New York, 2004
Bobby's Brownstone
Prospect Heights, Brooklyn
"Wake up! It's five o'clock on a rainy Monday morning. This is Rick Clancy along with Amber McEwen, and this is the Rock Show on WNYC, the listener voted number one radio show in the state of New York. Before we dive into the morning news, weather, traffic, and baseball. That's right, Yankees, Red Socks, game 1 of the American League Championship Series, the quest for the World Series, starts tomorrow night. We'll get all the listeners thoughts and opinions about tomorrow's game. But first, we'll get you up and going this morning with the classic Boomtown Rats song I Don't Like Monday's."
Bobby woke from his restless sleep as he listened to the radio. The song was the perfect choice to play on a rainy Monday morning. He wasn't liking the day already. Groaning into the pillow, he rolled onto his side and then his back as he rubbed at his eyes. Today was the start of a long work week and he had to get an early start. He had to be in court at nine and then he had a couple of meetings to sit through before he had to be in court again later in the afternoon.
Mondays was the jumpstart day to the whole week. It was the make it or break it day for him; it got everything rolling and it was time to get up and embrace it. Reaching down toward his waist, he his hand rubbed over Atticus who was asleep on his legs. Smiling, he rubbed at the Labrador's fur until he found his leg and grabbed it.
Atticus made a sound and shifted off his legs.
"Wake up, sleepy head."
That got the dog up. Atticus crawled up the bed to his side, causing Bobby to laugh. He had the dog for six years, since he was two weeks old, and he never ceased to find the dog amusing. Atticus pawed at his chest, waiting for a command.
"What?" he asked the dog. Rubbing that the dog's head and ears, he told him, "C'mon, it's time to get ready."
Atticus barked as he got up and jumped down off the bed. The blanket started to move over his chest and he knew Atticus was pulling the blanket off him by using his teeth.
"You're too smart for your own good, dog. Go…find my shoes."
Bobby heard the dog give a bark before taking off in search of the shoes. Rolling onto his side, he sought out the buttons on the radio and turned the volume up before sitting up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing at his head, he felt the pain behind his eyes and groaned a little as he stood and maneuvered around the bed and into the bathroom. Leaving the door open as he did every morning, he started to get ready for the day.
Using his sense of smell and touch, he easily went through his Monday morning routine of brushing his teeth and shaving. He heard Atticus coming up behind him. The dog dropped a shoe to the floor and then left the room again. The shower was the last thing for him to do.
By the time he left the bathroom, twenty-five minutes had gone by. Running his finger over the tabs on his hangers, he choose a black suit, blue dress shirt, and the blue tie with diamond shapes that Denise had gotten him for his birthday a few years ago. After pulling on his shoes that Atticus had brought to him, he completed the attire by sliding the tie clip on which held his initials R. O. G., and then headed out of the bedroom.
It was a little after six o'clock by the time he made it into the kitchen and grabbed a thermos off the counter. Filling it with the coffee that had been brewing since five-thirty he emptied the pot and placed it into the sink. His cleaning lady Mrs. Bennett would take care of it for him when she got there at ten.
Atticus barked at him from the other side of the kitchen. Looking toward the dog, he told him, "Go out." The dog obeyed, going out through the doggy door and into the small yard that really wasn't a yard, but it served its purpose for the dog.
Putting the lid on the thermos, he took a few cautious sips as he left the kitchen. Atticus rubbed against his side. Reaching down, he felt the harness in the dog's mouth. Taking it, he put it on the dog before going over to the desk by the front door. He grabbed his keychain, wallet, the leather laptop briefcase, and then finally his folded up cane. The only time he used the cane was when he knew Atticus couldn't help him go to where he wanted to go.
Atticus whined, making him remember.
"Right. Go get your bag."
Atticus took off down the hall only to return a few seconds later. Kneeling down, he took the small treat bag from the dog's mouth and made sure it held all the supplies for Atticus like his food, a bottle of water, a bowl, treats and toys, before letting the dog take it back into his mouth.
As soon as he was out of the door, and he'd slipped on his sunglasses, he heard, "Good morning, Bobby."
Smiling, he called out, "Hey, John," as he headed toward where the voice had come from, and where Atticus was leading him. "How was your weekend?" Bobby asked his friend, and driver, as John opened the backdoor for him.
"Oh, it was great. I went fishing with my sons, and got to spend time with my grandson Nate," John answered as he waited patiently for him to get into the car. "Atticus," he said as he bent down to greet the dog. "You're such a good boy, yes you are."
Bobby laughed at the playfulness as he put his bag on the middle seat before taking the bag from Atticus's mouth and tossing it in the back.
