The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [14]
Before he was the star quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, Don Meredith had been the star quarterback at SMU from 1957 through 1959, a country boy out of Mount Vernon, one of the greatest athletes ever produced by the State of Texas, and generally regarded as the toughest quarterback ever to play the position. Meredith was still a living legend in Dallas, although he lived in Santa Fe.
“But, Scott, this job also requires a lawyer who believes like you do, that lawyers are supposed to protect the poor and defend the innocent and fight for justice.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Back in his playing days, when the game was on the line, Scott Fenney, number 22, always pulled out all the stops to take home a victory. Even though he wasn’t sure what he was playing for today—perhaps Buford wanted to appoint him independent counsel to investigate a high-profile political scandal, which could make Scott Fenney a very famous lawyer—his natural desire to win took over. He pulled out all the stops.
“Protecting the poor, defending the innocent, fighting for justice—that’s not just our professional duty, Judge, that’s our sacred honor.”
Shit, that sounded good! That’s a winner for sure! Scott made a mental note to add that line to his campaign speech.
“Good to hear that, Scott. You’ve read about the McCall case, the senator’s son murdered Saturday night?”
“Yes, sir, by the hooker.”
“Yeah, black girl, twenty-four, a dozen priors for prostitution, drug possession…says she’s innocent.”
Scott chuckled. “Don’t they all?”
“This case is going to be a media circus—black prostitute accused of murdering a senator’s son, and not just any senator, mind you, but likely the next president.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be her lawyer.”
“Well, Scott, that’s why I called.”
And what the judge wanted from Scott Fenney hit him with all the force of a linebacker on a blitz. Blindsided by a federal judge! Sweat beads erupted from the pores on his forehead. His pulse jumped. He reached up and loosened his silk tie.
“She needs a good lawyer, Scott. She needs you.”
That’s what he had won? That’s the victory he would take home? On the verge of panic, Scott’s sharp mind began devising ways to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
“But, Judge, what about the public defender’s office?”
“Scott, I can’t put a death penalty case in the hands of a wet-behind-the-ears PD lawyer who barely got through law school. This girl needs a real lawyer.”
“But I’m a corporate lawyer. Why not appoint a criminal defense attorney?”
“I was going to…until I heard your speech. Defense lawyers, they’re just hired guns. They don’t care about defending the innocent or fighting for justice. They just want to get paid. Not like you, Scott. And most of them only work state court; you’ve got federal court experience.”
“Why’s a murder case in federal court?”
“Clark McCall was the FERC chairman, courtesy of the senator. Murder of a federal official is a federal crime.”
“But, Judge—”
“And besides, Scott, you can make your mother proud.”
“What?”
“You can be another Atticus Finch.”
“But—”
“She has the right to counsel, and you’re it, Scott. You’re hereby appointed to represent the defendant in United States of America versus Shawanda Jones. Meet your client tomorrow morning. Detention hearing’s Wednesday, nine A.M.”
Scott was walking quickly—hell, he was damn near running—down the carpeted corridors of the sixty-second floor to the marble-and-mahogany staircase leading to the sixty-third floor. He bounded up the stairs and hurried past tiny offices occupied by smart young lawyers churning out their monthly quota of billable hours like blue-collar workers punching a clock on a factory line. Tonight, as every night, the workers were pulling double shifts, much to the benefit of the partners. But that thought did not fill Scott’s heart with the usual cheer; tonight his heart was