The Vendetta Defense (6 page)

Judy couldn’t suppress her sympathy, then forced herself to think like a lawyer, without a trace of human emotion. “None of this will help me defend him.”

“Are you sure?” Frank turned suddenly. “I was thinking maybe you could try an insanity defense or something like that.”

“The legal standard for insanity is too high.” Judy shook her head. “God knows what evidence they have against your grandfather, but if this is his story, it doesn’t provide any defense at all. There’s no legal excuse for murder that fits here.”

“Not even a broken heart?” Frank asked, and he looked at Judy as if it were more than rhetorical.

“Not even that.”

“So where’s the justice, in the law?”

Judy didn’t know how to answer. Her only certainty was that she wanted to take the case.

All she had to do was convince the boss.

6

“
Y
ou did what
?
”
Bennie shouted, and Judy had a déjà vu. Either that or Bennie had said the same thing to her 3,462,430 times before. Judy fleetingly considered putting
You did what?
on a T-shirt, but then she’d get fired for sure. Bennie was that angry. “You went to the Roundhouse? You had no right to do that!”

Judy faced Bennie Rosato in the boss’s office, sitting across from a large desk that was almost as cluttered as Judy’s. Bennie’s office was the same size as an associate’s, evidence of her egalitarian ethic, and her bookshelves were stuffed with casebooks, law reviews, and black binders of speeches and articles. Awards from civil rights organizations and First Amendment groups covered the walls. In a far corner sat a pile of running clothes and Sauconys, their rubber-soled toes curled up from wear. In short, it could have been Judy’s office. She didn’t get it. She and Bennie were more alike than they were different, so why did they fight so much?

“You met with the defendant’s family? You went to a grave site? You told him you’d take the case,
at his parents’ grave
? And you don’t have a single detail of the crime or the evidence against this man!”

Judy swallowed hard. “Bennie, I swear, I made it very clear that the firm hasn’t filed an entry of appearance.”

“Oh, please! It’s just technical whether you entered an appearance. You were there. You
appeared
.” Bennie’s blue eyes flared, and she yanked off a khaki suit jacket and smoothed it out before she jammed the neck down onto a coatrack behind her leather chair.

“I told the cops it was only temporary.”

“Which means nothing. Besides, it’s not just the cops, it’s the client. It’s the grandson. You went to a
grave
?” Bennie ran a hand through a tangle of light hair that fell to shoulders sagging in disappointment under a linen shirt. “We’re blocked in. You don’t appear and then disappear. At least I don’t. How do you think a law firm gets any credibility? Our integrity’s on the line.
My
integrity.”

“Look, it’s me on the line, not you. I got us into this, and I’ll get us out. I want to represent Pigeon Tony.” Judy felt good taking a stand, but Bennie looked underwhelmed.

“Oh, you do?” Bennie paced beside her chair, too aggravated to stay still. At six feet tall, a muscular ex-rower and all-around tough-as-nails trial lawyer, Bennie Rosato intimidated associates, opposing counsel, and major felons. Everybody except Judy, who had yet to figure out why she wasn’t as scared as she should be. Maybe after a childhood filled with lieutenant colonels, she could handle a pissed-off lawyer.

“Ask me if I care what you want,” Bennie continued. “I own this firm. I employ you. That means you’ll represent who I tell you to represent.”

“You said you wanted us to develop our own clients,” Judy argued, though she knew she’d be better shutting up, like Ali letting Foreman punch himself out. Yet she couldn’t help but swing. Maybe it was the boxing lessons she’d taken. “I would think you’d welcome some initiative. Most firms think it’s a basis for partnership decisions.”

“In my firm, you bring in the client, then you take it to me, and I decide if you can take it. You don’t decide on your own.” Bennie glared. “And were you thinking about making partner when you took the case? Is that what you’re trying to sell me?”

Judy felt her face flush. What was the matter with her? Why was she making such a bogus argument? “Not really.”

“Then don’t argue what you don’t believe in. Rule number one, in law and in life.” Bennie’s voice went brittle as ice. Arms akimbo, her hands clutched her hips, wrinkling her skirt. “Now, why did you go down to the Roundhouse? And why do you want to represent Lucia?”

