The Guilty (6 page)

She clasped both his hands in hers and looked up at him with reddened eyes. “God bless you, Mr. Bratt, for taking our case,” she said, her voice revealing a light Jamaican accent. “I had been despairing about our situation, until I learned that you’d been sent to us like an angel of mercy.”

Bratt hadn’t been prepared for this effusive greeting and, for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Kouri stood behind her, smiling at him and nodding as if to say, “I bet you weren’t ready for that.” It took Bratt only a brief moment to recover his composure and retake control of the situation.

“Well now, Mrs. Campbell, I don’t think there are many people who would consider me an angel, but maybe they’re not as perceptive as you are.” He smiled and winked knowingly, as if they were the only two people who were in on a secret joke. Still holding her by the hand he guided her into his office. Kouri followed close behind them, carrying an accordion folder that contained Marlon Small’s file.  

“Oh, thanks, Peter,” said Bratt. “Just leave the file on my desk on your way out.”

“Actually, Mr. Bratt, I’d be happy to stay. I already had a chance to go through most of the witnesses’ will-say statements. I explained to Mrs. Campbell how you’ve been overwhelmed with work lately, and I thought I should be ready to brief you on whatever you’ll need to know.”

“I understand this is a very busy time for you, Mr. Bratt,” Mrs. Campbell chimed in. “But your agreeing to take our case anyway, well that tells me you’re the kind of man who’ll help us with all his heart and soul. When Miss Sévigny got sick I prayed and prayed we’d find someone who’d do whatever has to be done to save my Marlon. She told us that we couldn’t be in better hands than with you.”

Bratt felt that her words were meant to corner him into taking the case. She obviously had her mind set on retaining him and wasn’t going to be easily refused.

“Mrs. Campbell, your confidence in me is very flattering, I’m sure. But before I can make a total commitment to your son’s case there are some issues that have to be addressed.”

“Have no worries about that, sir. I’m not a rich woman, but I have good and true friends in my congregation, and they’re going to see to it that you’ll get paid whatever you need to get my boy out of jail.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand,” Bratt said, hurriedly. “I wasn’t worried about the money.”

“Why, that’s a very Christian attitude for a lawyer.”

Bratt stopped again, unsure if she was joking or being serious. Looking at her open face he finally decided that she was being a bit of both, and he managed a hesitant smile. He was trying to at least look at ease in the conversation, but it was hard to get an accurate reading of the woman. He decided to just push on and let the chips fall where they may.

“As I said, Mrs. Campbell, there are issues to consider. First of all, the time element is very important. There are barely three weeks until your son’s trial-”

“Peter
here,” she interrupted, pointing at Kouri, “told me that it was a pretty straightforward ‘their word against ours’ case. Not a lot of complicated points of law to study or anything.”

Bratt threw an exasperated look at Kouri, whose expression showed that he wished that he had kept his mouth shut. “Well, I don’t want to disagree with such an excellent attorney as, uh, Peter, but I’ll still have to go through the whole file very carefully before I could give you my considered opinion. And I’m just finishing up what was a very long, arduous case, you see.”

“I’ll tell you, I don’t know how you can do it, jumping from one big trial to the next like that. I’m surprised you’re able to keep your head on straight. Mine would be just spinning like a top.”

“Precisely my point.”

“But, I guess when you’re the best lawyer in the country you do things that the rest of us can’t even dream of.”

Bratt had to squeeze his jaw shut to keep it from dropping open. She was very obviously laying it on thick to win him over, but that knowledge didn’t prevent him from taking a certain pleasure from her flattery.

“Well, that’s really very nice of you to say. It’s obviously very exaggerated, but you still won’t get an argument out of me.”

They both laughed, but he could tell that as she laughed she was observing him very closely, measuring his reactions and trying to read his thoughts before saying anything further.

“Mr. Bratt,” she said, her tone turning serious, “Marlon is my oldest boy, the one I’m the closest to in age. And I know him like I know my own breath. He isn’t living his life the way I want him to. He’s still got a lot of growing up to do, but he’s not nearly as bad as they’re saying.

“Now if you have children, you know what they can do and what they can’t. You know what’s in their heart just by looking at them. I’m not a very educated woman, but I’ve seen enough things in my lifetime to trust my own eyes and my own heart. I know this much: my boy’s no angel, but he didn’t kill anybody. Why those two boys say he did, I don’t know. I haven’t met them. I haven’t looked them in the eyes like I did with my Marlon. I don’t know what’s in their hearts, except that it isn’t the truth.

“Now, Miss Sévigny, she’s a fine lady. We took her as Marlon’s lawyer because she had already helped out my sister Carmela’s boy Anthony when he got mixed up in some bad drug business. I’m sure she would have done her very best for Marlon too, but I don’t think her best is as good as your best.”

Bratt opened his mouth, feeling that he should at least say something in Lynn’s
favor, but Mrs. Campbell wouldn’t let him interrupt, and she waved him quiet with her hand.   

“Please, let me continue. Now, I know that the Lord will always do right by us if we believe in Him, and sometimes we have to find His good in the bad that’s happening to someone else. I think that’s what happened here with the sickness that Miss Sévigny’s got, making it so that we had to look for a new lawyer. And now we’ve found you and you’re going to save my boy, I just know it. I don’t like using the word miracle too often, so I’ll just say that my prayers have been answered.”

Bratt was speechless. He thought of poor Lynn Sévigny and the mutilation that she had undergone, and that was just the beginning of her ordeal. Yet, somehow, this woman was able to rationalize this tragedy into the answer to her prayers, and he found that just a bit scary. There were professional spin-doctors out there who would envy her ability to stand in front of him and say what she said with such a sincere expression on her face.

