John Villeneuve // the Marassa Jumeaux (stdamian) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-04-16 11:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | loki, marassa jumeaux 2 |
an acre before us
Who: Nish and John
What: Nish needs a consult on a new case she’s working on.
Where: downtown Newport Beach
When: Tuesday, April 4, 2017 at 11:45am
Nish had had a full morning of client appointments punctuated by phone calls. Jessica had been amazing since Nish had returned to work, either as a result of her generous raise or because of her natural good nature, but she'd been keeping everything organized and appointments scheduled in order to keep the revenue flowing in. Nish had already had three court appearances since returning to work last Wednesday, and any ideas about her rumoured illness on the part of the prosecutors had been quickly dispelled by her biting arguments. If anything, she had become more ruthless.
On Friday she had accepted a new client who had been arrested for murder. Upon meeting her client in lockup that afternoon she'd immediately called Jessica and asked her to set up an appointment with an expert in the field of assisted suicide. She’d come up with a name fairly quickly, and set up an appointment as soon as she could get one, at a classy restaurant downtown at lunch time. Nish had been nervous all morning; looking forward to the chance to talk this out with someone who knows more about the subject than she did, but the subject matter had hit her a little too close to home. Jessica had been keeping a close eye on her since she got the case, but so far she’d shown no outward signs that any of this was bothering her at all.
She sat at the table she’d been led to, draping a napkin over her lap and ordering a bottle of red wine. She watched the waiter return with it and two glasses, pouring one for her and leaving the bottle. With a smile took a sip and looked over the menu, waiting for her appointment to arrive, the hand holding the wineglass shaking only slightly.
He did not keep her waiting. Only five minutes after her arrival John approached the table, looking all business in a charcoal suit and black tie. He paused beside the table, extending a hand to her. "Nishka Bariss?" he asked, though it was plain by his behavior and mien that he was already quite sure who she was. "John Villeneuve. Pleasure to meet you."
Nish looked up when he approached and stood, shaking his hand with a pleasant smile. “John, thank you for coming,” she said, offering the other seat to him and then adjusting the napkin on her lap once she sat again. “I ordered wine; I’m not sure your opinion on drinking on the job, but I thought we could use it,” she said, gesturing to the bottle next to her. Her first impression of him was definitely favourable, and she immediately projected respect his way as he sat across from her. “I’m guessing my secretary told you why we’re meeting today?” she asked, though she already knew he’d been given at least the basics.
He shook his head at the offer of wine, and moved his wine glass closer to the edge of the table. The ice water neatly placed before each of them would suffice, at least for him. "The bare minimum," he answered, "which I prefer. I'd like to hear the details from you." He mirrored her motion, smoothing his napkin out over his lap. "Should we order first, or do you prefer to dive right in?"
She might have had pause when he passed on the wine, maybe felt a little embarrassed about her own day-drinking behaviour, but all she could think of was ‘more for me’. She took a sip of her wine and set it down, and then shifted a little in her seat. “We could order, I’ve already decided on what I’m having,” she said, gesturing to her closed menu. She glanced up to wave down a waiter, smiling brightly at him and ordering her grilled chicken caesar salad and then opening the floor for him to put in his order: a club sandwich and sweet potato fries.
Once the waiter drifted away, Nish settled her gaze back on John. “So, just to start, this is my first case like this,” she explained, folding her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “My client’s parents asked that I take the case because I helped the extended family out a while back. I asked you here because...I’m a little out of my depth on this.” It was a little hard for her to admit that she ‘didn’t know everything’, but among professionals consultations were very useful, and often resulted in a better verdict due to the other person bringing up issues she hadn’t thought of.
"Most are," John allowed, after a small sip from his water. "It's sort of a niche line of work. What's giving you the most trouble about this? Is it the situation in general, or something specific? Or better yet, just give me the elevator pitch version of the details, and from there we'll talk about where you're stuck."
Nish sighed and took another bracing sip of wine. “My client...he’s barely an adult. Just a kid, really. His girlfriend had leukemia, and it was terminal, and she’d asked him to help her die. He told me…” she paused, thinking back to that meeting, the poor kid in shackles and an orange jumpsuit, scared to death of the possibility of life in prison, for something that anyone with a heart might have done. Her eyes took on a slightly far-away look. “He loved her,” she sighed, trying hard not to look wistful. Her eyes focused on his again. “He got her pills, and he helped her take them, and he stayed with her until she died. And then he called the paramedics, once it was already too late.
“The state is charging him with murder, but...well, I guess that’s where you come in. I only know the basics of the law on assisted suicide in California, I’m basically new to this jurisdiction. I was hoping you might have some insights or some...experience with cases like this.” She’d done her own research of course, but reading the letter of the law was nothing compared to consulting with someone who dealt with this sort of thing for a living.
