that at the time meant nothing to me. I was so eager to leave the Public Defender’s Office when I came to Mays & Burton that I would have signed my name in blood. Why? The memory burns my face as I listen to Oscar pontificate on the sanctity of a contract. I was terrified that Carol Anderson would tell my boss I had slept with her.
I would have been fired on the spot for getting involved with a woman, who, had the case gone to trial, would have, in effect, testified as an expert witness for my client, who was accused of murdering her husband. Our way of life, Oscar preaches, depends on human beings’ keeping their agreements.
My experience is that if the bastards can squeeze you by the balls, they will not hesitate to do so when it is in their self-interest. In our society lawyers are brought in to do the heavy-duty squeezing. I recall my own righteous indignation from a case earlier this year in which I collected a debt for a client for Mays & Burton. I was about to take almost every last stick of furniture the defendant owned when he finally filed bankruptcy. The nerve of him! My realization that if I were in Oscar’s situation I wouldn’t be acting any differently tempers my tone but does not prevent me from slamming down the phone after I mutter, “So sue me!” Fuming over this conversation, I lean back in my chair and try to relax. I won’t be sued. It would embarrass them too much, and, anyway, I might win. As much as the law reveres a contract, it favors competition.
After lunch with Clan and two other lawyers in the building, I walk the four short blocks to the courthouse to look at the prosecutor’s file on Chapman. When I ask for Kerr Bowman, I am told that Jill Marymount would like to see me.
The Queen Bee herself. This is awfully early in the case to be having
tea with the prosecutor, but not all work the same y way. Some are like generals and won’t get their hands dirty until the actual battle, relying on subordinates to do the work;
others, like Jill, have a reputation for interviewing their potential witnesses from the very beginning. An ironclad argument can be made that a prosecutor in as large an office as Blackwell County doesn’t have the time to do her own pretrial investigation. Basically an administrator, she is being paid to exercise her professional judgment, not run up mileage on her car for her expense account. We’ve had prosecutors in Blackwell County who almost never tried cases once they were elected. But Jill’s approach allows you to get a feel for a case you wouldn’t have unless you got your hands dirty. You get ideas about motivation you’d otherwise miss, and you obtain a real sense about credibility of witnesses.
After a moment Jill comes for me herself, even though I could have found her office. She is dressed more informally than I expected. She is wearing a light blue plaid skirt and could be headed for a barbecue after work. Her simple red top is sleeveless, and she is wearing flats. I realize I was expecting full battle armor. Bare-armed she looks more feminine than usual.
She smiles as if we’re old enemies, though we’ve never tried a case against one another.
“Gideon, I hear you’re in solo practice,” she says, letting me know she’s aware I was fired. She offers fingers and a palm that are cool and dry.
As we walk side by side to her office, I say, “Thanks for the help on the bond. I was about to ensure that my client stay locked up for the duration of the trial.”
As we turn into her office, she demurs, “Your client isn’t a martyr, and I didn’t see any point in making him one.”
If you only knew, I think. The last time I was in the Blackwell County prosecuting attorney’s office the walls were covered with diplomas and awards. Today, children’s themes provide the most unusual motif I ‘we ever seen in a lawyer’s quarters. It is as if I have wandered into a museum of child poverty. There are literally dozens of black-and-white
I would have been fired on the spot for getting involved with a woman, who, had the case gone to trial, would have, in effect, testified as an expert witness for my client, who was accused of murdering her husband. Our way of life, Oscar preaches, depends on human beings’ keeping their agreements.
My experience is that if the bastards can squeeze you by the balls, they will not hesitate to do so when it is in their self-interest. In our society lawyers are brought in to do the heavy-duty squeezing. I recall my own righteous indignation from a case earlier this year in which I collected a debt for a client for Mays & Burton. I was about to take almost every last stick of furniture the defendant owned when he finally filed bankruptcy. The nerve of him! My realization that if I were in Oscar’s situation I wouldn’t be acting any differently tempers my tone but does not prevent me from slamming down the phone after I mutter, “So sue me!” Fuming over this conversation, I lean back in my chair and try to relax. I won’t be sued. It would embarrass them too much, and, anyway, I might win. As much as the law reveres a contract, it favors competition.
After lunch with Clan and two other lawyers in the building, I walk the four short blocks to the courthouse to look at the prosecutor’s file on Chapman. When I ask for Kerr Bowman, I am told that Jill Marymount would like to see me.
The Queen Bee herself. This is awfully early in the case to be having
tea with the prosecutor, but not all work the same y way. Some are like generals and won’t get their hands dirty until the actual battle, relying on subordinates to do the work;
others, like Jill, have a reputation for interviewing their potential witnesses from the very beginning. An ironclad argument can be made that a prosecutor in as large an office as Blackwell County doesn’t have the time to do her own pretrial investigation. Basically an administrator, she is being paid to exercise her professional judgment, not run up mileage on her car for her expense account. We’ve had prosecutors in Blackwell County who almost never tried cases once they were elected. But Jill’s approach allows you to get a feel for a case you wouldn’t have unless you got your hands dirty. You get ideas about motivation you’d otherwise miss, and you obtain a real sense about credibility of witnesses.
After a moment Jill comes for me herself, even though I could have found her office. She is dressed more informally than I expected. She is wearing a light blue plaid skirt and could be headed for a barbecue after work. Her simple red top is sleeveless, and she is wearing flats. I realize I was expecting full battle armor. Bare-armed she looks more feminine than usual.
She smiles as if we’re old enemies, though we’ve never tried a case against one another.
“Gideon, I hear you’re in solo practice,” she says, letting me know she’s aware I was fired. She offers fingers and a palm that are cool and dry.
As we walk side by side to her office, I say, “Thanks for the help on the bond. I was about to ensure that my client stay locked up for the duration of the trial.”
As we turn into her office, she demurs, “Your client isn’t a martyr, and I didn’t see any point in making him one.”
If you only knew, I think. The last time I was in the Blackwell County prosecuting attorney’s office the walls were covered with diplomas and awards. Today, children’s themes provide the most unusual motif I ‘we ever seen in a lawyer’s quarters. It is as if I have wandered into a museum of child poverty. There are literally dozens of black-and-white
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