by Reason of Sanity Read Online Free Page B

client would rather not see me.
This is a new one. After over twenty years of doing this, I’ve never been refused an interview before. And to make it even weirder, I wasn’t forcing myself on this guy, because the court clerk said that he approved of my representing him when the court appointed me.
Just to make sure I’m not missing out on something, on the way out of the building I stop by the Captain’s office to find out exactly what their policy is for inmates who don’t want to see their lawyer. My client was right and I was wrong. The Captain tells me that an inmate does have a right to refuse a visit – even by his own attorney. Not only did he not want to see me – he also gave me an important indication of how difficult this case will be to handle…it’s going to be uphill all the way. If he’s smart enough to avoid meeting with me, I hope he’s also smart enough to figure out some strategy to beat this case – because I sure can’t.
    Approaching the Marina, I see some-thing that’s now familiar to me but almost caused me to wreck my car the first time I saw it – a huge Saint Bernard driving an electric cart. Actually, as I now know very well, the dog doesn’t drive – it’s Suzi. The dog sits up on the front seat next to her but if you see them from a certain angle, she’s hidden behind the dog.
    Her usual routine during the week includes stopping by the private mailbox place to pick up the firm’s incoming stuff, making a deposit at the driveup ATM window and stopping by the Chinese restaurant around the corner, where she and the dog disappear inside for an hour or so.
    Because her late mother was a head waitress at the place, she’s treated like royalty there. And since all the local cops eat lunch there every day, she’s become their official mascot, so she can do no wrong in their jurisdictions.
    On today’s trip, when she sees me, I’m honored with a wave of her hand as she speeds down the alley towards the rear entrance to the Chinese restaurant.
    Suzi’s late stepfather Melvin explained to me that she’s got the authorities convinced she’s being home-schooled, so as long as she keeps passing their quarterly tests, she has her days free to run the law practice I work for and volunteer at the hospital with that huge animal of hers.
    I still get a kick out of how she taught the dog to stand up on his hind legs, open the mailbox door with a paw and then deposit the mail from his mouth into the slot. During the rainy season, she has the dog trained to do the mail run all by himself. Of course none of this is amazing compared to how she’s got me trained during the past six months. Each morning I make my bed, throw away yesterday’s newspapers, wash my breakfast bowl (she can’t reach the sink), and take out the garbage.
    If it’s early enough in the morning, I usually bump into Laverne, who lives on a small houseboat a few slips down on the dock. If I’ve had enough to drink in the evening, I’ve been known to allow myself to be abducted by Laverne, while walking past her houseboat. This happens at least once a month, but I never complain… it must be some form of the Stockholm syndrome, named after an event that occurred in 1973 when four Swedes were held captive for six days in a bank vault during a robbery. According to psychologists, the abused bonded to their abusers as a means to endure violence.
    In my case, it’s a situation of bonding to my abductor because even though she’s got plenty of miles on her, she’s still a smooth ride.
    There’s a knock on the hull. It’s a messenger with two packages for me. The court file on my lawyer-shy murderer and a stack of videocassettes – copies of the surveillance tapes from the hospital. What a pain in the ass. I’ll never have time to watch them all. Each one is eight hours long, recorded in stop-motion intervals of one second. Fortunately they’re all labeled with a digital stopwatch appearing on the bottom of the