“Once again, I have to say that I’m very flattered by your kind words. It is somewhat daunting, you’ll understand, to have to live up to such high expectations. Even my late wife never told me that I was God’s answer to her prayers,” he joked feebly. This time he got nothing close to a smile from the woman standing before him, her face wearing a determined expression. His earlier suspicion that she would be hard to refuse was being confirmed.  

“Mr. Bratt, please understand that if I speak a bit strongly it’s because it’s my boy’s life I’m talking about. I don’t wish no evil on anybody, but if I can save him from the lies that have put him in jail, then that’s all I can think of. He is all I care about, all I
can
care about, right now. Do you have children? Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, thinking that maybe he should be making his own child his priority. But taking on the role of Marlon Small’s
savior was going to interfere with his plans to spend more time with Jeannie. Then again, much of his life had been that way. He had long ago accepted the long hours that were necessary to properly defend his clients, and his family life had often paid the price.  

When he took on a case it had never mattered whether the clients were truly guilty or not, whether they were scumbags, as Jeannie had pointed out, or the people next door. There could be no half-measures in his world. Now this extremely devout woman was standing before him, ready to swear on her soul that her son was innocent, and she was turning to him for help.

Bratt’s body and his mind were tired, but like a reluctant action hero in the movies, he was going to have to ignore his own needs and go back into the burning building: there was one more child to save.

That night, feeling exhausted, Bratt trudged into his apartment at 10 p.m. After Mrs. Campbell had left his office he sent Kouri home with a promise to consult with him after he had read Marlon Small’s file. He had looked briefly through the evidence and found, as expected, that the case against the young man was strong. There were, however, chinks in even the best-crafted armour and he already had an idea of what he would have to do to exploit the case’s weaknesses, although he wasn’t ready to tell Mrs. Campbell that there were reasons for optimism yet. And he certainly wasn’t about to corroborate what Kouri had told her.

Presumptuous little twerp
, he thought.
Who told him to go giving his opinion to clients?

While Bratt removed his shoe rubbers and topcoat he heard some movement from the direction of Jeannie’s room. He thought of calling out to her, but stopped himself, afraid of setting off another shouting match.

The hall leading to their respective bedrooms was dark, but light was streaming out from Jeannie’s open door, and there were sounds of movement coming from inside. Stepping into the lit square on the hall carpet, Bratt looked into her room and saw Jeannie, standing with her back to him, handing a folded sweater to a young man that he didn’t recognize. The stranger stopped in the middle of packing the sweater into a cardboard box full of other sweaters, and looked up at Bratt. Jeannie paused in what she was doing and followed the man’s gaze until her eyes rested on her father.

Several other boxes on the floor, as well as the empty walls and bookshelves, spoke volumes about what
was happening. Still, Bratt couldn’t stop himself from asking a most obvious question.

“What’re you doing?”

Jeannie answered without any hesitation and without a hint of emotion in her voice.

“I’m leaving, Daddy.”

Hearing her speak the words he had feared the most shocked him into silence. It didn’t even occur to him to ask her where she was going. He couldn’t believe that she was taking things so far. This was all over an argument about his job, after all. Surely not enough to break up his family. Not enough to make her suddenly hate him.

He had no idea how things had snowballed so quickly, and to such a melodramatic point. But his pride wouldn’t let him show her how her words had affected him. He felt he had to say something, no matter how banal, to hide how shaken he was.

He pointed at the man still standing with her sweater in his hand.

“Who’s he?”

“André. He’s a friend.”

As if the mention of his name had broken a spell, André returned to the packing he had been doing when Bratt showed up. Jeannie, though, continued to face her father. Her expression seemed to soften slightly.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” she said, as if she had read his mind.

Bratt let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, I guess. Sure had me fooled.”

“I’m just seeing things differently right now. I know you don’t understand.”

“Oh, no, I understand perfectly. I’ve been doing the same job for close to twenty years, a job that many people, including you once upon a time, considered
honorable. A job that thousands of people do each day all over the world. And suddenly I’m a pariah that you can’t get away from fast enough. So, yes, it seems that I do understand.”

“No, Daddy, that’s not it at all. I just need time to think about things and try to understand my own feelings. And maybe you should take a little time to step back and look at what you’ve done with your life too. A little introspection might actually do you some good.”

His mouth opened and then shut again. The last thing he had expected or needed that day was to have his eighteen-year-old daughter suggest he try “a little introspection.” He was fed up with her youthful insolence.

“Jesus Christ! Do you think
you’re
going to judge my life now?”

She shook her head slowly and looked toward André for support. André clearly knew better than to return her look. He just kept on emptying a drawer full of underwear, not wanting any part of this family argument.

She turned back to her father, and softly asked, “How did court go today?”

“What?” 

“How did court go?” she repeated, her voice calm but sad.

“If you really want to know, it went quite well…once I got over the little scene you made in the back room.”

“Final arguments for Cooper Hall, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

She paused before speaking again, a pensive look on her face, and brought the tips of the index and middle fingers of her right hand up to her lips. Bratt knew that this was how she looked when she was trying to organize her thoughts, putting together her own final arguments.

Softly, she asked him, “He never testified, right?”

“No, I told you about that.”

“Probably because he would have lied if he had.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Bratt said, enthusiastically, grasping at the opportunity to bring up his own honesty, while not even paying lip-service to client-attorney privilege. “I told him I wouldn’t let him lie on the stand. I could win this case without his lies.”