Twenty Five Reasons Not to Go to Law School

Reason Four

Reason Number Four not to go to law school: PI, PI, No.

I was sitting in the swivel chair in the office of Julio Adler, the half-Cuban, half-Jewish lovechild of a fashion merchandiser and an investment banker from West Yonkers - producing the most ridiculous accent imaginable. He had a reputation in the area as the best private investigator around. He had a reputation in my mind as saying all the wrong things at all the wrong times, at least to me. But he was a close, personal friend, and his track record couldn't be argued with. I needed someone good, and I needed him now. 

He laughed and reclined in his chair, feet on his desk, as I poured out my heart and soul to him. I'd just come from the Steinbeck residence and was an emotional wreck for a hundred and one reasons.

"Ah, rookie mistake, Cass," he criticized, shaking his head. "You can't have a thing for a client."

"Well it's not exactly like I chose it," I defended. "Julio, if you saw her, you'd get it."

"I don't think so," he said flatly. "I've never been the cradle-robbing type."

"Neither have I!" I reminded him, throwing my files down on his desk. "But it doesn't even matter, because this is a client we're talking about, and I'm not letting my stupid feelings get in the way of winning this case."

He gave a whistle as he reviewed the papers he'd been looking at for the past twenty minutes. "Winning it?" he repeated, making a face. "Are you sure, Cass?"

"Yes, I'm sure. She's innocent."

He laughed. "And what makes you think that?"

I stiffened, crossing my arms, and said quietly, "I just know."

"Well I'm afraid," he said, taking his feet off his desk and coming into a seated position as he looked through my notes, "that 'I just know' won't really stand up in a court of law. Look what you've got, counselor. Probable cause up the asshole. The chick's got motive that half of the judges in Massachusetts wouldn't argue with, enough contact with the victim leading up to the murder to raise suspicion, and about a million holes in her alibi. God, you'd better hope Sammie Steinbeck can produce some fake tears, and produce 'em fast."

I sighed. "She hasn't cried yet."

"Well that's another check in your fucking corner, Cassanda," he said flatly. "Robotic, sociopathic broad seeks revenge on her cheating boyfriend. A judge will eat that shit up. Life, no parole."

"Will you stop being so negative!" I pleaded, all of my fears becoming actualized in his words. "Just say you'll do this with me."

"Cass, it ain't worth my time."

"Do it for me," I pressed quietly, knowing that I didn't have a chance in hell without him on my side. "Please."

He sighed, clicking a pen against his desk. "Okay," he finally said. "What do you want?"

I felt my face light up as I prepared to rattle off the list. I found myself squealing an "Oh thank you!" before getting back down to business. "Okay," I said, "I need the police report, the coroner's report, witness statements, eventually affidavits once we've determined our witnesses, if we could take a trip to the school, there's a few people I want you to talk to, plus both families..."

"Slow the hell down!" 

I took a deep breath. "Plus both families...and the other girl."

"The other girl?"

"Her name is Stephanie Vaughn. She's the girl McElroy cheated on Samantha with."

"And why are we talking to her?"

"Anyone's suspect," I decided. "And I want to hear about the relationship from a different aspect. The more I can learn about Timothy's tendencies, romantically, the better I can understand the whole dynamic."

He smiled. "Are we back to thinking like a lawyer, Foreman?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I never stopped."