The Guilty Page 5

  “The old brain trust’s going to need some time alone, people, so why don’t you show Peter here around a little. You too, John,” he said to Kalouderis, who still sat on the sofa. “You can have a nap after everybody’s gone home tonight.”

  Kalouderis grinned and flipped his middle finger in Leblanc’s direction before getting up and following the others out of the office, leaving the two partners alone. Bratt returned to his feet-on-the-desk position, while Leblanc closed the door.

  “So, what’s the scoop?” Bratt asked.

  Leblanc didn’t sit, a sure sign that he was feeling nervous. He ran his fingertips along the back of the chair that Ralston had just vacated, and pursed his lips, before finally answering.

  “Well, I spoke to Lynn Sévigny…about that murder case I told you she had.”

  “I hope you asked about her health while you were at it.”

  “Geez, Bob, I’m not that much of an asshole. I made sure she was fine, OK? I’m just trying to get to the point quickly because you’ve got to be in court in twenty minutes.”

  “You’re right there, so let’s get to it.”

  “Right. Bottom line is she’d like you to take the case.”

  Bratt stamped his feet down to the floor. “Are you nuts? I’m not taking on any new cases, and you know it. I’m exhausted and I’m planning on sleeping in for the next two weeks.”

  “That’s perfect,” Leblanc smiled, “you’ll still be back a week before the trial.”

  The weak attempt at a joke only got Bratt angrier, and when he spoke this time he was almost shouting. “I’m not kidding! You can shove your dumb jokes, J.P., because I need some time to myself.”

  “OK, OK, I’m sorry. Don’t take my head off. I never wanted to get you involved in this thing in the first place. I know how hard you’ve been working, how tired you are. It’s just that when I went to speak to Lynn she brought up your name before I even had a chance to ask her about the file.”

  “She brought up my name?” Bratt was surprised to hear this. He had been certain that his partner had decided to drop this hot potato into his lap because Leblanc hated handling major trials himself as much as he hated seeing them go to lawyers from outside the firm.

  “Yes, she did. I told you, she knew she couldn’t do this kid’s trial herself, no matter what the money involved was. She’s about as straight a shooter as they come, as you’ve often said yourself. So, she’s been considering who she could refer it to and I guess you’ve been such a buddy to her all these years that she chose you.”

  “Well, it was nice of her to think of me, but she’s going to have to find someone else.”

  “You know that’s not going to be easy at this late date. You’re not the only lawyer with scheduling problems.”

  “So, if everybody else gets to beg off because there’s not enough time, how come I don’t? Why am I so special?”

  “Because, Bobby-boy, you are special. And that’s not only your own opinion, by the way, Lynn thinks so too. She said she wouldn’t trust any other lawyer with this file. It seems she already told the kid’s mother all about you, told her how you were the Second Coming of the Messiah. Now the mother’s just bursting to meet you.”

  “How the hell do you know the mother’s ‘just bursting’?”

  “Because the lady told me so herself. Her name is Jennifer Campbell, and she was with Lynn when I went to the hospital. She’s a very spiritual lady and she had some sort of prayer session going on up there when I showed up. Very concerned for Lynn, she was. And you can be sure now that you’re in the picture, she’s not planning to sit idly by and miss the Second Coming. Not when her son’s the first soul that’s gonna be saved. So, Mrs. Campbell will be here to meet you at five-thirty today.”

  Judge Smythe had his hands full trying to keep the jurors’ attention as he gave them his final instructions before they began their deliberations. The twelve citizens seemed to be able to smell the finish line at the end of the grueling marathon, and their only thoughts were to get it over with as fast as possible.

  Bratt had difficulty concentrating as well, but this time it wasn’t because the dry subject matter bored him. Rather, his mind was on the murder trial that he had never intended to take on. Leblanc only had time to give him the briefest details in preparation for meeting the client’s mother, despite Bratt’s insistence that he had absolutely no interest in doing so. As it turned out the details were more than enough to pique his interest.