John Eames was seventy years old and a veteran of the NYPD. Eleven years ago he had been caught double-dipping from the city, collecting a pension while also working for the city parks. Once the Brass found out about it they tried to get a case going against John with the DA's office to strip him of his pension along with the money he owed back to the city. It had been his fifth case and his first that he had been willing to go to trial for.
After less than a week of deliberations, he got the prosecution to settle with a deal that left John his pension, but he still had to pay the money back. It didn't matter to John if he had to pay back the money because he got to keep his pension and with it his benefits. John had been so grateful that he offered to be his personal driver, even doing it for free. Bobby couldn't have been more accommodating, but he still paid John with cash every week for his services.
Bobby put his thermos into the cup holder before getting into the car. After he was situated, he patted the seat next to his. "Atticus, c'mon."
Once the dog was in and he was buckled in, Bobby told John, who had gotten into the driver's seat, "Okay, let's get this show on the road. Where'd you want to have breakfast?"
John smiled as he answered, "I'll take us over to Tony's in Hell's Kitchen. I've been craving his omelet and pancakes."
Bobby nodded as he hooked up flipped open his cell phone. "Great, while we're over there I might be able to visit one of my clients."
"Oh yea, who's that?"
"His nephew." Bobby folded down the table that he had installed on the back of the passenger seat before opening the briefcase. Taking the laptop out, he put it on top of the table and flipped it open. He turned it on and while he waited on it to boot up, he spoke into the phone after he'd been prompted, "Call Denise."
After two rings, Denise picked up.
"Hello?"
"How's the baby?"
"Bobby, I wasn't expecting you to call! My baby, God, he's doing great. He's healthy and big, just like his daddy. I'm being discharged today."
"I'm glad to hear that; so, what's the little guy's name?"
He could hear the pride in the new mother's voice already as she told him, "David Jonathan Matheson III . Davy for short."
Bobby couldn't help but laugh at that; it sounded like such a prominent name to be busted down to just plan ol' Davy. "And how's Davy's mother?"
She laughed a little at that before telling him, "I'm tired and missing his father."
Bobby heard her hesitation and he felt the pained sorrow in his heart. Denise's husband was a Lieutenant in the Army and his unit had been recalled to Iraq for a second tour; because of that he had missed the birth of his son. "Look, um…I called to tell you to take all the time you need. There's no rush for you to come back to work."
"No, it's fine. I want to; I'll be ready to go by next week at the earliest. I was thinking if it's okay with you I'll work out of my home for now."
Bobby had thought of that as well; if she wanted to return to work he would allow her the time home with her son. "Denise, are you sure? You'll be tired and busy with the baby."
"My mother is going to be staying with me for a few months until everything calms down. Plus, I want to work and you need me. Where else are you going to find an assistant as well educated and versed in all things according to the law of Robert Goren? I'm your only associate!"
"And you remind me of that fact every day, that's why I'm not trying to find anyone else. Okay, I guess whatever you want, we'll do. You can work from home for however long you want. I'll, uh, yeah, once I get time today, I'll look over what I've got and what I need. Once you get settled, give me a call. You've got stuff at home right?"
"I've got a computer and printer."
Bobby thought about that as he said, "Have your mother, or someone…Don't you have a brother?"
"Yes, his name's Carl."
"Okay, I'll get in touch with him so he can come to the brownstone and get your stuff for you so you don't have to buy anything. Even if we have to turn your home into our office, we'll get this worked out." It was meant as a joke, seeing how the top two floors of his three-story brownstone was their offices.
"Sounds great. Thanks, Bobby, for being such a great boss and friend. I don't know what I would do…would've done…without…"
He heard her light crying turn to sobs and he immediately felt uncomfortable. Atticus chose that moment to put his head on his lap; he put his hand on the dog's head as he asked, "Uh, are you okay? Denise?" Bobby knew she was; he figured it was from her husband being gone and the fact that she had given birth a day ago.
"I'm fine. I'm just so…Oh!," she suddenly exclaimed, ending her crying. "Don't forget your nine o'clock. Judge Li hates it when you're late."
"He hates it when anyone's late, and I didn't forget because you put it on my calendar. Take care of yourself and that boy of yours, I'll be in touch." Ending the phone call, he flipped his phone shut and put it away before putting in a pair of headphones as he went to work on the laptop.
Bobby loved the world of the internet, and advanced technology; he could get so much done without ever having to run around the courthouses of the city. He could file motions and dispositions and send requests, and do research all at the touch of a few buttons and some short, simple phrases into the microphone piece attached to the headphones. He had programs on his computer for everything; every form he needed was stored and filed away in folders on his desktop all thanks to Denise.
