Phillip Margolin: Wild Justice

Ain't much more to say, LaTricia concluded. I gambled for love and I lost. I' m ready to take what fate has in store. But I want you to know that I never wanted money from that man. All I wanted was love.

Frank Jaffe, the senior partner in Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi, was a big man with a ruddy complexion and black curly hair that was streaked with gray. His nose had been broken twice in his youth, and he looked more like a teamster or a stevedore than an attorney. Frank was in his office dictating a letter when Amanda walked in waving the Sweet file.

How could you do this to me?

Frank grinned. You won, didn't you?

That's beside the point.

Ernie Katz was in the back of the courtroom. He said you weren't totally awful.

You sent Ernie to watch me be humiliated?

He also said that you looked scared to death.

I was, and giving me this insane case didn't help.

You' d have been scared no matter what case you tried first. When I tried my first case I spent the whole trial trying to remember the words you say when you want to introduce a piece of evidence. I never did get it right.

Thank you for sharing.

Hey, I lost my first trial. I knew you' d have a fighting chance with LaTricia as your client no matter how badly you screwed up. I've been representing her for years, and she usually comes out okay. Ernie said the jury was back in twenty minutes.

Twenty-two, Amanda answered with a grudging smile. I have to admit winning was a rush.

Frank laughed. Ernie also said that your closing argument was a doozy. Especially the part where you told the jury that you had scoured the statutes of the state of Oregon and had been unable to find love defined as a crime.

Amanda grinned. It had been a great line. Then she stopped smiling.

I still think you're a bastard.

You're a warrior now, kiddo. The whole office is waiting at Scarletti's to celebrate.

Oh, shit, they're just going to razz me. Besides, I didn't do much. LaTricia won the case with her cockamamie story.

Hey, trial lawyers should never be humble. Crow about your victories and blame your defeats on biased judges, ignorant juries, and the tricks of fascist prosecutors. As of now, you're the only lawyer in this office who's never lost a case.

Until she found a place of her own, Amanda was living with Frank in the green, steep-roofed East Lake Victorian where she had grown up. Amanda had not been home, except for summers and holiday visits, since she' d started college, nine years ago. Staying in the second-floor bedroom where she had spent her childhood felt strange after so many years of independence. The room was filled with mementos of her youth: diplomas from high school and college, shelves loaded down with swimming trophies and medals, framed newspaper clippings detailing her athletic feats.

Amanda was exhausted and a little drunk when she climbed into bed at ten, but she was too upset to sleep. Frank had had no business throwing her into court unprepared in the same way he' d thrown her into the pool at the YMCA when she was three to teach her how to swim. Then, at Scarletti' s, Frank had embarrassed the hell out of her by giving a speech that compared her victory in court to her surprise win her freshman year at the state high school swimming championships. She wanted her father to stop thinking of her as his little girl and to realize that she was a grown woman who had earned credentials that could open any door in the legal community.

Amanda had forgotten how controlling Frank could be. His assumption that he always knew what was best for her was infuriating. Tonight was not the first time she' d wondered if she had made a mistake by joining Frank's firm instead of going to one of the many San Francisco firms that had courted her or applying for a clerkship at the United States Supreme Court, as Judge Madison had advised.

Amanda stared at the shadows on the bedroom ceiling and asked herself why she had come back to Portland, but she knew the answer. Ever since she had been old enough to understand what her father did, she had been steeped in, and seduced by, the mystery and adventure of criminal law, and no one was better at criminal defense than Frank Jaffe. As a little girl, she had watched her father charm juries and confound hostile witnesses. He had held her in his arms at news conferences and discussed his strategy with her at the kitchen table over hot chocolate. While her law school classmates talked about the money they would make, she thought about the innocents she would save.

Amanda turned on her side. Her eyes had grown used to the dark. She studied the symbols of her successes that Frank had assembled. Frank had lived a lost childhood through her. She knew he loved her and wanted what was best for her. What she wanted was the chance to decide for herself what was best.

Chapter 3

Mary Sandowski burst through the operating room doors. As the nurse rushed along the crowded hospital corridor, she ducked her head to hide the tears that coursed down her cheeks. Moments later Dr. Vincent Cardoni slammed through the same doors and ran after her. When the powerfully built surgeon caught up with Sandowski, he grabbed the slender woman's elbow and spun her toward him.

You incompetent cow.

Visitors, patients and hospital personnel stopped to stare at the outraged physician and the woman he was berating.

I tried to tell you....

You switched the cups, you moron.

No. You

Cardoni shoved her against the wall and leaned forward until his face was inches from the cowering nurse. The pupils in his bloodshot eyes were dilated, and the tendons in his neck swelled.

Don't you ever contradict me.

Vincent, what do you think you're doing?

Cardoni pivoted. A tall woman with caramel-colored hair and an athletic figure was bearing down on him. She was wearing a loose brown dress and a white doctor's smock. The cold eyes she fixed on the surgeon were the color of jade.

Cardoni turned his rage on the newcomer.

This is not your business, Justine.

The woman stopped a few paces from Cardoni and stood her ground.

Take your hands off her or I'll have you up before the Board of Medical Examiners. I don't think you can stand another complaint, and there will be plenty of witnesses this time.

Is there a problem, Dr. Castle?

Justine glanced at the broad-shouldered man in green OR scrubs who now stood beside her. The white letters on his black plastic name tag identified him as Anthony Fiori.

There's no problem, because Dr. Cardoni is going to leave, Justine said, returning her gaze to Cardoni. A pulse throbbed in the surgeon's temple and every muscle in his body tensed, but he suddenly noticed the crowd that had gathered, and he released Sandowski's elbow. Justine stepped closer to Cardoni and studied his eyes.

My God, she said in a low tone that was still loud enough to carry beyond them. Are you on something? Were you operating on drugs?

Cardoni's fists knotted. For a moment it appeared that he would strike Justine. Then he spun and stalked away, shouldering through the onlookers. Sandowski sagged against the wall. Fiori caught her.

Are you okay? he asked gently.

She nodded as she wept.

Let's get you someplace less public, Justine said, taking Sandowski's arm and leading her down a side hall and into a call room where the residents sacked out. Justine eased the shaken nurse onto a narrow metal-frame bed that stood against one wall, and sat beside her. Fiori fetched a cup of water.

What happened? Justine asked once Sandowski regained her composure.

He said I switched the cups, but I didn' t. He filled the syringe without looking.

Slow down. I' m not following you.

Sandowski took a deep breath.

That's better. Just relax.

Dr. Cardoni was performing a carpal tunnel release. You anesthetize the hand with lidocaine before you operate.