No Way Out (8 page)

The judge was an old man, close to retirement from the bench. He had seen and heard just about every piece of bullshit that lawyers were capable of throwing at him, and if there were any new tricks to be learned – even from an experienced veteran like Alex – he would have been most surprised.

“Because it’s a more
recent
event, Your Honor. And in judging a man’s character, the court should give more weight to his
recent
past than his
distant
past.

He placed the emphasis on his key words, in the hope of neuro-linguistically “programming” the judge to respond as he wanted.

“You mean the fact that he returned to the United States to serve out his sentence
after
he escaped?”

“Precisely, Your Honor.”

The judge squirmed with mock-embarrassment and scratched his head.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Mr. Sedaka, but he could hardly have done it
before
he escaped.”

The entire courtroom erupted with mirth at the judge’s wisecrack and Alex felt the frustration that goes with knowing that one faces an uphill struggle against a hostile judge – especially when the hostile judge has the law on his side.

The gallery was packed with journalists who had got wind of Claymore’s arrest. They sensed that this was the beginning of another media event, like the O J Simpson trial.

The ADA shook her head.

“Your Honor, if I might just add something at this juncture, there is nothing particularly confidence-inspiring in Mr. Claymore’s return to the United States, after he’d spent several years on the run as a fugitive from justice. He stayed away as long as he could hold out, until he decided that he preferred the comforts of an American prison to the hardships of a Third World dictatorship.”

Alex bristled with anger.

“Your Honor, anyone who thinks a prison is a comfortable place to be, should spend a couple of nights there.”

“I believe,” the judge replied solemnly, “that prison is
supposed
to be an unpleasant place… so that the inmates won’t want to go back there.”

Again, laughter erupted from the spectators.

“My point, Your Honor,” Alex replied, with growing irritation, “is that the Court should be guided in its judgment by considering the
new
Elias Claymore, not the
old
Elias Claymore. His absconding, like his criminal record, belongs to his
past
.”

“That’s something that the prosecution will no doubt dispute, and something that the jury will have to decide,” said the judge in his world-wary tone. “However, I’m inclined to accept that the defense has a valid point regarding the flight risk. The fact that Mr. Claymore returned to the United States to serve his sentence is a strong point in his favor. Also he does now have roots in the community. On the other hand I must also bear in mind the severity of the alleged crime and the fact that Mr. Claymore has a record for this sort of crime and the fact that he did once escape lawful custody.”

For almost half a minute Alex and the ADA waited in silence while the judge appeared to be considering his options.

“I feel that in this case, the accused’s record of escape outweighs any other factors. Bail is denied.”

Alex was angry.

“In that case my client stands by his right to a speedy trial.”

“That
is
your right, Mr. Sedaka. I’ll set the prelim fourteen days hence in Court 12.

In general lawyers are more amenable to a delay when their client is out on bail. Alex’s motive for refusing to waive the right was twofold. Firstly to put pressure on the DA – and thus indirectly on the judge – to reconsider the bail question. Secondly, if bail
was
to be denied, then he didn’t want his client sitting in jail for long. Jail is an unsafe environment at the best of times, and for a black man who was thought of as an “Uncle Tom” it was particularly dangerous. Black prisoners would hate him because of the perception that he had “joined the establishment” while on the other hand he could hardly expect any sympathy from cliques like the “Aryan Nation.”

Whether either of them would go as far as to try and kill him was another matter, but prison beatings were almost impossible to prevent. The only way Claymore would be safe is if he asked for isolation from the general prison population. But that would involve being put in a special section with all the sex offenders, including child molesters. Alex wasn’t sure if Claymore would be ready to seek this. Knowing Claymore, he’d probably try to tough it out – until it was too late. And this wasn’t an area in which Alex could advise his client. It was something Claymore would have to decide for himself.

After a brief whispered exchange, Claymore was led away to be taken back to the county jail that was also located in the building.

It was as Alex was walking away that he was approached by a dignified, sixty-something grey-haired man, who stiffly proffered his business card to Alex, by way of introduction.

“I’m Arthur Webster of Levine and Webster.”

“How do you do, Mr. Webster,” said Alex, tensely. “What can I do for you?”

“Let’s walk,” said Webster, indicating with his hand to the side exit from the court building. Alex was happy to comply, but felt alienated by the man’s manner, that appeared to straddle the fence between embarrassment and condescending arrogance.

“I should explain that we’re a local law firm, based in Los Angeles. We’re retained by the network that broadcasts Mr. Claymore’s show and we work extensively with SoCal Insurance where Mr. Claymore carries his liability insurance.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said Alex.

Webster seemed please by this.

“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I understand that you’re actually based in San Francisco.”

“What of it?”

“Well Claymore’s insurance policy with SoCal Insurance includes
legal
liability and it occurred to us that it might be rather hard for you to represent Claymore down here in Ventura when you’re based up in the Bay area.”

“And you want…”

“We’d like you to step aside as attorney of record and let us represent Claymore.”

“You can represent him if there’s a parallel civil case. But
I
represent him in the criminal case.”

Alex was seated with the partners of Levine and Webster around the long oval rosewood table in the main conference room. Also present was Paul Sherman. The atmosphere had been tense even before Alex spoke. Now the tension had been ratcheted up to a new level.

“The policy covers everything – civil
and
criminal.”

 “And if he’s found guilty, the insurance company’s going to send one of its directors to take his place in prison?”

“I mean it covers legal
fees
.” Webster insisted. “And the insurance company has specifically asked us to take the case.

“What they
insurance company
has asked you to do is irrelevant. Elias… Mr. Claymore – in other words, the
client
– has specifically requested
my
services.”

“Well in that case, he may have to pay you out of his own pocket. We are the designated law firm in the policy.”

