A Tale of Two Carnies

17 - Review of Evidence

Right after my visit with Cozbi, I had a meeting scheduled with Alvin Armstrong at his office. I was happy he agreed to meet with me on a Saturday which was outside of usual business hours and on my day off from work. The door to the law office was open, so I walked in.

"Mr. Armstrong?" I shouted.

"Come on back," a disembodied voice reached me from down the hall. "Last office on the right."

My only contact with the lawyer had been over the phone, so I had no idea what he looked like. The sheriff mentioned he was fresh out of college, so in my mind, I envisioned a young man in a conservative business suit, carrying a polished leather briefcase, and possibly wearing glasses.

That image blew up after I cast my eyes on him for the first time. The young man in front of me sat in an orange bean bag chair instead of behind a desk. He didn't even have a desk. An open laptop computer rested on his lap and the floor was covered with file folders, legal pads, and law books, all arranged in a haphazard fashion.

He was wiry with ropy forearms, bald-headed, and wore ear gauges. He wore khaki pants and a t-shirt emblazoned with the words: Dickinson Law.

"Are you Mr. Armstrong?" I asked, wondering if I had walked into the wrong office. He was the most unlikely lawyer I could imagine.

"Alvin," he corrected me. "Have a seat."

I looked around the office and saw no chairs. "Uh, where?"

"Down here on the floor with me."

From his expression, I could tell he wasn't joking. I sat a few feet away, legs crossed. "You're not what I expected. You, uh, don't fit the stereotype."

"I know," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "but this is how I roll."

How could anyone take this guy seriously? "Thank you for agreeing to meet on a Saturday."

He fussed with some of the folders on one of the stacks. "This is my day to catch up on paperwork and filing. You're not imposing on me."

"Good to know."

"I assume you came from seeing Ms. Miraslova. How's she doing?"

"Terrible. She isn't eating. Look, isn't there any way we can get her out while awaiting trial? I know bail is out of the question, but what about an ankle bracelet?"

"No."

"She's barely a legal adult at eighteen. Can we have her moved to someplace less imposing like maybe to a juvie detention center?"

"No."

"Can we allow her to have her sketchpad and pens to keep her mind occupied and bring her a little bit of comfort?"

"No."

I took a breath to tamp down my anger. "Do you ever say yes?"

Alvin tossed aside the folder he had been studying and regarded me. "I'm not the one who makes the rules. I'm just telling you what I know is possible. Your requests are not possible. Your lady friend is in lockup accused of murder. She'll be tried as an adult, and not a juvenile. I already explained how the prosecution views her as a flight risk, so no bail and no monitoring device. No pencils or pens that she can use to injure herself or someone else."

He paused. "Ask me something I can say yes to, and I'll be glad to do so."

"Can I add money to her prison account?"

"Yes." He smiled. "You see? Not everything is a no."

"Great. Are you going to be able to get her off? Can you say yes to that?"