by Reason of Sanity Read Online Free Page A

promptly buries his head under my arm and whines for the next ten minutes until the noises stop.
    After it’s ov er, he looks up at me with a sorrowful face. I return his look with one that says “I’ve got your number now, pal. You’re a big baby.”
    Embarrassed, he retreats to the little princess’ forward stateroom, where he could have never gotten away with that stunt because he’s not allowed up on the bunk. It’s a good thing he tried it with me, because if he jumped up on Suzi like that we’d probably need a spatula to scrape her off of the bed.
    I turn on the evening news and am surprised to hear that they made an arrest in the Mike Drago case. Evidently, the security cameras paid off, because Drago had been moved into a special intensive care unit where everything in the room is videotaped. To make matters even more interesting, the newsreader goes on:
    “We have learned that the district attorney has decided to bring in a special prosecutor on this case… Ms. Myra Scot, a former employee of the district attorney’s office.”
    The phone rings. Caller ID is a great invention because it gives me a few seconds to compose myself whenever Myra calls me. “Hello my dear, I see you made the evening news again. Good luck with this one. With the whole act on tape, you should have no problems getting a plea.”
    “Peter, I want you to watch me destroy the defense attorney on this one.”
“No thanks sweetheart, I’m not that interested in watching a massacre.”
“That’s not fair. Up until now all you’ve seen me do is annihilate the former district attorney, who was incompetent. This is a capital case, so it’ll probably be a really good lawyer on the other side who will be getting destroyed by my magnificent prosecution.”
“So, what’s that got to do with me?”
“You’ll find out, Petey.” I wish she wouldn’t call me that.
As soon as I hang up with Myra, it rings again. I don’t recognize the number on caller I.D., but pick up the phone anyway. It’s a woman’s voice. “Hello, Mister Sharp?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Mary, Judge Axelrod’s clerk. We just want you to know that on the recommendation of Myra Scot, the special prosecutor, you’ve been appointed as defense counsel on a capital murder case. We’ll have the file delivered to your office. The arraignment has been scheduled for next Tuesday.”

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    osing is not fun, and I ought to know, because I’ve got plenty of experience in that area. When you practice criminal law, about ninety-nine percent of the people you represent actually did what they were charged with doing. The only reason I had a one percent acquittal rate had nothing to do with the defendants’ innocence. It was only because of missing witnesses, evidence that confused the jury,
technicalities like the Constitution’s Bill of Rights, or some other reasons that drive prosecutors mad.
    This case will not be going into the one percent success group because like all the others, it’s a loser. I’ll have to do my best, but this time there’ll be no walking into court waving a document that clears the client and humiliates the prosecution. I’m afraid those days are over for everyone but Ben Matlock and Perry Mason.
    About the only thing I can do on this one is try to break down the timeline of the video. I send a request over to Myra’s office for copies of the tapes they’ve no doubt made for me. The only time that the prosecutors are happy to provide you with their evidence is when it nails your client to the wall beyond any reasonable doubt. I guess it’s time to go downtown, pick up my appointment file and visit the new client.
    After checking in the front desk of Twin Towers, Los Angeles’ modern county jail, and presenting my State Bar card, a Deputy Sheriff leads me back to the attorney interview area, where I sit and wait about twenty minutes for my client to be brought in.
    No client appears. Instead, a jailer comes in and tells me that my