Judy tried to collect her thoughts. This was serious stuff. She had never asked to represent a client before, especially one who was guilty. It felt like the onset of adulthood, but maybe growing up didn’t mean automatically resisting everything Bennie said. Judy flashed on her first image of Pigeon Tony, so small in the overlarge prison jumpsuit. Then the granite memorial to the Lucias, so eloquent in its dark silence. And finally Frank’s grief at the site.

“Well?”

Judy took a deep breath. “If what they tell me is true, then there is an injustice here, and I think I want to help Pigeon Tony. I mean, if it’s true, he’s an old man who had a lifelong heartache. He tried to set it aside, and that effort ended up in the death of his own son and daughter-in-law. He chose peace, and all he got was war. Most people who kill are bad men. Instead, Pigeon Tony seems like a good man, who killed someone.” Judy heard herself, and only then did she realize that that was how she felt. Insight wasn’t her strong suit, but she was learning, and a new certainty steeled her. “Even if you fire me, I’ll still take the case.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

Bennie stood stock-still. The crease in her forehead relaxed, and the angry redness ebbed from her cheeks. Judy hoped it wasn’t the peace that comes over bosses before they shitcan you.

“Please don’t fire me, by the way. I couldn’t find another firm that would let me dress as funny.”

Bennie laughed softly and sat down in her deep chair. “Oh, well.”

“Does this mean I can keep him?”

Bennie didn’t answer but picked up a coffee mug from her desk, which read I CAN SMELL FEAR. Judy was pretty sure it was a joke. Bennie tilted it to peek inside. “Empty. What else can go wrong?”

“I’ll take care of him. I’ll walk him every day.”

Bennie half smiled, gazing into the empty mug as if coffee would materialize through an act of sheer will. “Can Lucia afford us?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“I’ll find out, if you let me keep him.”

The coffee mug clattered to an upright position. “All right, fine. You win, but you’ll do it under my supervision.”

“Wahoo!”

“Hold your applause.” Bennie waved her into silence. “You’ll report to me at every stage of the proceedings.”

“Agreed.”

“You’ll still be responsible for your other matters. You have that antitrust article to do—get a draft to me on time. The journal editor told me they’ve been waiting on it to cite-check. Don’t screw around.” Bennie thought a minute. “As I recall, you have seven other fairly active cases, all civil. They have to be worked, just as before. Those clients were there first and they didn’t kill anybody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bennie ignored it. “Finally, since you didn’t bother to see if Lucia could pay for your services, your services to him are free. That means the time you spend on this matter is your own. You bill none of it, to him or to me. That’ll teach you.”

It took Judy aback, but she saw the rightness of it. “Fair enough. My money where my mouth is.”

“And you’re on a short leash. Stay in touch on every decision. That’s your final punishment for showing initiative. You have to spend time with me.”

“What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,” Judy said, then ducked as a pencil came flying at her.

“Don’t press your luck, Carrier. This firm is doing better than when we started. You ain’t the only law review editor in the sea. Now get out of my office. One of us has to make some money.” Bennie hit a key on her keyboard, opening her e-mail, and Judy rose happily, despite the situation. She had gotten the case, even if she’d have to work her ass off. But there was a problem, and it nagged at her.

“One last question. What do I do about representing a guilty defendant?”

“Why are you asking me?” Bennie didn’t look away from her e-mail. “You took the case, you have to answer it for yourself.”

Judy blinked at the sharpness of the response. So much for bonding. “Uh, well, I mean, I know he’s entitled to a defense, but I also know he’s guilty. It bothers me, even though it’s not supposed to, as a legal matter.”

“You always were academic, Carrier, so here’s the short course.” Bennie clicked away, responding to one e-mail after another. “Under the Code of Professional Responsibility, your only ethical constraint is that you can’t put him up on the stand and elicit that he’s innocent if you know he’s guilty. That’s suborning perjury, essentially permitting a known falsehood to go to the court. And obviously, Code or no, I wouldn’t represent to the jury in your opening or closing that he’s innocent.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t think so. You’re a lousy liar anyway. I don’t know how you got out of law school.” Bennie hit “send” and opened the next e-mail, and Judy suddenly didn’t know how to talk to her.

“I meant more . . . as an emotional matter. Have you ever represented a guilty defendant?”

