James Sheehan - The Mayor of Lexington Avenue

Daddy would have been proud.

The James Law Firm had been in operation for five years when Elena made her first visit. Things had changed dramatically since the not-so-humble beginnings. The firm had expanded into the small communities in the interior of the state. Tracey had offices in ten cities from Arcadia to Okeechobee. Offices without lawyers-at least without lawyers paid by her. She negotiated with a local lawyer in each community to provide office space for her when she needed it; established a local telephone line and an 800 number. Her picture went on the back of the local telephone book and on several full pages throughout and she was on billboards heading into and out of town: a full body shot, artfully done. Tracey was standing in a tight navy blue business suit, her silky blond hair resting on her shoulders, a smile breaking from her ruby red lips. The caption was always the same- Let the James gang fight for you! — in large, bold print always level with Tracey’s breasts. You had to read the small print at the bottom of the ad to know that Tracey was advertising her legal services.

If somebody called the local office, the local attorney’s secretary would use the same questionnaire that the receptionists used in Vero. The questionnaire would then be faxed to the main office. If the James firm decided to take the case, the local attorney would receive twenty-five percent of the settlement as a referral fee in a personal injury case and twenty-five percent of the retainer in a criminal case. Of course, to satisfy any bar inquiry, local counsel would have his or her own file complete with copies of everything that ever happened in the case.

Tracey’s local attorney in Bass Creek was none other than Austin Reaves.

The established practice at headquarters was to try and get criminal clients in right away because of speedy trial considerations and also because they paid cash-the more severe and expensive the case, the quicker the appointment. Even a lawyer as successful as Tracey James was concerned about cash flow.

“Elena, is that correct?” Tracey held out her hand. Elena hesitated for a second but finally extended her own.

“Yes, that’s correct.” Tracey sat in the soft leather chair facing Elena rather than behind her desk. It was the intimate touch.

“I’ve read your file, Elena. Has your son been arrested yet?”

“Yes. They arrested him yesterday.”

“And the charge?” It wasn’t the question so much as the fact that she had to answer that caused Elena so much turmoil. She almost couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“First-degree murder,” she said, fighting back the tears.

Tracey almost licked her chops like a lioness about to feast on a helpless gazelle. Murder was the big one, the twenty-five thousand dollar retainer. She rarely got the big ones and she didn’t know why. Perhaps the money cases were all in Miami. Perhaps the people in the small cities who were charged with murder couldn’t afford to pay for their own attorney. Not once did Tracey consider the possibility that she didn’t get the capital cases because she had never tried one in her life. She wasn’t thinking about that now. Now she was focused on sliding that money out of Elena’s purse. She didn’t notice how tightly Elena was holding on.

Tracey stood up and walked around the room pretending to be deep in thought:

For her part, Elena was not impressed at all. The nose job was too obvious and the tits too big, although the sight of them made her remember the lump she’d found in her own breast a few weeks earlier. It seemed like so long ago, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. Her focus now was this plastic personality prancing around the room. Elena wasn’t trusting Rudy’s life to this woman!

Tracey knew it wasn’t working, that her rhythm was off. She changed tactics, something she never did, sitting down and for a moment just shutting up. She picked up Rudy’s file, which had been placed on the desk by her secretary. She’d already read it. Suddenly, from the recesses of her brain, a small picture of a dark-haired woman popped up. It was the only picture of her mother she’d ever seen; it had sat on top of her father’s dresser. From that picture, as a little girl, she had created her mother in her dreams: beautiful, with long flowing black hair and the brightest smile. Elena had a striking resemblance to that woman. For the first time, she saw one of her clients in a different light. This was a mother trying to save her son from a lifetime of prison, possibly death.

“I have no idea what kind of a case they have, Elena. Can you tell me a little about it?”

It was hard but Elena took her through everything she knew: from the first day when the front page screamed that a young woman’s throat had been cut to her conversation with Rudy when he told her of being there and drinking and falling down and cutting himself. Tracey listened carefully, asking questions from time to time. She could now see where the state was coming from. She could also see that it was going to be a difficult case to win. Her first inclination was to bail out. Difficult cases ruined her unblemished record of success. Hers was not a reputation built on brilliant courtroom tactics. But she could see Elena-so strong, so focused-a beautiful, powerful mother. Tracey just couldn’t walk away from her. Not yet.

“Somebody had to be in that house after Rudy left, Elena. If we can find that person, Rudy will walk. My investigative team is the best. My chief investigator, Dick Radek, was a detective for twenty years at the Miami police department, ten of those in homicide. We will leave no stone unturned. Before we’re through, we’ll know everybody in that neighborhood by their first name.”

She was so sincere when she said it, Elena started to believe her and with good reason: It was the truth. Tracey had the best investigative team north of Miami and south of Jacksonville. Almost all of her cases were won at the investigative level, by turning over stones the police just tripped on. But Elena still wasn’t convinced.

“The police have already done an investigation — ”

“I’m sure they have,” Tracey cut her off. “But the police in these small towns are notoriously lazy. Once they found your son’s blood in the trailer, their investigation stopped. They only need one suspect to look good.”

That made sense to Elena. She was sure it was true. Those words and something else, something that had changed in Tracey since she initially sauntered into the room, convinced her that Tracey was the right person for the job. Elena felt her sincerity. She also felt something else, something that Tracey was so successful at hiding from the world-vulnerability. Not necessarily what she was looking for from the lawyer representing her son, but maybe from the person.

Now that she was sold, it was Elena’s turn to press her case.

“I don’t have much money.” It was a line Tracey had heard a thousand times before and usually, based upon their appearance, the car they were driving, what they did for a living, it was Tracey’s cue to walk them to the door, apologetically telling them that she couldn’t help them. She couldn’t do that to Elena.

“Listen,” Tracey cut in again. “I usually require a twenty-five thousand dollar retainer for capital cases like your son’s. I’ve never reduced that retainer before,” another absolute truth, “but I believe in your son’s innocence. I believe we can find the evidence to exonerate him. I’ll agree to reduce my retainer to fifteen thousand dollars, but when that money is gone you must replenish it. I can’t make any exceptions to that rule.”

“I have five with me,” Elena answered.

“I can’t accept that. Go home. Talk to your relatives, your friends. See if you can raise the money. But do it quickly. Time is your enemy.”