She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then added, “she left a note. Absolving him of any wrongdoing. She signed it, but there was no witness, so...no way to prove that it wasn’t under duress, or that it was even her. I’m going to hire a handwriting expert to see what I can get out if it, if that’s an avenue even worth pursuing.” She’d have to subpoena a known sample of the girl’s handwriting for that, which might take months of red tape. She took another, longer, drink of wine, reaching for the bottle to top up the glass.
John shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "It may convince the jury, but the state will poke holes in handwriting analysis with very little effort. It's an imperfect science at best, a completely subjective art at worst. If she left no other documentation that's going to be a difficult sell, particularly if her parents insist she felt otherwise.”
Nish nodded; he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, but she had to try to go with what she had. It was basically on her to make sure that poor kid didn’t get eaten alive in prison, so she had to use everything she had to work with, no matter how small.
"How old was she?"
She looked up at him and held his eyes for a moment, hers softening a little. “She’d just turned 18,” she said. That made her an adult, but just barely. “They were in the same year at school...grew up together, their parents are - were friends. Shit, those kids went to the same pre-school.” She took another drink of wine, noting that it was disappearing a lot faster than she’d intended. “It’s...an emotional mess,” she said, sighing with frustration and a little exhaustion. She wasn’t a counselor; she was seeing one for her own demons, she couldn’t be one to other people. And yet, her client and his parents were looking to her for help, for consolation that she could pull off the impossible. This would definitely go to trial. It would be in the news once it broke. She had to prepare them for that, and...she was already tired.
“I know the State of California allows for medically assisted suicide,” she said, forcing herself back on track, “but I don’t know if there’s any...loopholes or precedents of someone doing it at home, themselves, with assistance of a friend or family member.” That, essentially, was why she’d called him. Or rather, why she’d asked Jessica to call an expert; his name just happened to be on the top of the short list.
"Precedent, yes," he said, "but those cases were done outside the law and prosecuted accordingly. It's a shame, really." John sat up in his seat, work-worn hands smoothing out the napkin in his lap. "If he had taken her to a physician she may well have qualified. She met the requirements for both age and diagnosis, provided she was given six months or less to live. He still could have stayed with her as she passed. All they had to do was reach out and make use of the resources available."
Nish nodded in agreement, her eyes drifting to her wineglass to watch the deep red liquid swirl in the glass. Just then their server came with their lunches, setting them in front of them with a smile and retreating. Nish looked down at her salad, suddenly not really hungry.
“I don’t think they knew about that option,” she said thoughtfully, shifting to pick up her fork and stab a piece of grilled chicken with it. “But he certainly does now.” She’d questioned him thoroughly, told him what he should have done instead. Brought the poor kid to tears until, in a completely unprecedented move for her, she’d hugged him. Again, she was in too deep with a client, though at least this time she wasn’t defending a monster. Just the opposite.
“So my options then are to argue a paper-thin case for mercy, or to let him go to prison for murder.” It was a statement, and far oversimplified. She would definitely argue it down to negligent homicide; she was confident she could at least get him that much. But every fibre in her being wanted the kid to walk. In her mind, he’d done nothing wrong. “Would you be available as an expert witness if…when it goes to trial?” she asked hopefully. Having the jury hear the facts from someone who deals with this sort of thing on an everyday basis might go a long way towards swaying them with emotions.
John finished his bite of club sandwich, picking at a crispy fry as he considered his response. "I would," he said, "though please understand my allegiance is with the deceased. I would not answer or present anything with the sole intention of getting your client a not-guilty verdict."
Nish nodded and swallowed her bite of salad. “That's exactly what I want; you can be...her voice. Tell the jury what you know of the experiences of those who have made that choice. What it's like to face a terminal diagnosis...to live every day in pain, knowing it will only get worse.” She paused after that, her words hitting her a little too close to home. Sounding a little too much like her own thoughts the day she took those pills. She reached for her wine and took a long drink from it.
He gestured with the sweet potato, nodding as he did. "Mercy is your best bet. If there's still time, see if you can arrange a plea deal. I'll still provide whatever assistance I can. But I'm afraid if you don't recalibrate your expectations, you and your client may both be disappointed."
She nodded and stabbed another bite of salad. “I know,” she said softly, bringing her fork to her mouth and pausing before eating it. “I'm mostly disappointed with our justice system.” If she had the ability to sway a whole jury with her voice, the way she did with individuals, she would do it for this kid.
"Join the club." John popped a fallen bit of crunchy bacon into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. He watched Nish for a moment. "You'll survive this, and more than likely he will, too. Maybe a little wiser for it, at that."
She chewed her bite of salad thoughtfully and nodded. “Thanks,” she said after swallowing. “For everything,” she added after a beat. “I guess I just needed a little perspective.” She managed a smile for him, though it was still a little off. The case still troubled her. She was still worried about what would happen to her client, worried that he'd just end up in prison. But at least she had a plan now, and maybe a friendly face on the stand to help.
She picked up her wine and drained the glass, pouring the rest in the bottle for herself without a second thought. She was going to need it.