Joel Goldman - Deadlocked

"I may be both wanted and needed, but the Kung Pao chicken is wanted and eaten. Is that it?" he asked, laughing and poking a hole in Rachel's pyramid.

Rachel scooped the remains from one box onto a paper plate, sliding it across the table to Smith.

"No thanks," he said. "I make it a rule never to eat off of paper unless I'm having a picnic, and this case definitely doesn't qualify. Come here, dog," he said, holding the plate for Tuffy who inhaled the scraps, licking Smith's hand when the food was gone.

"So, Dixon," Rachel said. "Don't sugarcoat it. What do you think about Lou's case?"

"If I tell you, am I going to read about it in the morning paper?"

"Not unless you tell someone else," she said. "The paper quit letting me cover Lou's cases a long time ago."

Smith looked around the room, stopping at Mason who nodded his permission, Smith nodding in return.

"Most cases, the defense attorney's job is to make the prosecutor prove his case, not prove the defendant is innocent, just convince the jury that there's reasonable doubt the defendant is guilty. If there's reasonable doubt about guilt, the jury is supposed to acquit. The prosecutor has it easy since most defendants are guilty anyway. Even if juries don't know that, they believe it. And people pay a whole lot more attention to what they believe than what they know."

"That's how most of us go through our whole lives," Claire said.

"Exactly," Smith said. "People don't change when they get into the jury room. Lou already told the cops he shot Sandra and they know the gun was his. So the prosecutor doesn't have much to prove, which means I do. I've got to try Lou's case, Nick and Mary's case against Whitney King, and the original murder case against King and Ryan Kowalczyk."

"Why do you have to do all that?" Rachel asked.

"Juries hate the I-don't-know-who-did-it-but-it-wasn'tme defense. They expect the defense attorney to give them someone else to pin it on. Whitney King is the only choice. If I prove he killed Nick Byrnes's parents, rigged the jury to acquit him, then spent the last fifteen years knocking off the jurors to keep them quiet, then shot Nick and disappeared Mary Kowalczyk to shut them up, the jury will buy that he killed his lawyer and set up Lou to take the fall for the same reason."

"You have any idea how over the top and out of sight all that sounds?" Harry asked.

"That's why I take my fee up front," Smith said. "No offense, Lou," he added.

"Harry's right. It doesn't make sense," Blues said. "King was acquitted of the Byrnes murders. He could take out an ad on a billboard admitting he did it and never do a day in jail. A civil case is just money and he has enough to make that go away."

"Dixon, are you trying to make me feel better?" Mason asked.

"Nope," Smith said. "I'm trying to get you ready for work. Party's over," he said to the others. "It's time for my client to come to Jesus."

"Nice job today, Dixon," Mason said after his company left. "You got a lot of mileage out of Ortiz. You ripped a chamber out of his heart with every question."

They remained in the living room, seated on opposite sides of the table while drawing on cold bottles of Fat Tire Beer Mason had retrieved from the kitchen. The dog was lounging on the floor beneath the picture window that had been punctured by a bullet a week before. It was the first shot fired in what had become a guerrilla campaign. The wind was picking up, whistling through the hole in the glass.

"You know Patrick as well as I do. I snuck up on him today. That won't happen again."

"We'll see what happens at the preliminary hearing," Mason said.

"Not going to be any preliminary hearing," Smith said. "Ortiz called me late this afternoon. Said he was taking the case to the grand jury instead. They meet again this Friday and they're going to indict you for murder. Speedy trial and all that. We'll get a jury by Thanksgiving and a verdict by Christmas."

Mason sucked in his breath. Smith watched him, not blinking, put together like a high-fashion puzzle, callous and cool. Mason had been impressed by how Smith handled the arraignment, satisfied with his choice of counsel even though he hadn't picked Smith for his skill. Mason knew the importance of managing a client's expectations, especially a criminal defense client whose life was on the line. Smith took it to another level, wringing any sentiment out of the equation.

"It's Ortiz's call," Mason said. "He can take the case to the grand jury or have a preliminary hearing. He picked the grand jury because it's secret and you made him look bad today. It killed him to tell the judge that Whitney King denied that he was supposed to meet Sandra and me at his office."

"It may have killed Ortiz, but it's worse for you. King's not going to back up your story."

"There's got to be a record of Sandra's phone call to King. When we get the phone records, no one is going to believe King. Getting that piece out of Ortiz was almost worth the price of admission," Mason said.

"We'll see. I subpoenaed Sandra's and Whitney's records today. I should have them by Friday. But, like I said, Patrick isn't going to let me sneak up on him again. He'll subpoena every one of the people you had over for dinner tonight."

Mason said. "Then we have to get them ready to testify. Let's divide up the work. There's plenty to go around."

"That's not the way I work. I don't divide things up," Smith said. "Besides, I don't want you interviewing witnesses. Every time you open your mouth, you'll create another witness to testify against you. You're the client this time, Lou, not the lawyer. Nothing you say is privileged anymore unless you say it to me."

In a week of tectonic shifts in his world, this was the latest harsh reality to hit Mason. Being the lawyer meant being in control, running the show. Being the client meant finding religion, putting his future in the hands of a stranger. Mason was a true believer in himself and not much else.

"Fine," Mason said, taking a deep breath, trying to hold onto something. "I'll do the legal research and write the briefs. I'll hide out in the library. You'll get all the glory."

"Sorry, Lou. I can't let you do that. You know the law. I'm not worried about that. But no one on trial for murder writes or thinks as clearly as they think they do. You've got one job. Point me in the right direction and I'll do the rest. That's how I earn my fee."

Mason stood, slamming his chair against the table, hands on his hips. "That's bullshit! You think I'm going to sit on my ass and wait for the judge to tell Ortiz to call his first witness? I'm looking at the death penalty. I've witnessed one execution and that was enough for me!"

Smith tilted his chair back on the rear legs, hands folded in his lap. "When was the last time you let a client work up his murder case?"

"This is different. I'm not one of your street thug clients. I know what I'm doing and I'm damn good at it!"

"Then you don't need me. You can represent yourself. I'll refund the unused part of my retainer to your auntie in the morning," Smith said, standing as Mason glared at him. Smith held the stare, his face flat, indifferent.

Mason raised his hands, waving Smith off. "Okay. You made your point. But what am I going to do?"

"You've got other clients besides yourself," Smith answered.

"Not after today. There's no way I can represent a criminal defendant when I'm charged with murder. I'll have no credibility with the prosecutor or the courts until this is over.

I've got a few civil clients, but they won't stick around to see how this comes out. I'm shut down," he said, slumping back into his chair.

"You can take up golf," Smith said, returning to his seat.

Mason managed a small laugh. "You charge extra for the jokes?"