Page 14 of Dissection of a Murder
“Look, Jack, I appreciate there are perhaps sensitive matters behind this case, but if I’m being honest, unless you have a convincing defense,” I go on, “it’s not looking good.”
“We’d better start thinking of some good defenses, then,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
This was a problem in our last case. He doesn’t behave in a waythat indicates that he’s aware of how much trouble he’s in until it’s too late. It’s inappropriate, but his natural charisma allows him to pull it off. I hope it’ll work in his favor in front of a jury.
“Jack,” I say seriously, “this isn’t like the other times you’ve been in court. You’re charged with murder.”
“They can prove I did it, then,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s how it works, right? Innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. If you think I’m making this in any way easier for them by giving them an inch so they can take a mile, you’re dead wrong.”
There’s a firmness in his voice now I didn’t see last time, a stubbornness.
“Jack, you’ve already given them enough ammunition to prosecute and likely convict you. If I were prosecuting, I’d be feeling confident right now,” I tell him honestly. “You were found at the scene, admitted you were there all night, and you failed to give an explanation for anything in interview. It won’t look good to a jury.”
“You’ll get your answers, but not until the trial.”
I look at Davina, but she is still watching Jack. She’s been silent throughout, sizing him up. Until now.
“Let me get this straight,” she asserts in a calm Geordie lilt that sounds mildly menacing. “You want us to let you swan into the witness box in a murder trial, with no idea of what you’re going to say?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Can you believe this?” Davina laughs, turning back to me.
“Jack,” I intervene, “I can’t put forward a defense if you don’t talk to us, which makes it difficult to convince a jury you’re not guilty. All I’ll be able to do is test the Crown’s evidence and throw doubt on its credibility. It’s high risk.”
“It’s bloody suicide!” Davina butts in. “Jack, you have no idea ifwhat you’re going to say even amounts to a real defense. You could play right into the prosecution’s hands. We are here to advise you. You’re playing with your life here.”
“It’s my call,” Jack says, unswerving. “If I wanted lawyers who played it safe, I’d have gone elsewhere. But I need someone with a backbone, someone who isn’t afraid to take a risk.”
Of course. This is our unfinished business. My opportunity to make things right.
At law school, it was drummed into us that nothing is more important than fighting fearlessly for your client. You must go above and beyond to explore all avenues, seek out the best defense, pursue anything that could secure an acquittal.
The other thing that was stressed, perhaps even more so, was the importance of following your client’s instructions. You can do nothing without the consent or permission of your client. You may not run a defense without consulting them first. You cannot raise any significant submission without their support. They are very much running the show.
That message, now, is loud and clear.
“Who’s prosecuting?” Jack asks, leaning back into the cheap, plastic chair.
I take a deep breath before telling him. It’s not the best news to give a client.
“I need to speak with you about that. It’s Julian Kesler, KC.” I pause. “My husband.”
He gives a little laugh and looks down, as if to compose himself before bringing his eyes up again to meet mine.
“Are you joking?”
“I’m not. Because we’re both self-employed, we are permitted to be on opposing sides of a case and will adhere to the higheststandards of confidentiality, impartiality, and integrity, as dictated by the Code of Conduct. But you’re entitled to sack me and instruct other counsel if you’d like.”
“Is he any good?” he asks.
“Very,” I tell him honestly.
“Is he better than you?”
“He’s very experienced. I’m just being transparent with you.”
“Miss Reynolds doesn’t miss a trick, Jack. You can rest assured you are in the safest hands,” Davina interjects.