“I did in the old days, when I took mostly murder cases. Frankly, it’s why I got out.” Bennie’s large hands covered the keyboard as she typed another response, giving no indication she remembered that anybody else shared the room.

“So how did you handle it?” Judy asked anyway. “Defending the principle, not the person? Innocent until proven guilty?”

“It doesn’t matter how I dealt with it,” Bennie answered, typing away. “It only matters how you deal with it. You want to defend a guilty man? Do it your way.”

Judy detected a change in Bennie’s voice. It softened, though she still didn’t look up from her computer. “Can you give me a hint or is that against the rules?”

Her fingers poised expertly over the keyboard, Bennie raised her eyes, and Judy was surprised to see them filled with concern, not indifference. “I told you, don’t argue what you don’t believe in. The converse is also true. Do you believe in him?”

“I think so.”

“Figure it out. Figure out if he’s guilty or innocent, in your own mind. But don’t analyze it as a legal matter or an academic question. That’s too abstract, too safe. Don’t be a judge, there’ll be a judge there already. He’s the one in black. You be the advocate.”

Judy was understanding. She knew she tended to be a little academic. It had gotten her A’s in law school, but nowhere else. “But let’s say that I decide that he’s innocent, in my own mind. What good does that do him?”

“It will help you build a defense. If you believe in him, your conviction will carry through to the judge and the jury. In your voice, in your manner, in everything you do. If you don’t believe in him, Lucia doesn’t have a chance.” Bennie’s attention returned to her monitor. “And you’re the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

The words shut Judy down, and she stood rooted for a minute, listening to the quiet tapping of the keys. Outside the door, phones rang and lawyers yapped, but the workaday sounds receded. Judy had the sinking feeling she had bitten off more than she could chew—and she had one of the biggest mouths in the city.

“Don’t you have an arraignment to go to?” Bennie asked, breaking the silence. “It’s tough to get bail for murder. Wear a suit jacket over your dress. And lose the shoes. You can borrow my brown pumps from the closet in reception. I got a whole second wardrobe in there. You’re welcome to all of it.”

Judy checked her watch. It was almost three. She had to get downtown. She’d have to set aside her angst and her clogs. She murmured a hurried thank-you and let herself out of the office as Bennie returned to her e-mail.

Judy couldn’t know that after she left, Bennie spent a long time staring at the computer screen, unable to write a single word.

7

T
he press thronged outside the Criminal Justice Center, spilling off the curb and onto Filbert Street, a colonial street wide enough to accommodate only a single horse and buggy, not reporters and their egos. Both blocked traffic, waiting for something to happen, chatting in the sunshine and blowing puffs of cigarette smoke into the clear air. Judy wondered what case they were feeding on this time.

“There she is!” a photographer with a light meter around his neck shouted, turning to Judy. “Ms. Carrier, just one shot!” “Over here, Ms. Carrier!”

Judy was surprised but didn’t break stride. She couldn’t, in Bennie’s too-big pumps. She hurried ahead, dragging her heels across the cobblestones, feeling like a kid dressing up as a lawyer, in case anybody missed the point. Her thoughts raced ahead. How did the press know about the case? Why did they care? They were all turning to her. Reporters flicked aside their cigarettes. Cameramen hoisted videocameras to their shoulders. Stringers surged toward her with notebooks in hand. She put her head down and wobbled through the crowd as it rushed to meet her.

“Ms. Carrier, is Bennie Rosato on this case for Tony Lucia?” “Ms. Carrier, is he guilty or innocent?” “Judy, is Mary DiNunzio gonna work with you on the case?” “Ms. Carrier, the Coluzzi family is already on record as saying your client’s the killer. Any comment?”

Judy plowed shakily ahead, taking a bead on the brass revolving door at the courthouse entrance. It wasn’t the worst thing to be swarmed by reporters. Bennie and Mary never liked it, but Judy had played coed rugby in her time. Reporters jostled her, but she jostled them back. Justice as contact sport. She got bumped in the arm by a TV camera but didn’t stop to flip the bird. It might not look professional on tape.

“Ms. Carrier, what do you think about the Commonwealth’s evidence?” “Will Mr. Lucia plead guilty?” “Do you think he’ll get bail?”