  Marlon Small, Leblanc told him, was the oldest son of a hardworking Jamaican immigrant and had never been in trouble with the law before. Now he was accused of two counts of first-degree murder and one count of attempted murder.

  The shootings had occurred in a Little Burgundy crack den the previous June 14. This small section of town, barely a few blocks wide and tucked into the southwest corner of the city, contained a mix of immigrant families and blue-collar workers who co-existed uneasily with drug-dealers and street gangs.

  Small was alleged to have been one of two gunmen who had gone up to the dingy apartment to steal drugs, but took lives instead. The other gunman was an eighteen-year old named Marcus Paris, who, soon after his arrest, had made a deal to testify against Small in return for being allowed to plead guilty to second degree murder. As a result Paris would be eligible for parole after serving only ten years, with a promise by the Crown of a favorable recommendation. Bratt thought that was a small price to pay for the two dead bodies he’d left behind.

  The other main prosecution witness was Dorrell Phillips, the surviving victim of the shooting. He had gone to that apartment looking for his older brother, a longtime junkie who often smoked his crack there. Dorrell had ended up with two bullets to the back of his neck that he had miraculously survived.

  He would be called on at trial to identify Small as the man who shot him. His brother, Dexter, and the crack dealer known as Indian had not been as fortunate as Dorrell. Their bodies had been found lying face down on the bloody apartment floor by the late-arriving police.

  As much as he had not wanted to get involved with this case, Bratt couldn’t stop thinking about it. According to Leblanc, Lynn Sévigny had strongly believed in her client’s innocence, despite the seemingly overwhelming evidence. This was what intrigued Bratt the most, because the case against Small seemed almost open and shut. Lynn wasn’t one of those softhearted beginners who took everything their clients told them for Gospel, and the possibility that there could be such a strong case against a genuinely innocent man made for a challenge that he thought would be worthy of his skills.

  Sitting in the courtroom, half-listening to Smythe explain the jury’s duties, Bratt mentally kicked himself at the realization that he was actually considering defending Marlon Small, despite his earlier reticence. A gambler by nature, Bratt could see himself defying the heavy odds and riding the long shot to victory. He also thought the subject matter would be much more appealing than what he had lived through for the past two months. Furthermore, the murder trial was scheduled to last only two weeks, which made it a wind sprint compared to the Hall trial.

  He balanced the pros and cons of jumping into the Small case at such a late date. Beyond his mental and physical exhaustion, he wanted to spend some time reconnecting with his daughter. They had grown apart recently, as was evidenced by their recent conflicts. Despite how interested he was in the case, he had all the reasons in the world to pass on it.

  Bratt entered the front door of the firm just before 5:30 p.m. and Jennifer Campbell stood up to greet him. She was a petite woman wearing her hair in a short ponytail and his first thought was that she must be Small’s sister, not his mother. He guessed that she was seven or eight years younger than himself, which meant that she must have been around sixteen when she had had her son. She had a pretty, but harshly-used face which wore the traces of raising four children, usually alone, and often working two jobs to keep the family clothed and fed. She had a proud nature that he could sense just in the man
ner that she stood straight and looked him in the eye as he shook her hand.

  She had been sitting in the waiting area with Kouri, his unexpected assistant. Bratt was less than thrilled to see the young lawyer there. He wanted to be alone with Mrs. Campbell, especially if it turned out that he was going to have to disappoint her. He didn’t want the president of his fan club watching wide-eyed as he tried to weasel his way out of an uncomfortable situation.

  “Mrs. Campbell,” he greeted her, wearing his serious, but compassionate, look. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since I heard about your son’s case.”

  She clasped both his hands in hers and looked up at him with reddened eyes. “God bless you, Mr. Bratt, for taking our case,” she said, her voice revealing a light Jamaican accent. “I had been despairing about our situation, until I learned that you’d been sent to us like an angel of mercy.”

  Bratt hadn’t been prepared for this effusive greeting and, for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Kouri stood behind her, smiling at him and nodding as if to say, “I bet you weren’t ready for that.” It took Bratt only a brief moment to recover his composure and retake control of the situation.

