FiFty Fifty

Chapter Eighteen

EDDIE

Nobody ran to Wesley Dreyer to make a deal. No plea agreements. This was a straight fight and today was the first major battle.
I arrived in court with Harry in tow. He'd prepared most of the motion briefs, which I'd filed last week. Today was arguments and judgments. No need to bring the client to court, for which I was thankful. After Sofia showed up at my office, she'd calmed down a little and between Harper and I we checked in on her almost every day. Yesterday she invited us over for coffee. Harper and I sat on her couch while she fussed over warming some cookies before she served them.
'She really is like a little kid, sometimes,' I said. 'Who serves cookies to their lawyers?'
'Look,' said Harper, pointing to the hallway. 'Go on, just a peek. It should be on her bed.'
I got up quietly, moved into the hall and there, on Sofia's bed, was an old, soft toy. Its fake fur had matted and was bald in other parts. It was a blue bunny rabbit. I sat back down before Sofia could notice I'd been snooping.
Harper whispered, 'She's had that since she was a kid. She said her mom bought one for her and her sister before she passed. She still sleeps with it.'
I nodded. I'd heard her mention her sister carrying a rabbit when she found her mother dead on the stairs.
'Did she mention the toy to you?'
'Yeah. She sleeps with it. Said she and her sister went everywhere with those rabbits when they were kids. I know it has sentimental value, but she's in her late twenties. She needs someone to look after her.'
Sofia was not cut out for the stresses of life even in ordinary circumstances.
I had no doubt that if she was convicted she wouldn't survive twenty-five to life in Bedford Hills Correctional. As prisons go, it's not bad. There are much worse. But it's still a maximum-security facility. The only max-security prison for women in the state. From the outside you can see the razor-wire-topped fences and what looks like an old Victorian house beyond. It's a large facility once you get inside, with buildings in a circular shape surrounding the exercise yards and training areas. Sofia would be placed on suicide watch – but not
 
forever. I knew, first chance she got she would check out. Either deliberately, or she'd cut too deep and that would be it.
Sofia brought a tray of cookies from the kitchen. We ate and drank while I gave her an update on what was going to happen in court the next day. It looked like she understood – but maybe didn't fully appreciate – the turn the case could take if the hearing went badly.
Harper and I thanked her for the cookies, and we left her clutching her blue rabbit for comfort.
That was yesterday. Today was the beginning of the fight to keep her out of jail. The opening skirmish. And it had to go in our favor.
Her life was on the line. The only way to save it was to make sure we got a 'Not Guilty' from the jury. The pieces used to make that verdict a reality would be set in play this morning, in this courtroom.
I had copies of the motions under my arm, and I dumped them on the defense table. Harry had his copies, which he placed beside mine, and took a seat next to me. He looked around the room.
'It's weird being on this side of the judge's bench,' said Harry.
'You've had four weeks of retirement, don't tell me you're starting to regret it now,' I said.
'I didn't say that, I just said it's weird,' said Harry, who then used his feet to rock back on his chair, and locked his fingers together over his stomach. He had put some weight back on, and I was glad of it. It made him look more solid, curved out some of the lines on his face. We'd had a lot of late nights working on these motions, and those nights usually ended in Scotch and pizza at three in the morning in my office, with Harry's dog snatching the pizza crusts we tossed him. That dog would eat anything.
There was no one else in the courtroom. I liked to get there early. Get my seat. Get a feel for the room. Plus, I liked watching my opponents show up and find me already there – established and ready. It was a psychological thing. A subtle form of manipulation. I wanted my opponent to feel like they were stepping into my house.
'How do you think things will go today?' said Harry.
'Depends on the judge,' I said.
'I tried my old clerk three times, and she wouldn't tell me which judge was
taking the case. Said she couldn't. She was sworn to secrecy. Loyalty ain't what it used to be.'
The doors at the back of the court opened, and I heard footsteps approaching. One pair of heels, and one pair of boots. I turned and saw Kate Brooks marching down the aisle, with a tall lady in a leather jacket behind her. Hardly the