Compelling Evidence by Steve Martini Read Free Book Online Page A

enigmatic smile, as if she is privy to the ultimate on the human condition‐a level of self‐reliance who has attained the mere age of twenty‐six years. Even in her language, here in the confidence of her rf in her choice of words and diction, the carefully of sophistication is preserved‐‐the mock accent, not queen's English, but close. It's an affectation to attract an crust clientele. "And what can we expect today?" she asks. You we're on some social outing, as if I'm part of the set about to introduce her to Lady Di.

    4@ Susan Hawley is a call girl‐not a mere hooker, a irm‐ 7.1" the kind of woman who looks like death on a soda "erw 41 needle tracks on her arms and puncture wounds between J,.4' She is better read than 1, at least when it comes to the local part of her stock‐in‐trade, the ability to talk intelligently knowingly as prominent names are dropped during I parties. Susan Hawley, I suspect, is a woman much in in the rarefied zone of political nightlife in this city. X4 ultimate ornanient to be hung from the arm of i nt mporta ... figures or captains of industry during quiet d OX'IT o=l‐ MUN # commercial dealings, hundred‐dollar bills appear in 6T0076 quantity in her purse the morning after, like fishes and 17f the basket after the Sermon on the Mount. She's waiting for an answer to her question. A "I go in and talk to the judge. Find out what the DA offer. Whether they're willing to deal."

    I will keep Hawley outside the courtroom as long as away from the prying eyes and off‐color jokes of the I are lined up waiting to have their cases heard by the in pretrial. It is a kind of Turkish bazaar where defense attorneys convene before the local pasha, in this 7 judge of the superior,court, to haggle over the price and ‐11, justice‐to settle their cases short of a trial, if it is
    "I may be in there awhile. I
    think it'll be better if you vi. here in the corridor. I'll call you if we need to talk Her look suddenly turns hard, businesslike. "I'm not going down on this thing. You do them to dismiss it." Her words are clipped and cool, tw;4w"@ : Her voice carries the resolve of a bank president. It's an absurd request. Still, she's serious. I laugh, not mocking her, but in amusement. Hawley has been netted by an undercover officer posing as a wealthy out‐of‐town business mogul; he used a wire to tape‐record their negotiations. The case contains not even the remotest hint of entrapment in the sparse dialogue captured on the vice detail's tape. In an ‐unmistakable voice, she quotes a $1,000 fee for an array of professional services unheralded in the Kama Sutra. She was arrested two minutes later. "Susan. I've told you before, I'm an attorney not a magician. There are no guarantees or quick fixes in this business."

    "Talk to the judge," she says. "He will understand. I'm not entering a plea." She turns away from me as if it is her final word on the subject.
    "Listen to me." I muster authority in my tone, a little exercise in client control. "I think we can get the felony charges dropped, if not today, then later before trial. But they're not going to let you walk.
    You may as well get that out of your mind right now."

    It's the first rule of law practice, never oversell a client. Rising expectations have a habit of feeding upon themselves. She snaps her head back toward me. "No way. I mean it. I'm not taking the fall on this thing. Talk to the judge." She bites these last words off. For the first time the polite veneer and polish are gone. This is how it would be, I sense, if a client were to demand a refund from this lady of business.
    She composes herself. "Tell hinf'‐she clears her throat and looks me straight in the eye‐ "tell him that you want it dismissed, that I want it dismissed. Do you understand? It's very simple." Her eyes are filled with fire. These aren't words of idle expectation. Still, I have no legal basis for such a demand. I assure her that no deal can be cut without