could, but they won't. They don't want some new defense team coming in and spending a year getting up to speed. By that time we'll know the case inside out and the court will stay with us."
"How about if we just don't mention my… my secret account?"
Freeman was shaking his head, pacing. "Jennifer. Without your secret account there isn't any money to begin with, so the court then appoints whoever it wants, and you've already said you don't want that. You know, I'm afraid I don't really understand your problem here. You're going on trial for your life, Jennifer. And you're talking about money you'll never be able to spend if you don't have the best representation and, frankly, maybe even with it."
"That'a'way, David, Hardy thought, sugarcoat it. He did understand that Freeman felt he had to give Jennifer a dose of reality, but her response made Hardy feel that he was going too far. Her head was going back down in that cowed way she had; she was blinking back new tears.
Freeman appeared unaffected by this display, but he did stop in front of her and speak more quietly. "Jennifer, look at me, okay. Look up. All right, now listen. We are going to do our best to get you off here. That's what I do — it's my specialty, you might say. And as soon as you're found innocent you collect some five-million dollars insurance money. But if you're not found innocent… well, you don't get any of your money, insurance or secret account. Plus you could face the extreme penalty. So what's it going to be? You decide."
She swallowed hard and, for a moment, studied the table in front of her. "The only thing is, Mr. Freeman," she whispered, "isn't it true that if I retain you, I won't have enough money for bail?"
At first it didn't even register. A minute earlier Jennifer Witt had been rocked. Or seemed to have been. How her eyes were clear, her head was up.
Freeman noticed, too. This lady was nobody's fool. Now, suddenly, there was a sense of gamesmanship in the tiny room. Hardy was outside of it, but Freeman sat down and leaned toward her. "Good," he said, "good."
"Good what?" She leaned away from him in her folding chair, an elbow going over the back of it.
Freeman ignored the direct question. " If we can get bail, which you remember has been denied already. You're thinking a hundred-thousand pays the bondsman and you can get out and jump, isn't that it?"
Jennifer, still sitting back, silently met his gaze.
"You think your house is worth a million dollars? I remind you that you didn't think it was yesterday. The three-hundred-thousand in your secret account won't do it. And neither will the insurance. You'll need at least a million that's relatively liquid. And no matter who represents you and what you pay them, this is reality. Bail is a waste of time. Even if you get it, you can't pay it."
"Which means I'm here until my trial is over?"
Freeman nodded. "I'm afraid that's what it means."
Jennifer took that in, pulled herself up to the table, and crossed her hands in front of her. After a minute, surprisingly, she began to smile. It was the first smile Hardy had seen from her, and it was quite lovely. "I'm going to have to think more about this."
Hardy started to interject, but Freeman put up a restraining hand. "Fine, Jennifer, fine. Shall we just withdraw as your attorneys now?"
"No! I don't want that. Can't I just have a little more time to be sure?"
"Jennifer, a retainer is needed. The court will need to know that you're represented at all times. If it's not me, as I've told you, they'll appoint somebody, and until your personal money's gone you'll have to pay them too."
"Could I pay some say twenty-five thousand now and the rest by Monday if I decided to go ahead—?"
"As opposed to what? Not go ahead. Do you want to plead guilty? If, and it's a big if, the DA will deal, it will probably mean life without parole."
Again,
"How about if we just don't mention my… my secret account?"
Freeman was shaking his head, pacing. "Jennifer. Without your secret account there isn't any money to begin with, so the court then appoints whoever it wants, and you've already said you don't want that. You know, I'm afraid I don't really understand your problem here. You're going on trial for your life, Jennifer. And you're talking about money you'll never be able to spend if you don't have the best representation and, frankly, maybe even with it."
"That'a'way, David, Hardy thought, sugarcoat it. He did understand that Freeman felt he had to give Jennifer a dose of reality, but her response made Hardy feel that he was going too far. Her head was going back down in that cowed way she had; she was blinking back new tears.
Freeman appeared unaffected by this display, but he did stop in front of her and speak more quietly. "Jennifer, look at me, okay. Look up. All right, now listen. We are going to do our best to get you off here. That's what I do — it's my specialty, you might say. And as soon as you're found innocent you collect some five-million dollars insurance money. But if you're not found innocent… well, you don't get any of your money, insurance or secret account. Plus you could face the extreme penalty. So what's it going to be? You decide."
She swallowed hard and, for a moment, studied the table in front of her. "The only thing is, Mr. Freeman," she whispered, "isn't it true that if I retain you, I won't have enough money for bail?"
At first it didn't even register. A minute earlier Jennifer Witt had been rocked. Or seemed to have been. How her eyes were clear, her head was up.
Freeman noticed, too. This lady was nobody's fool. Now, suddenly, there was a sense of gamesmanship in the tiny room. Hardy was outside of it, but Freeman sat down and leaned toward her. "Good," he said, "good."
"Good what?" She leaned away from him in her folding chair, an elbow going over the back of it.
Freeman ignored the direct question. " If we can get bail, which you remember has been denied already. You're thinking a hundred-thousand pays the bondsman and you can get out and jump, isn't that it?"
Jennifer, still sitting back, silently met his gaze.
"You think your house is worth a million dollars? I remind you that you didn't think it was yesterday. The three-hundred-thousand in your secret account won't do it. And neither will the insurance. You'll need at least a million that's relatively liquid. And no matter who represents you and what you pay them, this is reality. Bail is a waste of time. Even if you get it, you can't pay it."
"Which means I'm here until my trial is over?"
Freeman nodded. "I'm afraid that's what it means."
Jennifer took that in, pulled herself up to the table, and crossed her hands in front of her. After a minute, surprisingly, she began to smile. It was the first smile Hardy had seen from her, and it was quite lovely. "I'm going to have to think more about this."
Hardy started to interject, but Freeman put up a restraining hand. "Fine, Jennifer, fine. Shall we just withdraw as your attorneys now?"
"No! I don't want that. Can't I just have a little more time to be sure?"
"Jennifer, a retainer is needed. The court will need to know that you're represented at all times. If it's not me, as I've told you, they'll appoint somebody, and until your personal money's gone you'll have to pay them too."
"Could I pay some say twenty-five thousand now and the rest by Monday if I decided to go ahead—?"
"As opposed to what? Not go ahead. Do you want to plead guilty? If, and it's a big if, the DA will deal, it will probably mean life without parole."
Again,
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