Trial and Error

Ten

Driving south on Dixie Highway, Victoria couldn’t wait to tell Steve the news.

She’d been deputized and had a badge and gun to prove it.

Specially appointed Assistant State Attorney for the 11th Judicial Circuit, in and for Miami-Dade County, Florida.

There’d be a story in tomorrow’s paper. With more to come.

It was just what Solomon amp; Lord needed. A high-profile trial. And a winner. Felony murder was a piece of cake for the prosecution. In most murder trials, the state must prove the defendant intended the harm. Not so in felony murder, where “strict liability” was the rule. If Gerald Nash committed a felony and Sanders died as a result, Nash is guilty even if he didn’t intend to cause an injury, much less death, and even if he did not, as a matter of fact, cause the death.

Draconian, maybe. But hey, that’s the law.

They’d have new cases rolling in. Big cases. They could drop some of Steve’s old clients. When Steve had first told her he defended personal injury cases, he never mentioned the lap dancers at The Beav. His arguments on motion calendars could be so embarrassing.

“A man who buys a lap dance assumes the risk that he’ll suffer whiplash from an enhanced and wayward breast.”

No more wayward breasts, she decided.

State v. Nash could solve multiple problems. There’d be a steady flow of checks. Okay, not a fortune, but state employment would solve the current cash-flow crunch. And when those new clients rolled in with big retainers, her professional life with Steve would be easier, too. No more scraping up leftovers in the bargain basement of the courthouse. No more ads on bus benches: Solomon amp; Lord. Hablamos Espanol.

Now Victoria cruised south past Coral Gables and headed toward Kendall. Her destination was Sunniland Park, where Steve had taken Bobby for baseball practice. She felt the buzz that comes with good news and high expectations.

She’d moved in with Steve six months earlier, not without some doubts and fears. Her mother, Irene Lord, known as The Queen to friends, family, and Neiman-Marcus salesclerks, hadn’t approved of Steve on many grounds. The Queen’s multicount indictment was divided evenly between finances and status. Steve didn’t make enough money. He didn’t belong to the Opera Guild. He had a habit of being thrown in jail for contempt. And you’d have to mug Steve to get him to the Sunday night seafood buffet at the country club.

At first, her mother tried to persuade Victoria not to live with Steve. Her advice had a quaint feel to it. “A man won’t buy the cow if he’s getting the creme fraiche for free.”

The Queen’s attitude changed once Steve helped her when a con man fleeced her out of a bundle. “If Stephen makes you happy, dear, that’s good enough for me.” That was as much of an endorsement as The Queen could muster, and it would have to do.

There’d been the problems of their different professional styles, of course. But living with Steve had been easier than Victoria expected. She had no real complaints, though she wondered why it was necessary for the TV to be tuned to ESPN twenty-four hours a day.

Steve had been caring and considerate. Bobby was positively loveable. Victoria spent as much time with the boy as possible and had clearly become a welcome substitute for his abusive mother.

So with the car radio tuned to the all-news station, and the lead story about the shooting at Cetacean Park, Victoria smiled to herself as she pulled into the parking lot of the baseball field.

Yes, these were good times. And Steve was going to be so proud of her.

SOLOMON’S LAWS

3. When arguing with a woman who is strong, intelligent, and forthright, consider using trickery, artifice, and deceit.