It only took him a few minutes to send a request to Judge Li. Then he sent a pre-trial motion to examine evidence to Judge Thornwood for the following week concerning his case with Matthew Sullivan, Tony 's nephew.
By the time he was done with reviewing his case for the nine o'clock hearing they were almost at Tony's. That was a good thing because he was starving. Rolling down the window for the first time since leaving his home, he heard and smelt the rain coming down outside as John took a couple more turns before parking in a designated handicap space that literally had his name on it. Tony had the space made for him after he had taken on his nephew's case to show his appreciation.
As soon as he entered the restaurant through the backdoor, he was greeted by the chef and owner himself. "Bobby! Welcome, want your usual?"
He smiled at Tony as he stopped at the table he always sat at. It was next to the kitchen and the hallway that led to the backdoor and restrooms, and it had the best view out the front windows. At least that was what everyone told him. He liked it because it was the closest to the kitchen. He could smell all the spices whiffing out through the doors. He heard Billy Joel's Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) playing softly over the speakers. "That'll be great, Tony, thanks. Good morning, Estelle," he greeted Tony's wife who he heard talking to someone at the counter.
"Good morning to you, Bobby. I'll get your coffee right to you after I deal with John."
John chuckled at that as he took his usual spot at the counter as he started chatting up Estelle.
Bobby sat at the table and opened Atticus bag. He set the bowl on the floor and unzipped the plastic bag that held Atticus's food in it. Filling the bowl with the food, he asked, "Hey, where's Matt?"
"I gave him the day off. He's running around somewhere," Tony answered.
"Staying out of trouble I hope."
"You're damn right he is. He respects what you're doing for him. He's not going to screw that up. He knows what it'll mean if he does something stupid. Hey, John, stop flirting with my wife. I'm trying to run a business here and all you wanna do is talk to her."
John started laughing as he told him, "You know what I want, and I'll flirt with her anytime I want; she likes me more than she does you."
"Tell that to your wife and see what happens."
Bobby laughed at the teasing banter between the friends as he went over to grab the paper out of the rack next to the door before going back over to the table. Estelle rounded the counter and brought him a cup of coffee with cream.
"You're looking good today, Bobby," she told him as she sat down across from him. Taking the paper from him, she asked, "You feeling good today?"
Estelle was a sweet sounding Italian woman and from what John had told him, she was sweet looking as well, with dark hair and eyes. He knew that the pleasant woman also had a furious temper in her. He had been a witness between a fight between her and Tony once. At the end of it he was feeling extremely sorry for the husband; the woman had torn him apart with just her words.
"I'm doing good, feeling good," Bobby told her while giving her a smile that he hoped convinced her that he was telling the truth. The last time he was there, the pain in his head and leg had been so intense and overwhelming that he had lost his patience with her. "I'm still so sorry about what happened."
"Don't worry about it, we all have our off days. The pain is better though?"
Bobby nodded. "My doctor upped my pain medication and started me on a different a, uh, physical therapy routine. So far, it's helping."
"I'm glad, honey, you deserve the best care," she told him while patting his hand. "So, what'd you want me to read 'bout today?"
"First John and now you, Bobby?" Tony said at his side. "What's with you guys and my wife?"
Bobby smiled as he smelt his food suddenly appear under his nose. "What can I say, she's very beautiful; a heartbreaker."
"Beautiful but vicious. That's how I like 'em."
Estelle smacked her husband hard on the arm as she announced angrily, "I'm not vicious," causing all the men to laugh as she did it.
"Why'd you hit me for?"
Bobby kept laughing as he poured syrup over his pancakes. Giving Atticus a strip of his bacon, he asked, "So, how about tomorrow night's game?"
He didn't have to mention which game. In New York there were only two teams everyone paid attention to when it came to baseball, the Mets and the Yankees. And this was the ultimate championship series showdown between the Yankees and their moral rivals, the Boston Red Socks. Everyone, even Mets fans, was invested in the game. Estelle, who didn't even like sports, got on a heated rant about her dislike of all things involving Boston baseball. She was a woman after his heart, too bad she was married.
Criminal Court Building
Midtown, Manhattan
He made it to the courthouse thirty minutes before nine, giving him half-hour to try to talk to Ron Carver before they had to be in court.
"You sure you don't need me to stick around today?" John asked from the front seat.
"No," Bobby told him as he opened the back passenger door and got out.
The rain had eased up yet again and he was sure that the rain was going to be off-and-on all day. Bobby quickly grabbed his briefcase off the seat as Atticus jumped out and waited by his side. "I'll call you when we break for lunch and we'll hit up Sal's," he told John before he shut the door.
