file into the basket on the floor. The way the Santa Barbara D.A.’s office operated differed greatly from Ventura. As their staff was limited, prosecutors were not assigned to specific divisions such as homicide, sex, crimes against property, or charged with prosecuting only career criminals. In Santa Barbara they handled every type of offense. If she were a doctor, it would be similar to being a general practitioner rather than specializing in a particular form of medicine. Attorneys like Matt Kingsley and Clinton Silverstein might refer to her as their supervisor, but in actuality she was only a senior prosecutor.
Her new case assignments included a fraud, a shooting, and an auto theft. In the Ventura office, any prosecutor experienced enough to handle a crime as serious as a shooting would not be assigned something as insignificant as an auto theft. Some of the attorneys in Santa Barbara considered Lily a prima donna since she’d formerly run an entire unit, certain she would balk at the thought of handling such minor cases. They were mistaken, however, as she enjoyed the variety. Prosecutors who dealt strictly with violent crimes were more likely to suffer from burnout. Lightweight offenses could sometimes be fun. Due to her years of experience, she occasionally found a really big fish dangling at the end of a very small line. Individuals outside the profession didn’t realize that the most sophisticated criminals were seldom apprehended. For every arrest listed on their rap sheet, they’d probably committed a hundred crimes that went undetected.
The last defendant Lily had prosecuted for auto theft had turned out to be wanted in the state of Washington for seven counts of armed robbery. The FBI agent who had driven down from Los Angeles to transport the prisoner had given Lily the coffee mug bearing the insignia of his agency. She’d teased him, telling him the FBI was turning into a commercial franchise. They sold T-shirts, caps, coffee cups, jackets, all kinds of merchandise.The agent had tossed back that at least most FBI agents didn’t bring their laundry to the office. Lily had laughed. The item he was referring to might have been designed for the purpose he had mentioned, but it was now filled with files. It wasn’t as if they didn’t provide her with sufficient file space.
The laundry basket was symbolic. Everyone had to do their laundry, yet it was always a chore that could wait. Lily couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the dozens of cases she had pending, knowing she would make herself a nervous wreck. Each morning she checked her computer to see if she needed to appear for an arraignment, file a discovery motion, schedule a witness interview, or request something from the crime lab related to her most recent assignments. As soon as she was certain she had covered all the bases, the cases in the plastic basket were temporarily forgotten. If someone asked her a question regarding them outside of the courtroom, all they would receive was a blank stare.
The five files Lily had to focus all her energy on were neatly stacked on the right side of her desk. These were the crimes she contemplated night and day. When she went to the bathroom, the details and images went with her. Even when she’d seen Richard for the first time in six years, her mind had not been completely free. Picking up the heavy Middleton file, she placed it in the center of her desk, then glanced at the names on the remaining four. The child-molest case would more than likely go to trial, she decided, reminding herself to speak to Lenora regarding the Bentley investigation later that day.
Lily’s method of analyzing a crime was to place herself inside the mind of the offender. As she saw it, Arnold Bentley had no choice but to throw the dice. He had a beautiful wife, two adorable kids, a house, along with a fairly successful business. He owned a small store that specialized in children’s clothing and unique toys, many items made
Her new case assignments included a fraud, a shooting, and an auto theft. In the Ventura office, any prosecutor experienced enough to handle a crime as serious as a shooting would not be assigned something as insignificant as an auto theft. Some of the attorneys in Santa Barbara considered Lily a prima donna since she’d formerly run an entire unit, certain she would balk at the thought of handling such minor cases. They were mistaken, however, as she enjoyed the variety. Prosecutors who dealt strictly with violent crimes were more likely to suffer from burnout. Lightweight offenses could sometimes be fun. Due to her years of experience, she occasionally found a really big fish dangling at the end of a very small line. Individuals outside the profession didn’t realize that the most sophisticated criminals were seldom apprehended. For every arrest listed on their rap sheet, they’d probably committed a hundred crimes that went undetected.
The last defendant Lily had prosecuted for auto theft had turned out to be wanted in the state of Washington for seven counts of armed robbery. The FBI agent who had driven down from Los Angeles to transport the prisoner had given Lily the coffee mug bearing the insignia of his agency. She’d teased him, telling him the FBI was turning into a commercial franchise. They sold T-shirts, caps, coffee cups, jackets, all kinds of merchandise.The agent had tossed back that at least most FBI agents didn’t bring their laundry to the office. Lily had laughed. The item he was referring to might have been designed for the purpose he had mentioned, but it was now filled with files. It wasn’t as if they didn’t provide her with sufficient file space.
The laundry basket was symbolic. Everyone had to do their laundry, yet it was always a chore that could wait. Lily couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the dozens of cases she had pending, knowing she would make herself a nervous wreck. Each morning she checked her computer to see if she needed to appear for an arraignment, file a discovery motion, schedule a witness interview, or request something from the crime lab related to her most recent assignments. As soon as she was certain she had covered all the bases, the cases in the plastic basket were temporarily forgotten. If someone asked her a question regarding them outside of the courtroom, all they would receive was a blank stare.
The five files Lily had to focus all her energy on were neatly stacked on the right side of her desk. These were the crimes she contemplated night and day. When she went to the bathroom, the details and images went with her. Even when she’d seen Richard for the first time in six years, her mind had not been completely free. Picking up the heavy Middleton file, she placed it in the center of her desk, then glanced at the names on the remaining four. The child-molest case would more than likely go to trial, she decided, reminding herself to speak to Lenora regarding the Bentley investigation later that day.
Lily’s method of analyzing a crime was to place herself inside the mind of the offender. As she saw it, Arnold Bentley had no choice but to throw the dice. He had a beautiful wife, two adorable kids, a house, along with a fairly successful business. He owned a small store that specialized in children’s clothing and unique toys, many items made
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