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Gary Quince hated LA traffic. He’d lived here in the City of Angels his entire life, so he should be used to it. But it seemed like traffic was always at its worst when he was short on time.
You loser. Stop making excuses. Shouldn’t a grown man in his mid-forties be able to get out of bed on time? Especially when he had a court date?
His problem this morning wasn’t insomnia. It was the cause of his insomnia. Namely, this case. David Donovan’s case. He was sweating bullets over it. He appreciated the LCL assignment. But he was in over his head. And if he botched this, his client’s life was at an end.
He parked his Mini Cooper and raced toward the back courthouse door. LA’s downtown courthouse was one of the largest in the country and could be a giant rat maze if you didn’t know your way around. Or if it was crowded. Or half the elevators were non-functional, which seemed to be true most of the time.
By the time he got to the courtroom, he was sweating profusely. The marshals had already brought in his client, who was still in shackles and coveralls since today he would only be seen by a judge, not a jury. The marshals stood at a discreet distance, though Gary knew they could pounce in a heartbeat.
He slid behind the table beside his client. “How are you feeling?”
Donovan’s face was lined and drawn, as if he’d been up all night and hadn’t eaten for a week. “Trying not to think about it.”
Trying not to think about which? The fact that he had received a life sentence—tantamount to an execution order, for him—or that the flimsy motion Gary filed was the only thing that could prevent him from going back to prison. “I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.”
“You know what I read online? These motions are successful less than one-tenth of one percent of the time. They say it’s a pro forma motion lawyers file but never expect to succeed.”
Damn Wikipedia anyway. He knew he couldn’t dislodge people’s faith in anything they read on their phones. Especially since, in this case, it was accurate. “I don’t want to inflate expectations, but I think we’ve got a shot. The police did not investigate several possible suspects and the case against you was full of holes.”
“But they still convicted me. Quickly.”
Yes, there was that. “Juries are more easily manipulated than judges. There is definitely reasonable doubt here.” He said that, careful to not actually ask his client if he committed the crime—a question defense attorneys rarely asked. He hadn’t handled the trial, but he knew it was complex and left many questions unanswered. The college student David allegedly killed had a safe in her dorm room and many sketchy friends. A priceless violin. Stalkers. “That’s why LCL sent me your case.”
“The Last Chance Lawyers? That does not sound promising.”
“You might be surprised by our success rate.”
“Tell me that means we’re going to win.”
Gary took a deep breath. “It means you’ve got the best shot you could possibly have.” Especially since he was broke and no one else would take his case. “But we’ve still got a tall mountain to climb.”
A uniformed bailiff entered and half-heartedly announced the imminent arrival of the judge. They rose. So did his opposite number, a young woman from the DA’s office. Seemed this hearing was so unthreatening they sent a baby to cover it.
Judge Durant was the worst possible choice, at least for them. Durant had decades on the bench, a thick shock of white hair, a craggy face, and an expression that suggested he had been doing this job far too long. He had a rep for being a prosecutor’s judge, not because he was a Republican appointee but because he seemed too far gone to volunteer for the considerable work required to overturn a verdict.
The judge stared at the papers on his bench as if he had no idea what they were doing, which seemed rather unlikely.
“Motion for New Trial,” the judge mumbled, as if speaking to himself. “The defendant unsurprisingly wishes to set aside the jury verdict and start over, making various allegations of misconduct by law enforcement.” He looked up. “Does that about cover it, counsel?”
Gary rose. “We also have newly discovered evidence that casts doubt on the fairness of the verdict, your honor.”
The judge nodded. “I see that. You’ve summarized the evidence but not attached it.”
“The evidence is in the form of testimony, your honor. We will need to call witnesses.”
“Were these people born recently? Was their existence known at the time of trial?”
“Well, yes...”
“Then why didn't you call them then?”
Gary took a deep breath. “I didn’t handle the trial below, your honor, but—”
“You stand in the shoes of whoever did.”
“I know, your honor.”
“Are you alleging incompetence of counsel?”
What a can of worms that would be. “Not at this time.”
“Then the court does not grasp how these witnesses can be considered newly discovered.”
His opponent, Assistant District Attorney Lynn Chee, rose. “On that point, we agree. This case has been fully and fairly litigated, your honor. The defendant lost. We don’t want to start retrying cases every time the defendant doesn’t like the verdict.”
Judge Durant shuffled a few more papers. “The court is not seeing a compelling claim of newly discovered evidence. Therefore—”
Gary raised his hands, desperately trying to hold back a ruling. “Your honor, one of these witnesses only came forward a few weeks ago.”
