The Trial of John Garrity

Garrity was holding a council of peace with his junior partners when the call came. Since explicit orders had been given that all calls were to be held for everybody, and since the discussion with the young Turks had become quite heated, Garrity lost his temper and became quite pointed in his comments to Mrs. Evans on how nobody in the office seemed to pay any attention anymore to his wants, desires or commands, and maybe it was time... She stood her ground calmly, waiting for the torrent to run its course to the sea. The other two secretaries, even though they were in the outer office where they could not be seen, stared straight ahead at their computer screens, their faces scarlet, but not one hair of Heather Evans’ carefully colored coiffure turned gray in the maelstrom. When he noticed flecks of spit coming out of this mouth, Garrity, a bit embarrassed, stopped to listen. “It’s the clerk of the Bournemouth District Court,” she said, “and he wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but he said it was important enough to break up whatever meeting or conference you were in.” The first thing that crossed his mind was that JJ had cracked the car up somewhere in south county, but school was still in session and there was basketball practice afterward and nothing had been said at breakfast about him having his mother’s car that day. Christ, he’d driven him to the bus stop himself. Answer the phone and find out what the man wanted. “John Garrity here.” “Counselor, this is Ben Cassidy over at the Bournemouth District Court. They’re bringing in a murder defendant to the county jail, and Judge Slater would like you to represent him.” “Murder?” Garrity felt the reactions of the three people in the room to that word, and he brought his voice down to conversational level. “What case is that?” “Charles Francis Cooper, accused of murdering his 14-year-old sister, Sandra Irene Jones.” “His sister?” “Yes, sir.” “But their names aren’t the same.” “Oh! Yes, sir. It’s his half-sister. He’s accused of murdering his half-sister.” “And Judge Slater wants me to take the case?” “Yes, sir.” “But I’ve never handled a murder case. What about Kahn or Mancuso?” “They’re both tied up, and Judge Slater said to tell you that in addition to your having the necessary years of experience, he also was sure your client would get the best legal counsel available.” “I appreciate the judge’s confidence. Would you hold on for a moment?” “Certainly, sir.” Garrity cradled the phone to his chest and looked at his two junior partners – the tall and athletic Samantha Haywood, a Yale Law grad who seemed to survive on Red Bull and protein bars and had settled on practicing in Branford because she and her husband could ski on snow in the winter and water in the summer; and short, squat Aaron Finkle, who preferred vanilla bean Frappuccinos and Snickers bars, and who could have gone anywhere he wanted after getting a Harvard law degree, but whose native-born wife didn’t want to be too far away from her mother’s Friday night chicken soup. Here he’d been screaming at his two Ivy Leaguers that it was not his job to handle dog cases, and they had been yelling back that what they needed was some bright young punk fresh out of law school to handle all the dog cases they had now. He’d quite loudly countered that they’d have to cut the pie a little thinner if they wanted the luxury of even some schmuck of a Boston College lawyer like himself, and they’d retorted that they were more interested in practicing the more challenging aspects of the law and to hell with the money. It was at that moment that Heather Evans had walked in. “They want me to handle a murder defense,” he said, somewhat staggered by the whole idea. “The Jones girl,” said Finkle. “That’s the only one going on right now. In Bournemouth.” “Take it, take it,” urged Haywood. “A murder!” “I’ll take over your dogs,” said Finkle. Garrity looked a long moment at the two of them, not quite bouncing up and down in their chairs. A murder. What the hell. “Mr. Cassidy,” said Garrity, “tell the judge I’ll take the case.” “This is officially just for the arraignment,” said Cassidy, “but it will almost certainly be your case all the way, counselor.” “When will Cooper be at the jail?” “Well, the Bournemouth cops were transporting him, so for all I know he’s already escaped,” said Cassidy with a small chuckle. “But my guess is he’s there now.” “I’ll get over there as soon as I can,” said Garrity. “I’ll pass the word to his Honor,” said Cassidy, “and I hope you lose and the son-of-a-bitch burns in hell.” “Thank you,” said Garrity, and gently replaced the phone.