Joseph Teller - Depraved Indifference

"You mean you've been faking it up till now?"

"No," said Jaywalker. "It's just that not being Carter's lawyer, or anyone's lawyer, for that matter, my hands have been tied."

He noticed Amanda grinning. "What?" he asked her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I was trying to picture you," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "with your hands tied."

Jaywalker stood up. "Amanda," he said, "you remember when business was over?"

"Yes."

"Well, now pleasure's over." He bent down, kissed her, and said, "Good night."

The following day was indeed a busy one for Jaywalker. He surrendered his good parking spot and drove up to New City, stopping first at Judah Mermelstein's office. He caught Mermelstein as he was getting ready to go to court.

"I don't know if you heard," said Jaywalker, "but I wanted to let you know I've been reinstated-"

"I did hear," said Mermelstein, "and congratulations. You have my permission to substitute as counsel for Carter Drake."

"Thanks," said Jaywalker, "but if you have no objection, I'd prefer to join you as co-counsel."

Mermelstein seemed to think about it for a moment before answering. Then he said, "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm going to decline. This is a pretty tight community we've got up here, in case you haven't noticed. I'd say ninety percent of my clients are orthodox or conservative Jews. My livelihood, and my family's, depends on their goodwill. I've already heard from a number of them that they're, shall we say, uncomfortable with my representing a…" His voice trailed off at that point, leaving Jaywalker to finish his thought for him.

"…Non-Jew? Gentile? Goy? "

Mermelstein shook his head slowly, from side to side. "I'm afraid it gets worse than that," he said.

"How much worse?"

"Try Hitler? Or Mengele."

"That's worse," Jaywalker agreed.

So Judah Mermelstein was bailing out. Not exactly a Profile in Courage. Then again, could Jaywalker really blame him? Was Mermelstein supposed to risk losing his entire practice, and with it his ability to feed his kids, just so he could hang on to a piece of a case with a radioactive client?

"I'm sorry," Mermelstein said.

"Me, too," said Jaywalker.

But as was the case with so many things in the strange world of criminal law, it was a development that had an upside to it. It had been Jaywalker's intention to have Mermelstein second-seat him at trial. If doing so accomplished nothing else, it would send a message to the jurors that here was one of their own, not only willing to sit next to the defendant and whisper back and forth with him from time to time, but maybe even grasp his arm at some point, or lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Now that dynamic was gone. But in its place, Jaywalker was already calculating, the same jurors would now look over at the defense table and see only two people, the accused and his defender. That would provide a nice contrast with the scene at the prosecution table, where Abe Firestone- who rarely if ever had tried cases himself-would no doubt surround himself with several assistant district attorneys, and possibly even an investigator from his office. Sure, Jaywalker knew, jurors find it a lot easier to empathize with people like themselves. But they also tend to like underdogs, outcasts, long shots. And representing long shots was what Jaywalker did best.

From Mermelstein's office, Jaywalker walked to the courthouse, this time entering via the short line, the one reserved for POLICE OFFICERS, COURT PERSONNEL AND ATTORNEYS ONLY. He proceeded to the clerk's office, where he filled out three copies of a Notice of Appearance, formally declaring that he was the new lawyer for Carter Drake. From there he went to the district attorney's office, stopping at the reception desk.

"My name is Jaywalker," he told the uniformed trooper, handing him a business card. "I'm substituting as counsel for Carter Drake. I was hoping to introduce myself to Mr. Firestone, if he has a moment."

The trooper eyed the card, then pressed a button on an intercom. "There's a Mr. Jaywalker here," he said. "Says he's the new lawyer in the Drake case. Wants to meet your boss."

"I'll let him know," said a woman's voice over the intercom.

Jaywalker waited, passing the time studying the portraits of former Rockland County district attorneys on the wall behind the desk. The only face he recognized was that of Kenny Gribitz, who'd been a young A.D.A. in Manhattan way back when Jaywalker had been with Legal Aid. Then Gribitz had gotten himself elected Rockland County D.A. A short while later, he'd gotten himself into trouble. Over a woman, if Jaywalker remembered correctly. His kind of guy.

"The boss says this Jaywalker guy has got to file a Notice of Appearance," said the woman's voice, "before he'll talk with him."

Jaywalker held up his copy of the notice. There was a bright red FILED stamp across it, complete with the date and time.

"Done," said the trooper.

Another thirty seconds went by. Then the woman's voice could be heard again, but barely. "Tell him the boss isn't in," she was saying.

Jaywalker and the trooper exchanged glances. Jaywalker pointed at his wristwatch and held two fingers in the air.

"He only wants a minute or two," the trooper told the machine.

This time it was a full minute before there was a voice on the other end. Only it was a man's voice now, gruff and combative. And it said, "Tell him anything. Tell him he can go shit in his hat, for all I care."

Jaywalker smiled. "Mr. Firestone, I presume?"

The trooper nodded, returning the smile.

The attorney's visiting room at the Rockland County Jail was everything the regular visiting room hadn't been. Jaywalker was able to sit across a real table from Carter Drake, with no wire-reinforced bulletproof glass separating them, and no staticky phones to talk over.

Drake looked like somebody who'd been locked up a month would be expected to look. Jaywalker recognized the signs, the things that incarceration did to a person-some subtle, some not so subtle. There was the pallor, the waxy complexion that came from being indoors twenty-three hours a day, or twenty-four, if it happened to be raining when "yard time" was scheduled. There were the extra pounds that accumulated from a high-carb, low-protein, no-exercise diet. They tended to show up around the midsection, but in Drake's case, there was also a noticeable slackness to his cheeks, the beginning of Nixon-like jowls. There was the not-quiteclean-shaven look, the slightly unkempt hair and the faint odor suggesting that today-and perhaps yesterday, as well-had not been a shower day. But most of all, there were the eyes. Not only did they appear sunken and framed by dark circles, but a dull film had begun to spread over the pupils themselves, producing a listless, faraway expression. It was just one more symptom, Jaywalker knew, of a larger malaise, a gradual sinking-in of the reality that, contrary to early hopes and unrealistic expectations, these walls were going to be home for the foreseeable future.

So how did Jaywalker greet his new client?

"You look good," he said, the same way he might have said it to a cancer patient, or a mother who'd just delivered after a forty-eight-hour labor.

Drake smiled sheepishly. He had to know better.

"Thanks for writing out that statement for me," said Jaywalker.

"Was it what you wanted?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Not long enough?"

"It was a good starting point," said Jaywalker. "I'm here today so we can fill in a few blanks, get a little more detail. Then we'll go from there."

Drake leaned back in his chair. He struck Jaywalker as a man who was used to running things, and running them his own way. Having to answer questions and follow directions was going to be something of a new experience for him.