THE FOURTH WATCH Read Online Free Page A

obscenities at the top of their lungs and
grope through the bars at the ass of any Lawyerette foolish enough
to venture down one of the narrow corridors between the cells. They
pound each other senseless over trivial slights and often appear
before the court in shackles and only semi-conscious. If out on
bail, they wait in the same packed corridors as their victims,
trying to cajole or intimidate them into recanting their testimony.
Judges, robed in judicial splendor, preside in makeshift courtrooms
no larger than the jail cells, and find themselves in uncomfortably
close proximity to the accused when announcing their verdicts. The
cafeteria and the boiler room share space in the basement and smell
the same. The clerk's office is a long, narrow, open room full of
desks behind a counter packed with confused citizens who are, for
the most part, ignored. The District Attorney’s office is a rabbit
warren of green metal desks and cubicles. Police Officers from
every surrounding town wait in cramped quarters to be interviewed
by an Assistant DA about testimony they'd be giving in court.
Magistrates hold hearings in cramped offices that make a mockery of
the process.
    Every year the state budget contains money to
build a new courthouse. One year the Governor refused to authorize
the funds because the share of the work that would go to the unions
was too large. On another occasion the funds lapsed because the
local politicians couldn't decide where to put the new courthouse,
or how to allocate the credit for it among themselves. There is no
end to the excuses as to why it hasn't been built and no limit to
the number of elected officials who will jam themselves in front of
microphones to blame someone else.
    There is money in the budget again this
year.
    *****
    EVERYONE IN THE SYSTEM is always frazzled to the edge of their sanity.
You cannot ask for directions to the men's room without eliciting
an icy scowl. Lawyers need things: a motion or hearing date; copies
of fat files; case law, and are therefore widely despised by the
courthouse staff. In my practice I am what is known as a Bar
Advocate or Court Appointed Lawyer.. I am sent forth by an
organization known as CPCS, the Committee for Public Counsel
Services, to protect the rights of the indigent. There is no lower
form of life in the legal pecking order than I. Sometimes lawyers
of my ilk are called Public Defenders, however nothing we do in the
Bar Advocate role could be considered public defense. In fact it is
quite the opposite. It is my job to get criminals back out on the
street. I keep the streetwalkers walking, the dope peddlers
peddling and the wife beaters beating a path back to their old
lady's door. Criminals, you see, the Supreme Court has decided, are
entitled to a free lawyer who must be a zealous advocate in their
defense (Gideon v. Wainwright, 372 U.S. 335 (1963), for those of
you keeping score at home). The purpose of this is to ensure that
the innocent are not snared in a net cast too wide by the police.
And that's an excellent idea, because there are some unsavory
characters out there walking around with badges. But I'll let you
in on a little secret .... my client?... he did it...most of the
time anyway. Not that you could get even those caught on film to
admit their guilt.
    The Bar Advocate's job is really one of sales
and negotiation. I have to sell an overworked, underpaid Assistant
District Attorney on a deal that will allow my client to plead and
walk. Why should he do that? Because if he insists on jail time,
I'm going to put his tired, overworked ass through a jury trial,
the outcome of which will be uncertain. In fact, the only thing
certain about a jury trial is that the ADA will have to work like a
dog to meet his burden of proof - that timeless classic: Beyond a
Reasonable Doubt! And I, in the zealous advocacy of my client, will
object to every piece of evidence he tries to introduce as hearsay,
or prejudicial, or irrelevant to the matter at