Going over to the entrance, he heard as Atticus hit the handicap button to open the door. Once the doors opened, he walked in and then immediately stopped. The noise was nearly deafening. The courthouse on Monday's was always a madhouse. The lines through the metal detectors were almost out the doors. Bobby told Atticus to find Officer Weeks.
Atticus was a smart dog.
"Atticus, hey buddy," Weeks greeted the dog before he ever greeted him. "You in court today, Goren?
"If I didn't I wouldn't be here. It's always crazy on Monday mornings."
Weeks told him to raise his arms, so he did. "Got a trial?"
"Yeah, I've got a few arraignments, a prelim, and meetings for the rest of the day. So, give it to me straight, officer, Yanks or Red Socks?"
Weeks happily declared, "Boston! What'd you expect, my father's from Boston and I like the Socks. They're going to win it all this year, I can feel it."
Bobby laughed and shook his head. "Every time Boston gets close, they choke. You're living in a fantasy world."
"Only on my days off. Take it easy, counselor, and try not to piss some good cops off today by getting their convicted felons off on a technicality or something."
"Who's convicted? No one's convicted yet, and if I get one of my clients off on a technicality, it's the cops own fault for screwing up," Bobby told the officer before he started toward the elevators.
It was nearly impossible to find one that wasn't pack full, but Atticus always ended up getting a good one. Just as the doors were about to close, Atticus stepped halfway into the elevator and stopped, making the doors reopen.
"Good morning, Goren."
At hearing his name, Bobby smiled at hearing the man's voice who said it. "Mr. Carver. Thanks for holding the elevator by the way, appreciate it," he sarcastically told him as he got on the elevator.
"If I had seen you out there I would've," Carver said as he reached down to give his dog some lovin'. He always knew when someone was petting his dog because Atticus made a certain panting sound and wagged his tail against his leg.
There were firehouse dogs and then there was Atticus, the courthouse dog. When they were outside, he had to keep Atticus on a leash, but once inside the courthouse, the dog had free range. Half the Judges in the building kept doggy treats on hand just in case he wandered into their chambers.
Bobby nodded as he asked who else was on the elevator with them. Other prosecutors and one defense attorney he knew from his early days in the Public Defender's office spoke up. "Hey, Beckham, how's it going?"
Jerry Beckham was off to the left and near the back of the elevator. "It's going. I see you're doing well in your private practice."
"I am; hey, if you ever decide to leave the Public Defender's office, give me a call." Bobby then said to the rest of the group gathered in the elevator, "That goes for all of you." That got a few laughs but he knew of one man who wouldn't be laughing. Smiling a little more, he said to the big Executive ADA man himself, Jack McCoy, "Especially you, Jack."
"You should save that arrogance for the courtroom, Goren. And that's Mr. McCoy to you," McCoy reminded him, again.
"Oh, don't you worry, Jack, I've got plenty of it to go around everywhere else." He heard Carver softly warn him in annoyance but he also heard the soft laughter that got from Beckham and a few others in the back.
"Keep banging that drum, one of these days it'll catch up to you."
Bobby turned toward McCoy as he told him, "I will, and I'll bang it very loudly against you, anytime, anywhere."
"And that's why they call him 'The Terminator,'" Beckham announced proudly amongst the prosecutors. "Keep banging that drum, Bobby."
"Damn right, Jerry. Jack's just jealous because I'm not a prosecutor. He fears losing to me," he told Beckham as the elevator came to a slow stop.
"Thank God," McCoy suddenly exclaimed as the doors opened, "I don't think I could've taken another floor of your ego boosting antics, Goren."
"Ah, you're just saying that because they weren't for you," Bobby teased as he exited the elevator.
He didn't boost himself up because he needed the encouragement, that wasn't him at all. He did it because he knew it drove the others crazy, especially Jack McCoy. Carver always tended to try and sound annoyed, but he caught the man laughing about it away from the prying eyes of the other prosecutors.
"Carver, we need to talk," he said over his shoulder as he searched the hall for a quiet spot so they could talk. Finding an empty space between two pillars where he couldn't hear anyone close, he turned around to face the prosecutor. Then, he simply told him, "I think we should cut a deal."
"I think you're wrong. I have a pretty good case against Ms. Carlson and once I present it, it will go to the Grand Jury for an indictment."
"My client is not of sound mind to-"
"The doctors declared her mentally competent," Carver stressed. "She knows the difference between right and wrong."
"The court appointed shrink doesn't know what he's talking about. He talked to her for two minutes. He didn't even ask her questions that w-would provoke her psychosis. He didn't do his job. You don't want me to put her on that stand."
