Depraved Indifference

9

SUSPENDED LAWYER SPOTTED STEPPING OUT WITH KID-KILLING DRIVER'S WIFE

…read the caption beneath the photo. And there he was again, back on his least favorite place in the western world, Page Six of the New York Post.

Not that he ever would have known about it, had it not been for a call from his daughter. A friend of hers had spotted it and phoned her, exclaiming, "Is that your father?" And there was no missing him. There he was, in perfect profile, sitting in the booth of the diner he'd taken Amanda to the previous morning. Only it didn't look like a diner in the photo; it looked like a bar. And Jaywalker wasn't really sitting at all; he was bent halfway across the table, his lips parted and within inches of Amanda Drake's, their eyes locked on each other. He remembered the moment. It had been when he'd leaned forward and dropped his voice so that he could ask her, without being overheard, about Carter's claim that he'd been able to tell that the oncoming headlights belonged to a white van.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, shit, shit!"

There was an inch or two of text farther down the page, and Jaywalker could see his own name and Amanda's, both in bold print. He didn't bother reading it. There'd be phrases like "romantically linked," "husband in jail," and "drove off together in a beige Lexus." And needless to say, there'd be no mention that it had happened to be around noon when the photo had been taken, and in a perfectly respectable diner right around the corner from the courthouse, where Amanda had dutifully shown up as the defendant's family and Jaywalker had appeared as a private investigator working on the case.

"Shit," he muttered again. Would he never learn?

The letter from the Disciplinary Committee arrived two days later, by certified mail, return receipt requested. Jaywalker's right hand shook visibly as he signed for it.

What had he done now? It had been lunch. No, not even lunch. He'd had a goddamn cup of tea, w as all.

All morning, phrases kept drifting back to him from his previous go-round with the committee. Phrases like overzealous…utter contempt for long-established rules…open defiance of members of the judiciary… pushing the ethical envelope almost to the breaking point…conduct totally unbecoming a member of the bar… And finally, the only one Jaywalker didn't consider a personal badge of honor, a well-documented sexual indiscretion that took place in this very courthouse.

Over the next two days, as he prepared for the Status Review Hearing the letter had informed him of, Jaywalker reviewed the transcripts of his prior appearances before the committee, researched the law, and even reached out to a colleague or two for advice-something he hadn't done for years. None of them was able to help him any more than Jaywalker was able to help himself. So far as he could tell, he'd broken no law, breached no canon of ethics, and done nothing to bring shame to the bar. Nor, most to the point, had he "engaged in the practice of law," the cardinal sin that he knew could cost him his ticket, not to mention his freedom. And if he'd partaken in a bit of sexual indiscretion, he'd done so only behind closed doors, with a very consenting adult. Or did Page Six have a photo of that, too, which they'd slipped to the judges before running it in tomorrow's edition?

"Welcome back," said the presiding judge, the one sitting in the middle. The three of them peered down like vultures from their perches behind the dark mahogany bench that separated them from him. Or maybe it was oak, stained to look like mahogany. Jaywalker bit his lip and fought to concentrate on the business at hand, but it was hard. After two full days of worrying, he still couldn't figure out what he'd done to land himself back here.

"Good morning, Your Honors." A little show of respect couldn't hurt, he figured.

"We've received a report," said the presiding judge, "that you were present at the county court arraignment of one Carter Drake. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I was in the spectator section."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

The judge raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated parody of disbelief. Then he adjusted his reading glasses and began leafing through what appeared to be a thick set of documents in front of him. But by standing on his tiptoes, Jay walker could see that what the judge was really doing was flipping through the pages of a copy of the New York Post.

"Tell me," said one of the other judges, "is it your hope to substitute as counsel for Mr. Drake at some point?"

"It is indeed," said Jaywalker. "But certainly not until my suspension has run its full course." He'd been practicing that statement for a day and a half now, knowing the question would be asked sooner or later. Though the soonness kind of surprised him. Soonification? Soonth? He bit his lip again.

"So hope springs eternal?" The third judge.

"Yes."

"In the two and a half years since your suspension took effect," asked the P.J., "have you engaged in the practice of law-e ven once? "

Jaywalker could spot a trap from a mile away. It was the sort of question that could have been lifted from his own playbook. All the witness had to do was say no, and the jaws would spring shut on him. Obviously they'd discovered that he'd done something, ev en if he himself couldn't remember what. Still, there was only one way to answer. Jaywalker took a deep breath, fixed the judge's eyes with his own, and said "Absolutely not" in as strong and steady a voice as he could muster.

"Good," said the P.J. "Do you have a motion?"

"A motion?"

"Yes."

Jaywalker had absolutely no idea what sort of motion the judge had in mind. Early in his career, when a criminal court judge had said, "Let's see your motion," Jaywalker had obliged him with an elaborate demonstration of his pitching motion, the no-men-on-base, full-windup version. That stunt had earned him a fifteen-second outburst of laughter, a standing ovation-and a contempt citation. He was pretty sure the presiding judge didn't have that particular kind of motion in mind. Still, he'd made it clear he expected something.

"I move that we, uh, adjourn for lunch?"

"How about," suggested the judge dryly, "a motion to terminate your suspension early?"

For once, Jaywalker was speechless. It was his turn to raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

"This court," the judge was saying, "finds that the respondent has, for the past two years and several months, comported himself admirably. He appears to have refrained from practicing law and, except for this recent bit of notoriety, from bringing embarrassment to his profession. Additionally, we have been advised by Justice Travis Hinkley, of the Rockland County Court, that this case will be put on a fast track for trial, and that no applications for lengthy adjournments will be granted. We are well aware of your, shall we say creativity, Mr. Jaywalker. We have no doubt that you're fully capable of coming up with some clever strategy to delay the trial until you're able to practice again. Now that won't be necessary. Your suspension is hereby terminated forthwith, Mr. Jaywalker, and you are reinstated as a member of the bar in good standing. This court is in recess."

"Thank you," Jaywalker managed to say, but he had to settle for saying it to the three judges' backs. It seemed as though they were every bit as anxious to get out of there as he was.

So just like that, he was back in the ball game, without so much as a demonstration of his stretch with runners on base or his pick-off move, which had always been pretty good, at least for a righty.

Didn't they even want to see that?