She nods. "You're right. Sex is everything. And if the money's right, I'll prove it to you."
I barely get out of there with my male dignity intact, and I head down to the public defender's office. Movies generally portray public defenders in one of two ways. One version has them as courageous defenders of our precious rights, fighting on despite a horrible work over-load, a woefully inadequate budget, and working conditions straight out of Oliver Twist. The other view has them as incompetent hacks who couldn't make it anywhere else and who guarantee their poor clients a life in prison due to miserable representation.
In this jurisdiction, neither portrayal is accurate. For the most part, PDs are tough, competent lawyers who do a damn good job. They are in fact overworked, but the system provides them with an adequate budget to represent their clients. It wouldn't fund the dream team, but if an expert witness is needed, it gets paid for. As far as office space goes, it's a hell of a lot nicer than mine. Of course, as Edna would point out, that ain't saying much.
The head of the Public Defender Division is Billy Cameron, nicknamed Bulldog, not because of his considerable tenacity on behalf of his clients but because he played wide receiver for the University of Georgia. Legend has it that he caught eleven passes for four touch-downs to beat Auburn. I would have been about five years old at the time, so of course, I don't remember the game, but I probably bet on Auburn.
"So, Andy," he says when I walk in, "I hear you've got three dollars more than God."
"Only because he's made some bad investments lately."
He nods, having reached his rather low banter tolerance already. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I've come to offer my humble services as a barrister," I explain.
He's immediately distrustful. "Why?"
"Why? Doesn't the word 'civic responsibility' mean anything to you?"
"That's two words," he points out.
"All the more reason for you to accept my gracious offer." He looks dubious, so I push on. "Come on, Billy, the big firms send you their inexperienced losers for pro bono work, and you lick their faces. I'm giving you a chance to get the one and only Andy Carpenter. So what's your problem?"
"Because they're doing it to look good in the community by impersonating decent human beings. Your motive isn't quite as clear."
"You've got a client I think is innocent," I say, "and I thought it would be nice for all concerned if I proved it."
"And this client is … ?"
"Oscar Garcia."
He looks up sharply. "Oscar Garcia?"
"The very one." I can see Billy's mind working. Oscar is someone no lawyer in his right mind would want as a client, yet here I am applying for the job. Billy knows I can get as many clients as I want. So if I want Garcia, he's thinking, then he should want him as well, but he has no idea why.
"And you think he's innocent?" he asks. "How did you come up with that theory?"
"Somebody told me there's no way he could have done it," I say. "That he never could have gone up against Dorsey."
Billy laughs a short, put-down laugh. "That's it? That's your evidence? Who told you that?"
"Laurie Collins."
Billy stops laughing. He knows Laurie very well and is fully aware that her opinions about matters like this are to be taken very seriously. But he has to stand his ground. "I don't think the 'Laurie defense' will hold up in court."
"I'll try and come up with something else just in case," I say.
I can see that he is weakening, so I up the pressure a little. "Come on, Billy, you know every lawyer you have is hiding in the closet when you walk by so you can't dump this on them. And I won't use your resources. Everything comes out of my office."
He can't think of a reason to say no, so he doesn't. "And you'll keep me informed?"
"Every step of the way," I say.
"Andy, you know how many of these cases I've seen? Don't count on this being another Willie Miller."
"I won't," I say. "It's Oscar Garcia all the way."
He reaches down and picks up a file off his desk. He hands it to me. "Here's all we know so far. Read it and then go see your client."
I take the file back to my office and read what Billy found in the police reports. They had received an anonymous tip phoned in to 911 by a woman claiming that Garcia was involved. They were then able to match his fingerprints to those found on the door to the warehouse where Dorsey's body was found. Witnesses also claimed to have seen Garcia near that warehouse on a number of occasions, including the morning of the murder.
I'm sure the case is stronger than this, and I'll have to direct my efforts toward finding out what more they have. The 911 call is intriguing, since the information given was wrong. It could simply be a mistake, but it more likely seems to be an indication that someone, most likely Stynes, is trying to frame Garcia.
I'm about to go visit with my potential client when Laurie comes in. She is obviously upset, and it takes about a fraction of a second for me to find out why.
"Is it true you're taking on Oscar Garcia as a client?" It's a question, dressed up like a demand.
"I haven't met with him yet," I reply rather lamely.
"So you are meeting with him? You want to take his case?"
I nod. "I'm on the way over there now."
"Incredulous" doesn't quite go far enough to describe her reaction. "Let me see if I understand this," she says. "You were turning down every client in town for six months so you could hold out for Oscar Garcia?"
"Laurie, I'm late. Can we talk about this if and when he hires me? He might want a different lawyer." The fact is, I'm hoping he turns me down. My conscience will be clear.
She laughs derisively. "Yeah, he's a real prize. There'll be a roomful of lawyers trying to win him over. Andy, how the hell could you do this to me?"
"I'm not doing anything to you, Laurie."
"You know how I feel about him, you know what he's done to my friend, yet of all the people you could represent you pick him."
"Laurie, I know how this might seem. But believe me, it's not about you. It has nothing whatsoever to do with you."
It's clear that she isn't close to being convinced. "Then why are you doing this? Just tell me why."
"There are reasons that I can't go into, I truly can't go into."
"Yeah, right."
I try a different approach, because this one obviously isn't working at all. "Okay, you tell me why I would be taking on a client to get back at you. I love you, I care about you, but I would do this to punish you? To hurt you? Does that make sense? Did we have a fight I forgot about?"
She takes a moment to weigh my argument, and I think I have a chance until I can see the reject button go off in her brain.
"Don't do it, Andy." It's a combination plea and command.