"Of course I don't, that's where you usually win your cases. It's funny, most defense attorneys don't like putting their clients up on the witness stand, but you do. You get your client up there, in front of God and everyone else, and you get them to divulge themselves. You expose their reasons and intent and then manipulate everyone into empathizing with them, feel for them, and then they forget all about the people they've hurt or killed. Not this time." Carver went to walk around him when he stepped to his left to block him.
Bobby tried to reason with the ADA one last time; he wouldn't give him another chance to reconsider. "She should be in a psychiatric facility, not on trial for her life."
"Nelda Carlson is a murderer. That's exactly where she should be," and with that, Carver walked around him and continued down the hall.
"I'm going to have my client amend her plea to not guilty by reason of mental disease," he called out. Carver's shoes stopped clicking over the hard marble floor. Bobby turned around took five steps in the same direction. Carver had taken eight, so he knew he'd come to a stop a few feet from him. "I'll plead it and you know I can win it. She's a Borderline Personality and I know exactly how and what to say to get her to expose herself. Once I put her ex on the stand, and then her, the Judge will have no choice but to get her the help she deserves. It won't go to trial. Think about it, counselor." He walked around the man and then headed across the floor toward the courtroom.
Atticus followed.
Twenty minutes later, Bobby heard Nelda Carlson being led into the courtroom by the bailiff. She sat next to him and he heard her moving around in her seat. He knew who she was searching for but he wasn't there. Berry Carlson, her ex-husband, wouldn't show up unless he had a subpoena making him. If they went to trial, that was exactly what he would hit Berry Carlson with, and so would Carver. They both wanted him as a witness for two completely different reasons.
Judge Li entered the courtroom and everyone stood. "Sit," he strictly ordered, and everyone did on command. The Judge was quiet for a moment before saying, "I don't want him wandering around this time, Goren."
Bobby felt Atticus lay down on his feet under the defense table, and he heard a soft whine, almost of disappointment come for his dog at that. Smiling slightly, he said, "Yes, Your Honor."
Judge Li was the one judge that nobody wanted presiding over their case. He was strict and stern and he took no bullshit. The man was a Japanese Warrior; at least that was what Bobby thought of the man sitting up there on the bench. Games were not allowed in his courtroom, so that was why Carver wanted Judge Li.
Bobby was known for the games he liked to play in the courtroom. They were fun and they kept not only him but everyone else, especially the jury, interested in the trial and in what he was presenting to them. Every trial case was won or lost by the jury. The jury was who they played to, who they put every ounce of trust into to do what was right. If he lost the jury, he lost the case. So he liked to keep things interesting.
The tricks, the mind games, smoke and mirrors, and the flamboyant presentations he did were all in the name of getting what he thought to be justice. The courtroom was his stage and he was the master at manipulating it. He could get witnesses to rethink their opinion or to admit to a lie that they had told. And, yes, he had lied a few times. Everybody lied, even the prosecution, but he never tried to win by presenting false evidence; he never tried to win by malice, and he had never resorted to attacking the integrity and the character of a witness.
If the witness was telling the truth, was honest, and presented only what they knew, then he wouldn't try to tear them down by attacking who they were as a person. That was low, it was lower than low, and he didn't do it. He wanted, and needed, the truth to come out even if it meant the jury sided with the prosecution. When the trial was done, whichever side had won, he was satisfied to say that it was all done rightfully and fairly.
It just so happened that he had never lost a single trial case. He had bargained a few, gotten lesser sentences, he had gotten a handful dismissed, and there had been two hung juries but he had never downright lost. Ten years undefeated when it came to the final guilty or not guilty verdict. Not a single other defense attorney could claim that.
Not every criminal in his eyes deserved the maximum of their sentence, or death, or even life in prison. No one deserved to have no chance in Hell at getting a fair trial; that was a civil right that no one should have taken away from them no matter the crime they were accused of. Their intent made them all different. Some deserved the maximum punishment, or life, some even death, if they were cold-hearted killers and rapists. He didn't even want to defend those criminals.
However, most deserved to be listened to; they deserved a second chance at redemption. That was what he offered. He offered to listen and then do his best for them. He offered justice and for some that meant taking a deal, others it meant fighting for a better deal, and then there were the few who he felt deserved a battle. A war fought in the courtroom for their freedom or their life.
There were even times when he was able to convince his own clients of that fact and got them to give up a confession for a lesser sentence. Some even thanked him for it, like Wally Stevens who he still kept in contact with on a monthly basis. Then there was John Tagman. He had gotten Tagman to confess in the interrogation room, ending Carver's quest to seek the death penalty for his client; he had been ridiculed for that decision by not only Carver and the Major Case Squad, but the entire District Attorney's office.
