By reason of insanity

49

Quinn arrived late for work on Thursday, and Melanie followed him into his office. "You're fifteen minutes late for a conference call," she said. "I'll dial you in and get some coffee."

Quinn grunted his approval. His head felt like it was ready to explode from the night before. He had lost $150,000 and along with it his dream of starting his own firm, all on one lousy hand of Texas hold 'em when the odds were in his favor. It had taken two hours of hard drinking to erase the pain. This morning, the pain came rocketing back, pulling in its wake a pounding headache and a case of cotton mouth.

"A couple of other things," said Melanie, who seemed terribly perky for first thing in the morning. "The case-acceptance committee has scheduled a meeting at eleven to discuss the O'Rourke case. I've prepared a memo outlining the facts and put together a folder."

"Okay." Quinn plopped down in his chair. Did she always speak this loud?

"In the meantime, assuming they give you the green light, I've scheduled your Norfolk trip," Melanie continued, placing a manila travel folder on Quinn's desk. "You meet with O'Rourke Monday afternoon, just before she is evaluated by Rosemarie Mancini. You interview investigators Tuesday and then meet with Mancini and Marc Boland. On Wednesday morning you can spend some time with the investigator you hire and then fly back out Wednesday night for Annie's plea agreement first thing Thursday morning."

Quinn normally appreciated Melanie's compulsive organization, but this morning it only served to make him more tired. He slouched a little lower in his seat. "Anything else?" he asked. Even raising his eyes to look at her seemed to require a monumental effort.

"Excedrin for the headache," Melanie said. "And substitute Gatorade for coffee."

"What?"

"Yeah. When your body breaks down alcohol, it pumps out lactic acid and other byproducts that impede the production of sugar and electrolytes. That's what gives you that woozy feeling in your stomach. Gatorade helps replenish electrolytes and sugar."

Quinn smiled awkwardly-his assistant knew him too well. Why did he do this to himself?

Two hours later, after three Excedrins and a bottle of Gatorade, Quinn was ready for his meeting with the case-acceptance committee. He entered the ornately decorated conference room and greeted Espinoza and the three other committee members-two frowning business lawyers and one of the firm's few female partners, also scowling.

"Thanks for coming, Quinn," Espinoza began, as if Quinn had a choice in the matter. "We've all been watching the news, so we're somewhat familiar with the case." He leaned back and started spitting out facts. "You've got a serial killer running around Virginia terrorizing rapists and their defense attorneys. Two kidnappings and at least two presumed murders. Two of the victims-Paul Donaldson and Rex Archibald-are connected, right?"

Quinn nodded as Espinoza continued. "Archibald represented Donaldson in a rape case. The kidnapping victims include the children of a criminal defense lawyer and an alleged rapist who beat the rap."

"Right," said Quinn, his headache returning with a vengeance. "At this point our client has only been charged with the murder of Paul Donaldson."

"Fair enough," Espinoza said. "So far, the authorities haven't found the babies or the bodies of either Donaldson or Archibald. But our client apparently had some visions about the murders, and these visions contain confidential information known only to police. Right? And then they search her place and find all sorts of DNA evidence and a drug used to subdue the victims."

Quinn glanced around at the committee, his own patience wearing thin. Espinoza had painted the case in the worst possible light. "I must have been out when we passed the rule about only representing innocent clients," Quinn said.

"I didn't say she had to be innocent," Espinoza said quickly. "I'm just trying to figure out what the defense is going to be."

"She got framed," said Alfred Pennington, an old codger who made no secret of his disdain for Quinn's hotshot antics. "Mark Fuhrman placed the bloody paper towels in the neighbor's trash. It was really Kato Kaelin's hair on the envelope flap. Quinn can figure out some Alice-in-Wonderland defense. I'm more concerned with how we get paid. What's the retainer? What's the collateral for our fees as the case moves forward? What hourly rate are you charging?"

"I'm taking the case pro bono," Quinn said. "Our pay will be the millions of dollars in free publicity."

Pennington looked shocked, as if Quinn had just suggested assassinating the president.

For the next thirty minutes, the lawyers vigorously debated the merits of Quinn's proposal. Fortunately for Quinn, Melanie had armed him with a profitability analysis for several national law firms, correlated with the amount of publicity each firm had generated on its high-profile cases the preceding year. The conclusion: It didn't matter if you won or lost. Getting your name in the paper was all that counted. Profits followed publicity.

Just when Quinn thought his head might split open on the spot, Espinoza dismissed him so the committee could deliberate in private. Ten minutes later, Espinoza came to Quinn's office to announce the firm's decision.

"The committee will allow you to stay in the O'Rourke case on two conditions," said Espinoza. "First, you make your billable-hour goal apart from the O'Rourke case. And second, you conclude your sister's plea agreement immediately so you aren't spending all your time on two nonpaying clients."

Quinn didn't know whether to thank the man or tell him off. Quinn was a partner. These conditions sounded like something you would impose on an associate or something a parent might dictate to a rebellious teenager. On the other hand, Quinn was surprised they were letting him take the case at all.

"Okay," Quinn said. Not thanks. Not I'll make this work and you won't be sorry. Just okay.

Espinoza stood gazing out one of Quinn's windows, his arms crossed over his chest. "I had to go to bat for you on this one, Quinn. Your partners were not happy that you circumvented the system. They probably would have rejected the case if we hadn't already been knee-deep in it."

Which is exactly why I filed first and asked for permission later. "I appreciate it," Quinn said. He was already wondering how he could possibly handle this case and make his billable-hour requirement. Maybe that requirement was just a setup to run him out of the firm. "Tell my partners I appreciate their dedication to the principle that everyone is entitled to a defense under our system of justice."

Espinoza shook his head and turned to Quinn. "Don't push any harder on this one, Quinn. I can't go to the mat for you again."

As always, Quinn knew that his managing partner would require the last word, and this comment seemed as good a candidate as any. Accordingly, Quinn thanked Espinoza and watched the man head for the door.

Espinoza surprised Quinn by turning around just before he left. "Myself, I prefer Chaser Plus," he said, his lips curling into a half-smile.

"What?"

"For hangovers. You might want to keep some in your medicine cabinet."