Trial and Error

Eight

Judge Barash was hanging up his robe when Victoria walked in. The chambers had the requisite oak desk, heavy crimson drapes, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and handsome Persian rug. Standing at the bookshelves, a man fiddled with a brass model of the scales of justice, tilting them out of whack like a butcher with a heavy thumb.

Ray Pincher. What’s he doing here?

“Ms. Lord,” the judge said, “I’m sure you know the State Attorney.”

“I worked for Mr. Pincher,” she replied, omitting the fact that he’d fired her.

“Ms. Lord was still green then,” Pincher said. Victoria wondered if that was an apology.

The State Attorney wore a jet-black suit with a silk burgundy shirt and matching tie. Pincher’s cuff links-miniature handcuffs-rattled as he played with the scales. He had a military officer’s posture and projected both self-confidence and self-righteousness.

“I assume Solomon told you what happened out on the Key in the wee hours,” Pincher said to Victoria.

Omigod. What had Steve said? Trouble at Cetacean Park. What now?

“Is Steve in any trouble?” she asked.

“For once, no. Actually, inconceivably, he’s sort of a semi-hero.”

Pincher took several minutes explaining that the Animal Liberation Movement, the ALM, had been terrorizing zoos and tourist attractions and research labs for months. Last night, they’d hit Cetacean Park. Three guys. One got away. Steve helped nab one of the others, though Pincher made it sound more like an accident.

“Wade Grisby, the owner of the place, shot the third terrorist,” Pincher said. “Killed him. Clear case of self-defense.”

“Meaning the Grand Jury will indict the guy Solomon caught,” Judge Barash chimed in. “Thank God I don’t have to preside over that can of worms.”

“Felony murder,” Victoria said.

Pincher nodded. “You got it.”

One of the quirks in the law. If you and your buddy rob a convenience store, and the owner kills your buddy, you’re guilty of felony murder because your crime-robbery-precipitated the shooting. Makes no difference that the victim is your partner in crime and maybe deserved it.

“What’s all this have to do with me?” Victoria asked.

“Bad guy’s a dumb ass, and I gotta pass,” Pincher said.

Victoria’s look posed a question that Pincher quickly answered. “His name’s Gerald Nash, and that sucker’s my sister’s boy.”

“You’re conflicted out,” she said.

“Me and my whole office.”

“But what’s that got to do with me?” she repeated. Her eyes flicked from Pincher to the judge and back again. “You’re not saying you want me to prosecute?”

Pincher cracked his knuckles. “You’re the right woman for the job.”

“I’m ready to administer the oath,” Judge Barash announced. “Got the Bible right here.”

Double-teaming me. What’s going on?

Victoria looked straight at Pincher. “I don’t get it. All the lawyers in Miami, you choose me to prosecute your nephew? You don’t even like me.”

“I don’t like Solomon. Got no problem with you.”

“You fired me.”

“Had to set an example. You caused a mistrial, embarrassed my office.”

Not as much as the whole episode had embarrassed her, Victoria thought. It was her first encounter with Steve-the-Shark Solomon, defense lawyer. She was prosecuting a bird-smuggler, and Steve called a white-feathered cockatoo to testify. Victoria had lost her cool, and Steve gleefully baited her into a mistrial. Not only that, but the bird crapped on the sleeve of her Gucci jacket.

“You’ve matured since then,” Pincher continued. “And I’ve always felt a little guilty about canning you.”

“Uh-huh.” Not buying it.

“You’ll get lots of press, make a name for yourself, bring in some paying clients.” Pincher gave her a sharp smile and cracked his knuckles again. “Let someone else rep the sleepwalkers who rob liquor stores.”

“If I lose, people will say you appointed me to cut your nephew a break.”

“I despise the little bastard. A self-righteous prick just like his old man. And you won’t lose. Gerald broke into Cetacean Park. His accomplice was killed. Close the book. He’s on the hook.”

In her brief tenure as a prosecutor, Victoria had never handled a murder trial. But Pincher couldn’t be tanking the case. The political fallout would be brutal. And he was right. State v. Nash was a slam dunk. Pincher was right about something else, too. A high-profile case was just what Solomon amp; Lord needed. And even better, she could work on her own. Solo, without Steve hovering over her, second-guessing every tactical decision.

So, despite the uneasy feeling of not knowing precisely what was going on, Victoria turned to the judge and said, “Where’s that Bible, Your Honor?”

SOLOMON’S LAWS

2. The best way to hustle a case is to pretend you don’t want the work.