Trouble in Paradise

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“Counsel, you’d better listen up because I’m not going to repeat myself.” Judge Schoen’s trademark glare took in all of us as she waited for the hubbub to die down. Within seconds, the courtroom fell silent and the lawyers who’d been milling around the prosecution counsel table came to attention. “I’m taking a fifteen-minute recess, no more, no less. When I come back you’ll be ready with either trial dates or deals. Or else…” She banged her gavel and stomped off the bench. The low hum of activity immediately rose to a semi-roar. Chuck Overmeyer, a veteran public defender and one of my favorite worthy adversaries, gave me the well-practiced smile that had won more than its fair share of verdicts.

“Come on, Rachel. Let my guy plead to one count. You know you need him. He’s the perfect eyewitness-”

“With a rap sheet long enough to bury a mummy in,” I said.

“Hey, you know what they say: when you commit crimes in hell, you don’t get angels for witnesses.”

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