The judge shook his head. “The fact that trial counsel may not have adequately researched the case before it went to trial does not—”
“Your honor, there’s no way any defense lawyer could have known. The prosecutor gave us no indication—”
Chee interrupted. “We are only required to produce evidence we intend to use or that might be exculpatory. Which we did.”
“Then we must have differing definitions of ‘exculpatory.’ Because they buried at least one important witness. A credible witness. A medical doctor. And maybe more.”
Judge Durant sighed. It wasn’t hard to guess what was traveling through his brain. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was retry this case. But he also didn’t want to leave himself open to attack by an appellate court that might think he should’ve at least heard the supposedly relevant evidence being proffered. “The court requires a very high level—”
“Your honor.” Gary knew it was dangerous to interrupt a judge. But if he waited till the judge reached the end of his sentence, it might be too late. “Let me make an offer of proof. In writing. I can have it on your desk by the end of the day.”
The judge bit down on his lower lip.
“There’s no harm. I’ll submit today.” He could feel sweat seeping through his shirt. He’d left his jacket on, of course, so the pit stains didn’t show. But sweat was also dripping down the sides of his face. “If the court thinks this bears merit, set it for full hearing.”
“Your honor,” Chee said. “The judicial system needs to have some sense of finality. Otherwise, no case will ever end.”
Judge Durant peered down at his papers. “Yes, the case needs to end at some point. The question is when we’ve reached that point. And this is a murder case, so we must ensure that every relevant rock has been overturned.” He looked up. “I’ll expect your offer of proof to arrive before the close of business today, counsel. The State will have twenty-four hours to respond. I will instruct the court clerk to set this down for hearing at the first possible setting.”
The clerk, a gray middle-aged woman who appeared almost as lifeless as the judge, replied. “Monday morning at ten.”
“There you have it. If the court is not persuaded by your offer of proof, then the motion will be dismissed. If the court determines that the motion has some possible validity, however remote, we will have a hearing and call witnesses on Monday. And then this matter will be full and finally over. One way or the other. The court will not grant any more extensions, so don’t bother asking.”
He couldn’t believe it. He thought they were dead in the water. Maybe he was a better lawyer than he thought...
Or maybe he’d just gotten lucky. Either way, he was going to take the opportunity and run with it.
“Thank you, your honor. I’ll have the offer to you immediately.”
The judge turned. “Does the State understand the ruling?”
Chee rose again. “Of course, your honor. We strongly disagree, but—”
“The court has ruled.” Judge Durant banged his gavel. “Court dismissed.”
Gary watched the judge leave the courtroom.
David clutched his coat sleeve. “That was good, right?”
“Very good.” He saw marshals approaching. Bastards. Couldn’t give them five minutes to talk? “Not a slam dunk. But at least we have a chance. I’ve already drafted the offer of proof. I’ll polish it up and send it out. I think we’ll get the hearing.”
“And what happens there?”
“We put on our evidence. And hope the court will see that, in its rush to convict the obvious suspect, the police failed to investigate other suspects to such a degree as to call the whole process into question. If the judge grants our motion, we get a new trial.”
David nodded. The marshals looked impatient. He knew they didn’t have much more time. “Are you ready for this?”
Which was exactly the same question Gary had been asking himself ever since LCL assigned him this case. It was nice having someone else find his clients, finance his cases, and pay him a generous salary that wasn’t dependent on success rates. But this time, he might be in over his head. He’d never tried anything so serious in his entire life. Ever since the case began he’d been an anxiety-ridden mess.
David’s eyes were pleading. “I won’t be able to get the help I need if I’m behind bars. Don’t let them put me away for a crime I did not commit. I’ll be dead inside of a year.”
There it was. Unbidden but still answered. He claimed he was an innocent man. And a lawyer’s highest and best use was to prevent the innocent from being railroaded. But he felt desperately unsuited for the task. Like an imposter. And this man needed the real deal.
“I’ll do everything I possibly can,” he said, but even as he spoke the words, they felt weak and inadequate.
Out the corner of his eye, he spotted someone racing out of the courtroom. He wasn’t aware they had spectators. Was someone monitoring the case?
All at once, a tremor rippled through his body with such intensity that he could barely remain standing.
What had he gotten himself into?
The marshals tugged David toward the door. “I’m counting on you, Gary. You’re my only hope.”
And then they were gone and Gary was left standing alone. Feeling terrified and nervous and on the verge of mental collapse.
David Donovan needed him. And he was very much afraid he was about to let him down. Fatally.