly.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  I looked around to see if Maggie was standing nearby and could be introduced but she was huddled with Rivas at the prosecution table.

  “Well,” I said to Royce. “Did you get your client on the docket?”

  “I did indeed. He’ll be first in the group after this one. I’ve already gone back and visited and we’ll be ready to make a motion for bail. I was wondering, though, since we have a few minutes, could we step out into the corridor for a word?”

  “Sure, Clive. Let’s do it now.”

  Royce told his associate to wait in the courtroom and retrieve us when the next group of defendants was brought into the glass cage. I followed Royce through the gate and down the aisle between the crowded rows of the gallery. We went through the mantrap and into the hallway.

  “You want to get a cup of tea?” Royce asked.

  “I don’t think there’s time. What’s up, Clive?”

  Royce folded his arms and got serious.

  “I must tell you, Mick, that I am not out to embarrass you. You are a friend and colleague in the defense bar. But you have gotten yourself into a no-win situation here, yes? What are we going to do about it?”

  I smiled and glanced up and down the crowded hallway. Nobody was paying attention to us.

  “Are you saying that your client wants to plead this out?”

  “On the contrary. There will be no plea negotiation on this matter. The district attorney has made the wrong choice and it’s very clear what maneuver he is undertaking here and how he is using you as a pawn in the process. I must put you on notice that if you insist on taking Jason Jessup to trial, then you are going to embarrass yourself. As a professional courtesy, I just thought I needed to tell you this.”

  Before I could answer, Graydon came out of the courtroom and headed quickly toward us.

  “Somebody in the first group is not ready, so Jessup’s been moved up and was just brought out.”

  “We’ll be in straightaway,” Royce said.

  She hesitated and then realized her boss wanted her to go back into the courtroom. She went back through the doors and Royce turned his attention back to me. I spoke before he could.

  “I appreciate your courtesy and concern, Clive. But if your client wants a trial, he’ll get a trial. We’ll be ready and we’ll see who gets embarrassed and who goes back to prison.”

  “Brilliant, then. I look forward to the contest.”

  I followed him back inside. Court was in session and on my way down the aisle I saw Lorna Taylor, my office manager and second ex-wife, sitting at the end of one of the crowded rows. I leaned over to whisper.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “I had to come see the big moment.”

  “How did you even know? I just found out fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I guess so did KNX. I was already down here to look at office space and heard it on the radio that Jessup was going to appear in court. So I came.”

  “Well, thanks for being here, Lorna. How is the search going? I really need to get out of this building. Soon.”

  “I have three more showings after this. That’ll be enough. I’ll let you know my final choices tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s—”

  I heard Jessup’s name called by the clerk.

  “Look, I gotta get in there. We’ll talk later.”

  “Go get ’em, Mickey!”

  I found an empty seat waiting for me next to Maggie at the prosecution table. Rivas had moved to the row of seats against the gate. Royce had moved to the glass cage, where he was whispering to his client. Jessup was wearing an orange jumpsuit—the jail uniform—and looked calm and subdued. He was nodding to everything Royce whispered in his ear. He somehow seemed younger than I had thought he would. I guess I expected all of those years in prison to have taken their toll. I knew he was forty-eight but he looked no older than forty. He didn’t even have a jailhouse pallor. His skin was pale but it looked healthy, especially next to the overtanned Royce.

  “Where did you go?” Maggie whispered to me. “I thought I was going to have to handle this myself.”

  “I was just outside conferring with defense counsel. Do you have the charges handy? In case I have to read them into the record.”

  “You won’t have to enter the charges. All you have to do is stand up and say that you believe Jessup is a flight risk and a danger to the community. He—”

  “But I don’t believe he’s a flight risk. His lawyer just told me they’re ready to go and that they’re not interested in a disposition. He wants the money and the only way he’ll get it is to stick around and go to trial—and win.”

  “So?”

  She seemed astonished and looked down at the files stacked in front of her.

  “Mags, your philosophy is to argue everything and give no quarter. I don’t think that’s going to work here. I have a strategy and—”

  She turned and leaned in closer to me.

  “Then I’ll just leave you and your strategy and your bald buddy from the defense bar to it.”

