Self Incrimination by Randy Singer

Author:Randy Singer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781414338156
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
Published: 2010-05-19T14:00:00+00:00

47

By Monday afternoon the lack of sleep is catching up with me. My eyes are bloodshot and swollen, and my whole body feels bloated and gross. This is not helped by the fact that I am sitting with Brad in the office of Mr. D. J. Landers, a sleazy criminal defense attorney who has single-handedly done as much to exacerbate the bad reputation of lawyers as any person I know. I could practically feel the grease slide across my palm as D. J. withdrew his hand after shaking. This guy would give sharks the jitters.

D. J. sits behind his large mahogany desk, his face all angles and points, like somebody squeezed it in a vise and elongated it. He has a thin black mustache and the kind of jet-black hair that comes straight from the coloring bottle. His tan is either spray-on or tanning booth, an uneven and unnatural shade that couldn’t possibly be the work of the sun.

Brad and D. J. banter like fraternity brothers. Brad has always been dearly loved by legal reprobates like D. J., probably because Brad is just as antiestablishment as they are. Plaintiff ’s lawyers (like Brad) and criminal defense lawyers (like D. J.) both tend to have independent rebel streaks. I listen to the two men trade barbs for a while and think of the old saying that a man will be known by his friends. If it’s true, my fiancé is in trouble.

After the two men have insulted themselves out, Brad finally gets down to the reason for our visit. “Coach Freddie Barker,” he says. “Child pornography charges. Was he one of yours?”

D. J. eyes Brad for a moment as if trying to discern the reason for the question. “Pleaded him out. Eighteen months, all but three suspended.”

“Must have coughed up some pretty big names,” Brad says.

D. J. smiles. “Don’t worry, Brad. He held yours back.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Brad says. “Who did he rat out?”

D. J. stares again, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Mr. Mitchell Taylor when he asked the same question,” he says as if we should be taking notes. “All information regarding Barker’s case, other than the fact I represented him, is covered by the attorney-client privilege.”

I slide forward on my seat. Mitchell Taylor? Brad picks up on D. J.’s hint and crosses his legs, trying to act casual. “How long ago was it that you discussed this case with Mr. Mitchell Taylor?”

D. J. searches the ceiling for a minute. “Three, four months.”

“Are you sure?”

More thinking by D. J. “Yeah, pretty sure. Had to be at least three months. May have been four or even five.” He throws his palms up. “Time flies.”

“Why would Taylor be asking you what names Barker gave up?” Brad wonders. “Mitchell’s a deputy commonwealth’s attorney. He ought to know who else was prosecuted.”

“That’s what I told him,” D. J. says.

“And then?”

“And then he left.”

Brad digests this; I can almost see the gears grinding. Then he shifts in his seat and says the next words more as an offhand comment than a question.

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