Winston Patrick Mystery 2-Book Bundle. David Russell W.
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before I even got out the pre-trial centre’s doors the previous night.
“Can’t go getting all ‘Chartery’ on this one,” Derek murmured. Canada’s overarching Charter of Rights and Freedoms pretty much spelled out that an arrested person gets his or her first court appearance within twenty-four hours of arrest, unless it is unreasonable for that to happen. The word “reasonable” in the Charter has been the cause of much difficulty in legal proceedings because of its subjectivity: one man’s reasonable is another’s utterly ridiculous. It was generally held though that a person arrested late in the evening—especially on a Friday and especially when the charge involved homicide—could scarcely make an argument for a weekend delay in first appearance somehow depriving the person of fair process.
“I suspect not,” was all I could think of to say in agreement. In most of our endeavours, Derek and I operated on an equal footing. Sitting here with my first—and hopefully last—really difficult murder case had me feeling somewhat inferior.
“Okay,” he said, typing the finishing touches on his keyboard. I knew that before he left the office today, his computer calendar would be linked up to his secretary’s, and she would be aware of his schedule for Monday morning and would make the requisite changes to his appointments. “First appearance should be fairly straightforward. What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Hmm, go to it for me.”
He looked up at me quizzically. “What do you mean? You’re not coming?”
“I have to teach classes,” I lamely explained. “The principal is already not too pleased he has a teacher on staff accused of the crime. He is even less pleased that another teacher on staff is representing the first.”
Derek leaned back in his chair and glanced up at the high ceiling in his office. “Yeah, I guess I can see how that might not look so good for a principal. He must really be losing sleep. How’s he handling things?”
“Not well. He’s not talking to me much.”
“I guess not.” Derek leaned forward and began to laugh gently at my predicament. “Man. You still know how to get yourself in shit, don’t you?”
“It’s a character trait.”
“Or flaw, depending on your perspective.” We both smiled. We considered my habit of getting myself stuck with odd cases to be rather amusing and perhaps a measure of my belief in seeing that all people get a fair trial, not, as my ex-wife attested, a symptom of my poor judgment and character.
“So you just need me to handle his bail application?” Derek asked, almost a little sadly. I could tell this case had started to pique his interest, and he was looking to stay involved. It is little known to members of the general public that many lawyers, even the high-priced ones, often take on cases that offer little or no compensation, simply because they believe strongly in the legal principle at stake or because they feel a challenge in the case. Other times, major law firms require their associates, sometimes even their partners, to take on some pro bono cases each year, just to ensure their legal and courtroom instincts and ethics stay intact. I can recall a number of times in drug court where I would see high-powered talent from major firms doing Legal Aid defence cases. It’s a way of giving something back.
I smiled inwardly. “Well,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure I could use some litigation muscle. With some of the big-time losers you’ve defended, I can’t think of anyone better to turn to for assistance.”
“So your client is a big-time loser too?” Try though I might, it was virtually not possible to insult Derek. He has such thick skin that he takes nothing personally.
“Only in the ever-impartial eyes of the media,” I retorted.
“Okay.” He confirmed his attachment to the case with a slight slap on his glass topped desk. “What have you got so far?”
That gave me yet another moment for pause. I didn’t “got” much of anything. In terms of Carl’s defence, I was basically operating on my own conviction that his version of events was true. I had no evidence to back up that conviction, and I told Derek so.
“So you have a whole hell of a lot of work to do this weekend,” he stated the obvious.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I’m going to drop by to visit Carl and then begin doing some research.”
“Library here is open if you need it,” he offered, granting me access to his law firm’s extensive legal reference library. This was essentially a no-no, but the firm was so pleased it had acquired Derek that he pretty much had the run of the place. “I take it then, you don’t have much of a strategy developed yet?”
“No. Andrea seems to think there is some kind of pressure from on high. Our best defence at this point might be a good offence. She’s decided she believes in me believing in my client and figures the best way to clear him might just be to find the actual perp.”
Derek gave me a careful look. Without saying it, Derek was giving me a basic law school caution. My job as Carl’s defence counsel was not to solve the crime for the police. It isn’t a good defence strategy to act as investigator and prosecutor of someone other than the client.
“I agree that would make life easier—” he began.
“But I’m going to work first of all on looking into his alibi at the time of death, something the police were largely quiet about,” I interrupted.
“Good a place as any to start,” he agreed. “Email what you have sometime tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll talk Sunday night before I go into court. You gonna be okay to get time for trial?”
“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.”
“Better make plans in case wishful thinking doesn’t hold true.”
“Okay. Thanks, Derek. I’ll be in touch,” I said, standing to let him get back to his paying work.
“Just a minute,” he said, standing also and looking at me awkwardly. “Have you talked to Sandi recently?”
“Yeah. The other day.”
“Did she talk to you about anything in particular?” he asked cautiously.
I had nearly forgotten Sandi’s news. “Yeah. She told me she was pregnant.”
I could feel Derek searching my face for some kind of reaction. “And?”
“And? And I didn’t know she was even dating anyone in particular.”
“Neither did anyone else.”
“Ahh.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Because for reasons known only to you and her, my sister has long before, during and after your marriage to her, managed to hold a bizarre, captivating spell over you, and news of her pending maternity may just affect you in matters that will cause you to sleep even less than you already do.”
“Man,” I told him, shaking my head in mock condescension. “You need to let go. It’s over between your sister and me. I’ve moved on. It’s time you did, too.”
“Right,” he told me. “Just don’t do anything stupider than usual.”
“Like re-marry your sister to make an honest woman of her?”
“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“It hasn’t crossed mine. I’m happy for her.”
“We’ll see,” he cautioned. With that foreboding message, I turned and left Derek to defend the upper echelons of society from their brushes with the law.
Sixteen
Carl looked like hell. Incarceration, even for the