The Defense: A Novel by Steve Cavanagh Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Cavanagh
an advantage. She could’ve looked like Danny DeVito and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Miriam was just a devastating lawyer—period. She’d made her name in vice before moving to sex crimes. During the five years that Miriam prosecuted sexual offenders, the conviction rate for rape almost doubled. She’d graduated to homicide, and so far, she was on track for the DA’s job come election season.
Arturas placed the suitcase on the floor underneath the defense table and took his seat at the end of the row behind me. I heard a rumble of heavy footfalls and murmurs from the crowd, and I didn’t need to turn around to know that Volchek was making his entrance. I opened the suitcase and looked inside at the seven files that contained probably six or seven thousand pages in total.
The rumble from the crowd became louder. I turned around to see Volchek walking down the central aisle, alone. Then a Hispanic male stood up in the middle of the crowd. He wore a red and blue bandana, a white shirt and track top. Tattoos spread from his neck up over his jaw and onto his face. It wasn’t the mere fact that he’d stood up that caught my eye; it was what he was doing. He clapped his hands in a slow cadence. An Asian guy in a dark suit got up and began to join in with the applause just as somebody else stood to attention. The third man was also Hispanic. He wore a maroon T-shirt and he also sported black, wiry tattoos on his bare arms and neck.
Volchek nodded politely at each of the men as he passed them and sat down beside me at the defense table.
“Friends of yours?” I said.
“No. They are not friends. They are my enemies. They’ve come to watch me fall.”
The slow, staccato applause for Volchek died down.
“So exactly who are these enemies?” I asked.
“The Puerto Ricans and the Mexicans run lines for the South American cartels here in New York. The other man is Yakuza. They are here to show me that if I go to prison, they are coming for me and my operation. They are in for a surprise,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jean Denver, one of the few female clerks, emerged from the entrance to the judge’s chambers. She winked at me. I liked Jean; she was intelligent, fun, and kept the court running efficiently. She wheeled a heavy trolley. It contained five binders that were thick with paper. The judge’s case files. Judge Pike must be ready to make her appearance. That meant I was about to get my first look at the jury. You can be the most knowledgeable lawyer in the world and be an amazing cross-examiner, but if you don’t know how to talk to a jury, you’re in big trouble. Before you talk to them, you have to understand them. Most jurors don’t want to be jurors. The minority that actively want to be jurors should be avoided at all costs.
I could feel the muscles in my neck getting tighter and tighter each minute, as if the wiring from the bomb was sliding up my back to choke me.
Miriam walked over to my table and stood beside me. Staring into space, my head was running at a hundred miles an hour. I could feel the heat from Miriam’s smile. She held a handwritten message on a yellow Post-it, which she waved at me before sticking it to the desk.
YOUR CLIENT’S GOING DOWN. I’LL HAVE HIS BAIL REVOKED BY 5 P.M.
My mouth was dry. That note was a death sentence for Amy. If Miriam was right, and she was successful in revoking Volchek’s bail, then Amy and I would be dead before the cuffs warmed up on Volchek’s wrists. I was aware of my heels bouncing on the marble floor, and I swore silently and battled to calm down and think.
Miriam didn’t normally get so personal. Like most good lawyers, Miriam usually stayed detached. We’d come up against each other a few times in the past and came out about even. In the first case I tried against Miriam, I’d underestimated her badly. She wiped the floor with me. My client was caught selling meth outside a school. No deals on a plea, so we fought it and my
Arturas placed the suitcase on the floor underneath the defense table and took his seat at the end of the row behind me. I heard a rumble of heavy footfalls and murmurs from the crowd, and I didn’t need to turn around to know that Volchek was making his entrance. I opened the suitcase and looked inside at the seven files that contained probably six or seven thousand pages in total.
The rumble from the crowd became louder. I turned around to see Volchek walking down the central aisle, alone. Then a Hispanic male stood up in the middle of the crowd. He wore a red and blue bandana, a white shirt and track top. Tattoos spread from his neck up over his jaw and onto his face. It wasn’t the mere fact that he’d stood up that caught my eye; it was what he was doing. He clapped his hands in a slow cadence. An Asian guy in a dark suit got up and began to join in with the applause just as somebody else stood to attention. The third man was also Hispanic. He wore a maroon T-shirt and he also sported black, wiry tattoos on his bare arms and neck.
Volchek nodded politely at each of the men as he passed them and sat down beside me at the defense table.
“Friends of yours?” I said.
“No. They are not friends. They are my enemies. They’ve come to watch me fall.”
The slow, staccato applause for Volchek died down.
“So exactly who are these enemies?” I asked.
“The Puerto Ricans and the Mexicans run lines for the South American cartels here in New York. The other man is Yakuza. They are here to show me that if I go to prison, they are coming for me and my operation. They are in for a surprise,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jean Denver, one of the few female clerks, emerged from the entrance to the judge’s chambers. She winked at me. I liked Jean; she was intelligent, fun, and kept the court running efficiently. She wheeled a heavy trolley. It contained five binders that were thick with paper. The judge’s case files. Judge Pike must be ready to make her appearance. That meant I was about to get my first look at the jury. You can be the most knowledgeable lawyer in the world and be an amazing cross-examiner, but if you don’t know how to talk to a jury, you’re in big trouble. Before you talk to them, you have to understand them. Most jurors don’t want to be jurors. The minority that actively want to be jurors should be avoided at all costs.
I could feel the muscles in my neck getting tighter and tighter each minute, as if the wiring from the bomb was sliding up my back to choke me.
Miriam walked over to my table and stood beside me. Staring into space, my head was running at a hundred miles an hour. I could feel the heat from Miriam’s smile. She held a handwritten message on a yellow Post-it, which she waved at me before sticking it to the desk.
YOUR CLIENT’S GOING DOWN. I’LL HAVE HIS BAIL REVOKED BY 5 P.M.
My mouth was dry. That note was a death sentence for Amy. If Miriam was right, and she was successful in revoking Volchek’s bail, then Amy and I would be dead before the cuffs warmed up on Volchek’s wrists. I was aware of my heels bouncing on the marble floor, and I swore silently and battled to calm down and think.
Miriam didn’t normally get so personal. Like most good lawyers, Miriam usually stayed detached. We’d come up against each other a few times in the past and came out about even. In the first case I tried against Miriam, I’d underestimated her badly. She wiped the floor with me. My client was caught selling meth outside a school. No deals on a plea, so we fought it and my