Alex had kept his calm when Webster had first approached him and had agreed to this meeting “without prejudice.” But he was getting irritated now.

“I think  Mr. Claymore is more than capable of paying my fees. And I’m more than capable of working pro-bono if necessary.”

“Oh come on Mr. Sedaka, you’re a one-man band. We’re a large law firm. We’ve got dozens of lawyers and a network of experts and other contacts that you can only dream about.”

“I’m not disputing your size, but that’s not necessarily an advantage. If the accused marches into court with an army of lawyers, that can actually count
against
him.”

“There’s also the logistical aspect. You’re up there in the Bay, we’re down here in the Basin. Ventura’s in our backyard. What are you going to do? Commute down from San Fran every day?”

“You seem to be assuming that the trial is going to stay in Ventura.”

“Are you going to move for a change of venue?” asked Sherman.

“I might. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if we could get it transferred to a county with better demographics.”

“I thought you wanted a speedy trial,” said Webster. “A change of venue motion will give them a pretext for a delay.”

“Also we’re in a better position than you when it comes to a change of venue,” added Sherman.

Alex’s ears pricked up at this.

“How so?”

“We’ve got a whole department for demographic analysis. And we work with LawData.”

LawData was a firm that provided support for law firms, including public opinion research and computer-based demographic analysis.

Alex thought about this for a moment.

“You may have a point. But it’s not for me to decide. It’s Claymore’s call. I’m his lawyer and I’m here for him as long as he wants me.”

“But you could talk to him,” said Webster, “convince him.”

“I’m not even going to
try
to convince him. The most I’m ready to do it put your offer to him.”

Arthur Webster leaned forward, like he was about to speak again. But a frail-looking man, who must have been pushing eighty, held up his hand to silence him. This was Aaron Levine, the senior partner in this firm. Webster slumped back into his seat and left it to his lifelong friend to address Alex.

“Could I ask you a question, Mr. Sedaka? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but is it a matter of professional pride? Because if so you needn’t worry. Your reputation precedes you. We all remember your remarkable achievement in the Sanchez case.”

The obsequious flattery was more irritating than the arrogance.

“It has nothing to do with professional pride. But I’m not just Elias Claymore’s lawyer: I’m also his
friend
.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to step aside. A doctor wouldn’t treat a family member.”

Alex smiled at this. Levine was a playing the soft cop – a man of gentle persuation rather than blustering aggression. But Webster leaned forward again, unable to contain himself any longer.

 “Just remember one thing Mr. Sedaka:
we
have resources that you can only dream about.”

“Then let’s
pool
our resources.”

This silenced them – Webster and the others – for a few seconds.

“What do you mean?”

Levine again. He was the only man in the room with the gravitas to break the silence, or the moral courage to meet Alex’s eyes.

“I’m offering you second seat.”

Webster’s intensity flared up again.

“We’re not
asking
for second seat. We want you to –”

Again Levine’s hand silenced his partner.

“Could you elaborate?”

“Yes. Let’s work on this case together, with me as point man and your formidable resources to back me up. You pick your best man – or woman – to take second seat to report back to you.”

“But you lead?” said Levine, half-question, half-statement.

“I take first seat,” Alex confirmed in a tone of finality that made it clear that this position was not open to debate.

A cheerful smile graced Aaron Levine’s face, changing the mood for almost everyone.

“I think we can live with that,” he said, looking at Webster in a way that demanded his agreement. Webster nodded, his face taut to maintain its neutrality.

“Good. Then I guess we can roll up our sleeves and get on with it.”

The tension was collectively released from the lungs of those present and the awkward smiles spread like a contagion round the table.

“I think it stinks,” said Joanne Gale, a woman in her late thirties, sitting forward to meet Webster’s eyes. She was actually the only women partner in the firm.

“Why?” asked Webster.

“You
know
why. The man is a rapist.”

“A rape
suspect
!” Webster corrected. “And it’s never bothered you before.”

This was true. The firm had defended rape suspects before. Indeed Jo herself had taken first seat in several rape defenses – and in some of those cases there was little room to doubt the guilt of the accused.

“This is different. He’s done it before.”

“And he’s served his sentence,” said Alex. “But that doesn’t make him guilty this time. He’s not the same man now that he was then.”

“He got off lightly last time.”

“That’s not for us to judge.”

This was Webster again. Everyone else remained silent, including Alex. It was tempting to speak up in defense of Claymore, or even to lecture this woman on the finer points of legal ethics. But it wasn’t his job. If she had a problem with Levine and Webster being involved in Claymore’s defense, that was between her and her colleagues..

Again, it was left to Aaron Levine to break the silence.

“The question we
should
be focusing on is do we how do we go about winning? There’s not much kudos in
losing
a high profile case.”

The other partners, looked down or away, anything to withdraw from this pragmatic way of looking at the issue. Alex realized that the question was directed at him. He met the old man’s eyes.

“It's going to be an uphill struggle.”

“How steep uphill?”

Alex thought about this for a moment.

“There’s a lot of evidence for us to refute – not to mention that we still have to overcome the effect of Claymore’s past. It won’t be easy. The problem is I can’t desanctify the victim without seeming like a bully.”

“‘Desanctify the victim’?” Levine echoed softly.

Jo Gale spoke into the silence that followed.

“A euphemism for character assassination… used by sleazy shysters who like helping rapists and wife-killers beat the rap.”

Alex smiled, not in mockery, but out of respect for Jo Gale’s feisty attitude.

“I prefer to think of it as, leveling the playing field after the DA’s finished milking the sympathy of the jury for all it’s worth.”

“Well if you can’t
‘desanctify
the victim,’” asked Jo Gale, “how do you propose to level the playing field?”