  “Well now, Mrs. Campbell, I don’t think there are many people who would consider me an angel, but maybe they’re not as perceptive as you are.” He smiled and winked knowingly, as if they were the only two people who were in on a secret joke. Still holding her by the hand he guided her into his office. Kouri followed close behind them, carrying an accordion folder that contained Marlon Small’s file.

  “Oh, thanks, Peter,” said Bratt. “Just leave the file on my desk on your way out.”

  “Actually, Mr. Bratt, I’d be happy to stay. I already had a chance to go through most of the witnesses’ will-say statements. I explained to Mrs. Campbell how you’ve been overwhelmed with work lately, and I thought I should be ready to brief you on whatever you’ll need to know.”

  “I understand this is a very busy time for you, Mr. Bratt,” Mrs. Campbell chimed in. “But your agreeing to take our case anyway, well that tells me you’re the kind of man who’ll help us with all his heart and soul. When Miss Sévigny got sick I prayed and prayed we’d find someone who’d do whatever has to be done to save my Marlon. She told us that we couldn’t be in better hands than with you.”

  Bratt felt that her words were meant to corner him into taking the case. She obviously had her mind set on retaining him and wasn’t going to be easily refused.

  “Mrs. Campbell, your confidence in me is very flattering, I’m sure. But before I can make a total commitment to your son’s case there are some issues that have to be addressed.”

  “Have no worries about that, sir. I’m not a rich woman, but I have good and true friends in my congregation, and they’re going to see to it that you’ll get paid whatever you need to get my boy out of jail.”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstand,” Bratt said, hurriedly. “I wasn’t worried about the money.”

  “Why, that’s a very Christian attitude for a lawyer.”

  Bratt stopped again, unsure if she was joking or being serious. Looking at her open face he finally decided that she was being a bit of both, and he managed a hesitant smile. He was trying to at least look at ease in the conversation, but it was hard to get an accurate reading of the woman. He decided to just push on and let the chips fall where they may.

  “As I said, Mrs. Campbell, there are issues to consider. First of all, the time element is very important. There are barely three weeks until your son’s trial-”

  “Peter here,” she interrupted, pointing at Kouri, “told me that it was a pretty straightforward ‘their word against ours’ case. Not a lot of complicated points of law to study or anything.”

  Bratt threw an exasperated look at Kouri, whose expression showed that he wished that he had kept his mouth shut. “Well, I don’t want to disagree with such an excellent attorney as, uh, Peter, but I’ll still have to go through the whole file very carefully before I could give you my considered opinion. And I’m just finishing up what was a very long, arduous case, you see.”

  “I’ll tell you, I don’t know how you can do it, jumping from one big trial to the next like that. I’m surprised you’re able to keep your head on straight. Mine would be just spinning like a top.”

  “Precisely my point.”

  “But, I guess when you’re the best lawyer in the country you do things that the rest of us can’t even dream of.”

  Bratt had to squeeze his jaw shut to keep it from dropping open. She was very obviously laying it on thick to win him over, but that knowledge didn’t prevent him from taking a certain pleasure from her flattery.

  “Well, that’s really very nice of you to say. It’s obviously very exaggerated, but you still won’t get an argument out of me.”

  They both laughed, but he could tell that as she laughed she was observing him very closely, measuring his reactions and trying to read his thoughts before saying anything further.

  “Mr. Bratt,” she said, her tone turning serious, “Marlon is my oldest boy, the one I’m the closest to in age. And I know him like I know my own breath. He isn’t living his life the way I want him to. He’s still got a lot of growing up to do, but he’s not nearly as bad as they’re saying.

  “Now if you have children, you know what they can do and what they can’t. You know what’s in their heart just by looking at them. I’m not a very educated woman, but I’ve seen enough things in my lifetime to trust my own eyes and my own heart. I know this much: my boy’s no angel, but he didn’t kill anybody. Why those two boys say he did, I don’t know. I haven’t met them. I haven’t looked them in the eyes like I did with my Marlon. I don’t know what’s in their hearts, except that it isn’t the truth.

