FiFty Fifty

Chapter Six

EDDIE
For a lawyer, every case is a game.
In criminal law, it begins with an arrest and it ends with a verdict. At the start
of the game you have no control over what happens, then you develop a strategy and you make some moves. At the end you get to stand in front of the jury, alone. The prosecutor doesn't matter – you have to ignore them. It's just you and twelve people. Once the final word is spoken it's all over. The verdict shouldn't matter. You did your job as counsel.
Except it does matter.
The verdict is everything. It doesn't mean shit how well you played, it's all down to that decision. The lawyers who make the big bucks, who drive a Mercedes home to their families in their nine-bedroom houses don't care what the verdict will mean for the accused, for the victim's family, for society and everyone in it. They can't care.
My biggest problem as a lawyer is I want the guilty to get punished and the innocent to go free. And the law doesn't work that way. Never has. Never will.
Sometimes I can tip the balance, one way or the other. Sometimes not. It matters that I try. The day I stop giving a shit is the day I quit. Sofia Avellino needed my help. It was too early to say if I believed her sister carried out the murder. Neither of the Avellino sisters looked like they could harm anyone, much less tear their own father to pieces. For now, I was involved in the case but I needed to be sure Sofia was telling the truth. In that cell, I had felt for her. I thought I had a connection. That she was open and honest with me. That was my instinct. I needed to know that I could trust that first impression.
After biting through her wrist in the precinct, Sofia had spent a night in the hospital under NYPD guard. While her wrist didn't look pretty, she hadn't lost that much blood – it always looks worse than it is. She didn't need a transfusion, but the docs made sure there was no chance of hypovolemic shock. They pumped her full of isotonic fluids and antibiotics. Her wound stitched, stats level, she was deemed fit for discharge. I couldn't speak to Sofia at the hospital, but I did get talking to the doc – a short, blonde woman called Dietrich. She had spoken to Sofia, and as far as she could tell this wasn't a suicide attempt – this was an extreme reaction to the loss of her father and her arrest.

She was charged with murder and brought to court for arraignment at noon. Bail wasn't going to be a problem. Levy had done the work for me by getting Alexandra bail an hour before. The prosecutor, Wesley Dreyer, objected to bail on the same grounds, but knew the judge would give them the same bail terms – a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bond. Why make a new decision when you could follow another? When the judge set bail for the same bond, Dreyer looked despondent. The prosecutor was a young man with an earnest look on his face. He was slim, small, and neat. He chose his words carefully, took time to annunciate and project his voice. A diligent prosecutor is always to be feared.
Sofia posted bail.
She was out, but she wasn't talking. She hadn't said a word to me in the consultation before the bail hearing, just nodding her head. She had pleaded not guilty. When the hearing was over she disappeared back into the cells so she could be taken to the court office to wait until the bond was deposited and then she could sign bail for release.
I had waited for Sofia in the winter sun on Center Street, in the shadow of the Central Criminal Court building, and ate lunch at Mori's hotdog stand, which bore a faded sign with my name and number on it. Behind me, the ragged stars and stripes flapped in a light breeze.
I thought I heard a raven's call, and then turned to see Sofia.
Sofia left the court building via the loading dock at the rear, avoiding the bank of photographers outside. She wore a black sweater, black jeans and cheap shoes, which I'd bought for her and left with the corrections department. The cops had taken her blood-soaked clothes from last night for forensics. I asked if she was alright. She nodded and we walked in silence to my car. I'd driven her to her apartment without her saying a word. I pulled up outside, killed the engine and leaned back in the driver's seat.
'Let's make a deal, Sofia. I'll defend you, but I need you to try and keep things together. I don't know how the trial is going to pan out. Not yet. We have to wait until we get all the prosecution's evidence. I don't want you to think about that yet. Just go home and rest for now. You'll have a million questions for me in a day or two. Let's meet then. For now, I have a friend who's going to get you settled in, make sure you're okay. Her name is Harper. Don't worry, she's not a lawyer. She helps me with cases, looks after witnesses, that kind of thing.'
Sitting on the steps outside the building with a brown paper sack beside her, Harper took her eyes away from her cell phone and nodded in my direction.
Sofia turned her head toward me and I saw the tears on her face. She wiped them away, drawing a pale hand over her shocking white skin. I thought of her