He had a feeling that Nelda Carlson was going to be added to that list. If Carver didn't accept his deal, he would go to war for her. She was mentally ill and she didn't need life in prison, she needed help. Glancing over toward the prosecutor's table, Bobby heard Carver pushing papers around. Bobby knew that Carver had reached his decision.
"Courts called into session. People verse Nelda Carlson; charged with two counts of first degree murder."
Judge Li would address the prosecution first. And he did when he asked, "Is there anything you want to disclose to the court before we proceed?"
Carver hesitated in answering, but then he scooted the chair back and stood, saying, "Not at his time, Your Honor."
There would be no deal. Giving a small smirk, Bobby gave a slight nod before turning his head back to the front, facing the judge.
Let the battle commence.
"You did what?" Denise's voice pierced his ear, causing his head to ache.
Bobby told her again even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. He was proud of his bold move. "I plead not guilty by reason of mental disease for Nelda Carlson."
"We didn't discuss that? Bobby, are you…Do you know how hard it is to prove insanity?"
Yes he did, and if there was any one man who could plead it and get the person off on it that man was him. "I did what I thought was best, and right, for her. I know what I'm doing, trust me on this. When it comes to insanity, I'm the guy you go to."
"Well, I can't argue with that one," she said a little too sarcastically.
Bobby smiled even though he knew she couldn't see him. He was waiting outside of Judge Li's chambers. The Your Honorable Warrior wanted to talk to him about the request he filed before court. He figured as he thought about what he knew about Judge Li, that despite his strict courtroom rules, he was probably the best judge he could get for Nelda Carlson. He was a no bullshit kind of guy, if he thought Nelda was unfit to stand trail, even before it began, he wouldn't hesitate to call it quits despite what protests Carver would try to come up with.
Since he did plead insanity that meant Nelda was being transferred to the Seaview Psychiatric Center on Staten Island to undergo evaluations before they continued. Just because the court appointed shrink ruled her mentally competent, that didn't mean she actually was. Bobby had let the institution's doctors know that he suspected Borderline Personality Disorder, if they verified it then that was it.
Then there would be no Grand Jury indictment, and no trial. She would spend thirty days in the hospital to determine her treatment and then he would make another deal with Carver. A deal that was right, a deal that brought closure and justice to not only the dead but the living. He would see to it that Nelda got the help she needed.
"You seriously need me. I can't work from home if you're going to burn your practice down before I ever get back."
Bobby smiled at her dramatic antics; she was only teasing him now and he enjoyed it. She kept his life from sinking too low, from drowning in misery and darkness. He had wished things had worked out with her, but it hadn't. She wanted children and a family and he couldn't give her either. His disability had crushed any fleeting thoughts he ever had about being a parent, a husband. He could still have sex, thank God, but he couldn't possibly fathom the thought of trying to be a father when he couldn't see a thing. How was he supposed to take care of a child when it was so hard for him to take care of himself? How could he ever throw his child a baseball, or do anything else with them?
And he didn't think he would ever find a woman who could tolerate him long enough to be in a long lasting relationship. Denise had tried for six months back in '99 before calling it quits with him, but then she had surprised him by coming to work for him instead of taking a job as assistant to the Chief of Detectives.
She said she couldn't deal with his mood swings; some of it was due to the medication he had to take, but most of it was due to his life. His anger didn't just stem from his blindness, or the fact that his right leg was still screwed despite years of physical therapy. He'd been on again, off again with a cane for nearly ten years now, after finally being able to walk again.
The life he had before wasn't that much better.
His mother was still schizophrenic, the ghost of his dead father still lingered, and his brother was still an estranged gambler and drug abuser that he didn't know anymore. What his life had become after was just as damning. Yeah, he was a great defense attorney and he made a pretty good living doing it, but his relationships had shattered and scattered almost into nothingness. He had a hard time trusting people when he could see; it was even harder now that he couldn't.
His few friends consisted of three people Denise, John, and Mike; and then there were the people he worked with, but no promises of love, and truth be told, sometimes his desire for it didn't even exist. He went through moods of not even wanting to be around people yet alone in a relationship. He even had moments of complete apathy. Then there were times when he felt the exact opposite, when his empathy was nearly overwhelming that it was crushing. When he craved to be around people and wanted someone to be with, when he needed to be loved and give love. The only problem was that he knew it wouldn't last.