  “Now, Miss Sévigny, she’s a fine lady. We took her as Marlon’s lawyer because she had already helped out my sister Carmela’s boy Anthony when he got mixed up in some bad drug business. I’m sure she would have done her very best for Marlon too, but I don’t think her best is as good as your best.”

  Bratt opened his mouth, feeling that he should at least say something in Lynn’s favor, but Mrs. Campbell wouldn’t let him interrupt, and she waved him quiet with her hand.

  “Please, let me continue. Now, I know that the Lord will always do right by us if we believe in Him, and sometimes we have to find His good in the bad that’s happening to someone else. I think that’s what happened here with the sickness that Miss Sévigny’s got, making it so that we had to look for a new lawyer. And now we’ve found you and you’re going to save my boy, I just know it. I don’t like using the word miracle too often, so I’ll just say that my prayers have been answered.”

  Bratt was speechless. He thought of poor Lynn Sévigny and the mutilation that she had undergone, and that was just the beginning of her ordeal. Yet, somehow, this woman was able to rationalize this tragedy into the answer to her prayers, and he found that just a bit scary. There were professional spin-doctors out there who would envy her ability to stand in front of him and say what she said with such a sincere expression on her face.

  “Once again, I have to say that I’m very flattered by your kind words. It is somewhat daunting, you’ll understand, to have to live up to such high expectations. Even my late wife never told me that I was God’s answer to her prayers,” he joked feebly. This time he got nothing close to a smile from the woman standing before him, her face wearing a determined expression. His earlier suspicion that she would be hard to refuse was being confirmed.

  “Mr. Bratt, please understand that if I speak a bit strongly it’s because it’s my boy’s life I’m talking about. I don’t wish no evil on anybody, but if I can save him from the lies that have put him in jail, then that’s all I can think of. He is all I care about, all I can care about, right now. Do you have children? Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied, thinking that maybe he should be making his own child his priority. But taking on the
role of Marlon Small’s savior was going to interfere with his plans to spend more time with Jeannie. Then again, much of his life had been that way. He had long ago accepted the long hours that were necessary to properly defend his clients, and his family life had often paid the price.

  When he took on a case it had never mattered whether the clients were truly guilty or not, whether they were scumbags, as Jeannie had pointed out, or the people next door. There could be no half-measures in his world. Now this extremely devout woman was standing before him, ready to swear on her soul that her son was innocent, and she was turning to him for help.

  Bratt’s body and his mind were tired, but like a reluctant action hero in the movies, he was going to have to ignore his own needs and go back into the burning building: there was one more child to save.

  That night, feeling exhausted, Bratt trudged into his apartment at 10 p.m. After Mrs. Campbell had left his office he sent Kouri home with a promise to consult with him after he had read Marlon Small’s file. He had looked briefly through the evidence and found, as expected, that the case against the young man was strong. There were, however, chinks in even the best-crafted armour and he already had an idea of what he would have to do to exploit the case’s weaknesses, although he wasn’t ready to tell Mrs. Campbell that there were reasons for optimism yet. And he certainly wasn’t about to corroborate what Kouri had told her.

  Presumptuous little twerp, he thought. Who told him to go giving his opinion to clients?

  While Bratt removed his shoe rubbers and topcoat he heard some movement from the direction of Jeannie’s room. He thought of calling out to her, but stopped himself, afraid of setting off another shouting match.

  The hall leading to their respective bedrooms was dark, but light was streaming out from Jeannie’s open door, and there were sounds of movement coming from inside. Stepping into the lit square on the hall carpet, Bratt looked into her room and saw Jeannie, standing with her back to him, handing a folded sweater to a young man that he didn’t recognize. The stranger stopped in the middle of packing the sweater into a cardboard box full of other sweaters, and looked up at Bratt. Jeannie paused in what she was doing and followed the man’s gaze until her eyes rested on her father.