A Case of Redemption by Adam Mitzner Page A

claim he’s innocent, by all means, put him on the stand. I’m never going to divulge his communications with me, and even if he were to waive the privilege, you could always say that you didn’t believe me. So you’re good to put on whatever defense you want. But you asked why I advised L.D. to take a plea, and that’s why.”
    Jackson checked his watch, although I was relatively certain it was more for show than to find out if he was late for his off-site meeting. If he even had an off-site meeting, that is. He’d said his piece, and now there was no reason for him to spend another second with us.
    â€œI’m sorry to have to cut this short, but I’ve got another appointment,” he said, standing up. Ms. Kingsley rose with him, and so Nina and I had little choice but to follow suit. This meeting was over.
    It was just as well. There wasn’t much more for us to talk about now. I’d shown up at Jackson’s office with one set of facts in my mind and was leaving with a completely different set.
    Jackson walked us to the door of his office. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, Dan. You know, so many of the decisions you make as a criminal defense lawyer are based on facts that no one knows about and you can never reveal. So sometimes you look like you haven’t done your job when you let your client take a plea where he gets twenty-five to life, but that’s only because no one knows that the only reason you’re letting him do it is because he’s already admitted to you about six other killings, and so you’vespared him the needle. Like I always tell people, being a criminal defense lawyer is the only job there is where you can’t brag about your greatest successes.”
    He extended his hand to me with an expression that said bygones should be bygones. After a slight hesitation, I took it.
    â€œSorry I was the one who had to be the bearer of bad news,” he said, “but you honestly need to know who you’re dealing with. You’ve heard his songs, right? Not just ‘A-Rod’ but the others?” I nodded to tell him we had. “Then you have a pretty clear picture of what he’s all about. Some guys know the whole gangsta thing—you know, bragging about capping folks and ranting about bitches and hos—is all a put-on, but not him. L.D.’s the kind of guy . . .” Jackson paused, as if he was trying to think of the right words, and then he said, “No way to say it except the way it is—he’s the kind of guy who would beat to death the woman he claimed to love.”

12
    I offered to hail a cab, but despite the fact that the weather was probably below freezing, Nina said she wanted to walk. Her pained expression told me that she was taking Jackson’s revelation hard.
    We walked in silence for a few blocks. When we’d reached Houston Street, Nina finally spoke.
    â€œI don’t believe him,” she said flatly. “I bet you he’s claiming that L.D. confessed because he’s trying to save face about getting fired.”
    The frigid air caused her words to leave a trail of fog. She was shivering slightly, and I felt the cold chill run through my hair.
    â€œMaybe,” I said with skepticism. “It’s an odd thing for him to say, though. I’m sure Jackson’s been fired from other cases. There’s no reason to drag your client through the mud on your way out.”
    â€œThis is a very high-profile case, and it’s going to look like L.D. fired him because he wasn’t cutting it,” Nina said. “And Jackson’s a guy who clearly thinks a lot of himself. Besides, why would L.D. lie to Jackson about his backstory but confess to murder? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    Unfortunately, it made perfect sense to me. I was all too well versed in the ancient art of lying to yourself. The things you say to be able to go on living