The only thing that lasted was his work. It was what he had. It was who he was, it was him, and he enjoyed every heart pounding minute of it. Every case that came his way was something to look forward to; it was a puzzle to solve and a mind to explore, to profile. That profile became the biggest part of his defense along with the actual case evidence. And when he found that something in the mind of his client, or that magic bullet in the evidence, or the lie that spilled from a witness's mouth, or the missing piece in the prosecutions tale then it was all worth it. His life had meaning, a purpose.
The greatest feeling in the world was the moment he knew that he had it, that he could win the case. It was when he had the fucking world by the balls. It was like he could almost see again.
With Nelda Carlson, discovering her mental illness had been that moment, and with that knowledge he was going to destroy the prosecution's case. He was going to tear the walls down.
"Are you even listening to me, Goren?"
Bobby's hand stilled from "reading" over the file he had on his lap and said into the phone, "Yes."
"Then what did I just say?"
The doors to the Judge Li's chambers opened and Bobby quickly told her, "I've got to go." Hanging up and putting the cell in his pocket, he said to his dog. "Atticus, the judge doesn't like you in his chambers, so go wander around until I'm done. Go find a treat." He knew that Atticus didn't understand half of what he was saying but the dog understood enough as he went in search of a treat.
Once he was in the Judge's chambers and the doors were shut, Judge Li asked him, "Do you always bring your dog to court?"
Bobby nodded. "He's my four-legged assistant."
"You could just use a walking stick," Judge Li didn't sound amused.
He was disabled, and he needed his dog…not a fucking stick. A stick couldn't warn him of a danger he couldn't hear coming. A stick couldn't find Officer Weeks in a crowded room or which elevator to get on because it was the one with the fewest people. His dog did that. Yet, he did still carry the stick with him. It was currently in his briefcase.
"I was surprised by your request," the Judge suddenly told him, getting down to business. "I'm not aware of what you're asking for exactly."
Bobby nodded a little; his request had been a little vague, but that was what he needed. "Your Honor, I'm certain that a key piece of evidence is…that it hasn't been found. I want to get a warrant for my investigator, so he can collect evidence from Mr. Carlson's home."
"You want to search the home of a witness?" Judge Li asked, sounding very confused.
"Essentially, yes."
"And what are you searching for?"
Bobby didn't like being lead around in circles, having to repeat himself. "Evidence of my client's psychosis. With her type of, a, uh, of pathology, she had to have given the man that she loves, her ex-husband, something from the victim. This intense connection she has with him is all part of her Borderline Personality, it helps prove my case. I'll give whatever I find to Mr. Carver as well, but I'm sure…Judge, Your Honor, I am certain that this piece of evidence is there."
Judge Li leaned back in his chair and became very quiet as he waited.
He never knew what to expect from the man, having only been in his courtroom twice before and was blown out of the water by his stern, forceful, attitude toward all things, as Judge Li put it, "cleverly disguised horse manure". The Judge couldn't say bullshit because he had said it while in court, but the line had stuck with everyone who had been in his courtroom that day. And as with every line like that, it made its rounds around the courts and now everyone said it as a joke.
Judge Li pulled open a drawer as he told him, "You can only conduct the search if one of the detectives from the case is also present. If you don't find anything, I'll fine you. Here's the warrant."
Bobby reached out in front of him until he felt the folded piece of paper being held out in midair. He tentatively took the warrant as he thought about that. If the search didn't pan out, the Judge was going to fine him? He didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything as he put the warrant in his inside jacket pocket.
"You can leave now. If Jenny's out there, send her in."
Bobby nodded as he moved away from the desk and then left the chambers of Judge Li in complete perplexity. Taking a listen, he didn't hear a 'Jenny'; taking his dog whistle out of his pocket, he blew it and waited. A minute later Atticus hit his leg and was crunching on something. A treat.
It reminded him that it was time for lunch.
Sal's Restaurant
Park Slope, Brooklyn
He was in the middle of taking a bite out of the veal parmesan when heard someone slid into the booth across from him, next to John. From the smell of the man's Old Spice aftershave and cologne, he asked, "How's it going, Mike?"
"So, you still eat at Brooklyn's finest, and cheapest, Italian restaurant, huh?" Logan teasingly asked.
Bobby shifted his eyes to him, even though they were hidden by his sunglasses. "Of course I do, Sal makes the best veal parmesan in the five boroughs. And, Atticus is allowed in, that's always a plus. It's not about the price, Mike, but the quality."
"Hum, much like your practice. You're the most affordable private attorney, but the absolute best," Logan said as Atticus's tail started whipping around against his leg. Logan must have found the dog's sweet spot behind his ear.
Bobby raised his glass of wine before taking a sip.