  She pushed back her chair and got up, grabbing her briefcase from the floor.

  “Maggie…”

  She charged through the gate and headed toward the rear door of the courtroom.
I watched her go, knowing that while I didn’t like the result, I had needed to set the lines of our prosecutorial relationship.

  Jessup’s name was called and Royce identified himself for the record. I then stood and said the words I never expected I would say.

  “Michael Haller for the People.”

  Even Judge Firestone looked up from his perch, peering at me over a pair of reading glasses. Probably for the first time in weeks something out of the ordinary had occurred in his courtroom. A dyed-in-the-wool defense attorney had stood for the People.

  “Well, gentlemen, this is an arraignment court and I have a note here saying you want to talk about bail.”

  Jessup was charged twenty-four years ago with murder and abduction. When the supreme court reversed his conviction it did not throw out the charges. That had been left to the DA’s Office. So he still stood accused of the crimes and his not-guilty plea of twenty-four years ago remained in place. The case now had to be assigned to a courtroom and a judge for trial. A motion to discuss bail would usually be delayed until that point, except that Jessup, through Royce, was pushing the issue forward by coming to Firestone.

  “Your Honor,” Royce said, “my client was already arraigned twenty-four years ago. What we would like to do today is discuss a motion for bail and to move this case along to trial. Mr. Jessup has waited a long time for his freedom and for justice. He has no intention of waiving his right to a speedy trial.”

  I knew it was the move Royce would make, because it was the move I would have made. Every person accused of a crime is guaranteed a speedy trial. Most often trials are delayed at the defense’s request or acquiescence as both sides want time to prepare. As a pressure tactic, Royce was not going to suspend the speedy-trial statute. With a case and evidence twenty-four years old, not to mention a primary witness whose whereabouts were at the moment unknown, it was not only prudent but a no-brainer to put the prosecution on the clock. When the supreme court reversed the conviction, that clock started ticking. The People had sixty days from that point to bring Jessup to trial. Twelve of them had already gone by.

  “I can move the case to the clerk for assignment,” Firestone said. “And I would prefer that the assigned judge handle the question of bail.”

  Royce composed his thoughts for a moment before responding. In doing so he turned his body slightly so the cameras would have a better angle on him.

  “Your Honor, my client has been falsely incarcerated for twenty-four years. And those aren’t just my words, that’s the opinion of the state supreme court. Now they have pulled him out of prison and brought him down here so he can face trial once again. This is all part of an ongoing scheme that has nothing to do with justice, and everything to do with money and politics. It’s about avoiding responsibility for corruptly taking a man’s freedom. To put this over until another hearing on another day would continue the travesty of justice that has beset Jason Jessup for more than two decades.”

  “Very well.”

  Firestone still seemed put out and annoyed. The assembly line had thrown a gear. He had a docket that had probably started with more than seventy-five names on it and a desire to get through them in time to get home for dinner before eight. Royce was going to slow things down immeasurably with his request for a full debate on whether Jessup should be allowed his release while awaiting trial. But Firestone, like Royce, was about to get the surprise of the day. If he didn’t make it home in time for dinner, it wouldn’t be because of me.

  Royce asked the judge for an OR, meaning Jessup would have to put up no money as bail and simply be released on his own recognizance. This was just his opener. He fully expected there to be a financial figure attached to Jessup’s freedom, if he was successful at all. Murder suspects didn’t get OR’ed. In the rare instance when bail was granted in a murder case, it usually came with a steep price tag. Whether Jessup could raise the money through his supporters or from the book and movie deals he was supposedly negotiating was not germane to the discussion.

  Royce closed his request by arguing that Jessup should not be considered a flight risk for the very same reason I had outlined to Maggie. He had no interest in running. His only interest was in fighting to clear his name after twenty-four years of wrongful imprisonment.

  “Mr. Jessup has no other purpose at this time than to stay put and prove once and for all that he is innocent and that he has paid a nightmarish price for the mistakes and misconduct of this District Attorney’s Office.”

  The whole time Royce spoke I watched Jessup in the glass cage. He knew the cameras were on him and he maintained a pose of rightful indignation. Despite his efforts, he could not disguise the anger and hate in his eyes. Twenty-four years in prison had made that permanent.

  Firestone finished writing a note and then asked for my response. I stood and waited until the judge looked up at me.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Haller,” he prompted.

  “Judge, providing that Mr. Jessup can show documentation of residence, the state does not oppose bail at this time.”

  Firestone stared at me for a long moment as he computed that my response was diametrically opposite to what he thought it would be. The hushed sounds of the courtroom seemed to get even lower as the impact of my response was understood by every lawyer in the room.

  “Did I get that right, Mr. Haller?” Firestone said. “You are not objecting to an OR release in a murder case?”

  “That is correct, Your Honor. We are fully expecting Mr. Jessup to show for trial. There’s no money in it for him if he doesn’t.”

  “Your Honor!” Royce cried. “I object to Mr. Haller infecting the record with such prejudicial pap directed solely at the media in attendance. My client has no other purpose at this point than—”

  “I understand, Mr. Royce,” Firestone interjected. “But I think you did a fair amount of playing to the cameras yourself. Let’s just leave it at that. Without objection from the prosecution, I am releasing Mr. Jessup on his own recognizance once he provides the clerk with documentation of residence. Mr. Jessup is not to leave Los Angeles County without permission of the court to which his case is assigned.”

  Firestone then referred the case to the clerk of the court’s office for reassignment to another department for trial. We were now finally out of Judge Firestone’s orbit. He could restart the assembly line and get home for dinner. I picked up the files Maggie had left behind and left the table. Royce was back at the seat at the railing, dumping files into a leather briefcase. His young associate was helping him.

  “How did it feel, Mick?” he asked me.

  “What, being a prosecutor?”

  “Yes, crossing the aisle.”

  “Not too much different, to tell you the truth. It was all procedure today.”

  “You will be raked over the coals for letting my client walk out of here.”

  “Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. Just make sure he stays clean, Clive. If he doesn’t, then my ass really will be thrown on the fire. And so will his.”

  “No problem there. We’ll take care of him. He’s the least of your worries, you know.”

  “How’s that, Clive?”

  “You don’t have much in the way of evidence, can’t find your main witness, and the DNA is a case killer. You’re captain of the Titanic, Mickey, and Gabriel Williams put you there. Makes me wonder what he’s got on you.”

  Out of all that he said, I only wondered about one thing. How did he know about the missing witness? I, of course, didn’t ask him or respond to his jab about what the DA might have on me. I played it like all the overconfident prosecutors I had ever gone up against.

  “Tell your client to enjoy himself while he’s out there, Clive. Because as soon as the verdict comes in, he’s going back inside.”

  Royce smiled as he snapped his case closed. He changed the subject.

  “When can we talk about discovery?”

  “We can talk about it whenever you like. I’ll start putting a file together in the
morning.”

  “Good. Let’s talk soon, Mick, yes?”

  “Like I said, anytime, Clive.”

  He headed over to the court deputy’s desk, most likely to see about his client’s release. I pushed through the gate and connected with Lorna and we left the courtroom together. Waiting for me outside was a small gathering of reporters and cameras. The reporters shouted questions about my not objecting to bail and I told them no comment and walked on by. They waited in place for Royce to come out next.

  “I don’t know, Mickey,” Lorna confided. “How do you think the DA is going to respond to the no bail?”

  Just as she asked it my phone started beeping in my pocket. I realized I had forgotten to turn it off in the courtroom. That was an error that could have proven costly, depending on Firestone’s view of electronic interruptions while court was in session.

  Looking at the screen, I said to Lorna, “I don’t know but I think I’m about to find out.”

  I held up the phone so she could see that the caller ID said LADA.

  “You take it. I’m going to run. Be careful, Mickey.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and headed off to the elevator alcove. I connected to the call. I had guessed right. It was Gabriel Williams.

  “Haller, what the hell are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One of my people said you allowed Jessup to walk on an OR.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’ll ask again, What the hell are you doing?”

  “Look, I—”

  “No, you look. I don’t know if you were just giving one of your buddies in the defense bar what he wanted or you are just stupid, but you never let a murderer walk. You understand me? Now, I want you to go back in there and ask for a new hearing on bail.”

  “No, I’m not going to do that.”

  There was a hard silence for at least ten seconds before Williams came back.