Logan had once been a homicide detective until he punched a city councilman on live TV in front of everyone watching. The Chief had decided to make an example of him and gave Logan his walking papers and nothing else. No benefits, no nothing. To get work, Logan got his private investigator's license and started asking around the DA's office about work as an investigator. None of them wanted him or needed him, but Bobby did.
He had just gotten his license to practice criminal law and was looking to make his presence known in the Public Defender's office. He had heard about Logan and immediately got a hold of him. The detective had been apprehensive at first about working for the defense, but once he heard about what he did for John, it was a done deal. Ten years later and Mike was not only his personal investigator but his best friend as well.
"So, what'd you got going that you need my expertise?"
Bobby pulled out the warrant Judge Li had approved and handed it over the table. "I got that warrant I was telling you about. You have to take one of the detectives along with you while you conduct the search. I guess the Judge doesn't trust you."
"Or he doesn't trust you," Logan said as he took it from him.
"It's the Carlson case right?" John asked.
"Yeah."
"My daughter's one of the detectives on that case," John said. "She'll go with you to search."
"Or Barek," Bobby interjected as he smiled a little.
"Yeah, I'll give Eames a call and see if she's up for it."
Bobby and John both started laughing at Logan's unease.
"Does John know that you have the hots for his daughter?"
Bobby stilled at that. He really wished he could see John just then, to gauge his reaction, but he knew that the old man had to be giving him a death glare. "I-I, uh…shit, John, it's not…I just think she's really intelligent, that's all."
"Yeah right, intelligent and that's all."
"What the fuck, Mike," Bobby bit out in disbelief and anger. "I was only teasing you."
"He was going to find out sooner or later anyway. You're obvious. Every time you're around her you get all flustered and act like an arrogant ass."
"No," John suddenly said, speaking for the first time in minutes. "Bobby acts like an arrogant ass all the time."
Bobby heard the slight teasing in John's voice; it helped to relax him, but only a little. Smiling slightly, he shook his head, "I'm taking the nickel on that one."
"You can't plead the fifth on something you've already been found guilty of."
"Shut-up, Logan," Bobby shot back with a smile as he went back to eating his meal.
"So, you actually think she gave him something?" Logan asked after a couple of moments.
Bobby nodded as he finished off the food. "Yeah, I do. Hey, uh, look for, um…something small, something personal, maybe even uh…something he takes to work, keeps on him. She would want it to be something that he has with him every day, not just occasionally."
Logan sat quiet for a moment before telling him, "That narrows it down….She gave you something."
Bobby smirked at that. "I knew there was a reason I hired you all those years ago," he told him before he finished the wine. "Want something to go? It's on me."
"Nah, I already ate, but thanks." Logan got up but didn't move away from the table. "It wasn't that tie clip was it?"
Bobby stilled and then looked up toward Mike. He had to admit, the man was good.
Logan smiled in triumph. "Six sharp, at the gym?"
"It's Monday isn't it?"
"Don't be a smartass. John, make sure he isn't late."
Bobby listened as Mike left the restaurant and then to the silence between him and John. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he leaned on the table, and told him, "Look, John, a, uh, about how I feel toward y-your, um…your daughter. I would never-"
The ex-cop suddenly asked, "Have I told you the one about the lawyer in the confessional?"
Bobby stopped talking as he shook his head.
"Well, a lawyer went to the confessional one night. He tells the priest, you know, all the usual 'bless me Father, for I have sinned'. The priest, he asks what has he done, and the lawyer says, 'Well, first off, I'm a lawyer', but before he can continue, the priest says out loud, 'Holy Mary Mother of God, the last lawyer that confessed to me had me stuck here for two days.' The lawyer then asks in confusion, 'There was another one?'"
Bobby couldn't help but laugh while he felt the tension that had built in his body ease. "That's a good one."
"Yeah? I just made it up."
Going through his wallet, he counted the bills in his fingers. He always had the same amount in his wallet every day. A hundred dollars. He had five ones, five fives, five tens, and then one twenty dollar bill. He arranged his money with the ones being in front with the left edges folded down, while the fives after the ones with the right edges folded down, and the tens were folded in half. The twenty was in the back and the only bill not folded in anyway. He took out the last three, two tens and the twenty, and tossed them on the table to not only cover the check but to leave a good tip. "That's forty, right?" he asked, just to make sure.
"Yep."
"Alright, ready?"
"Sure. Are we going back to Manhattan?"
"Not yet; I've got an arraignment here in Brooklyn."
NYC Gym
East Village, Manhattan
The rest of the day had been court as usual. The arraignment he had after lunch was a breeze as he got the Judge to release his client, Randal Iverson, after a bail reduction. The young man had been arrested for DUI and possession of an illegal substance, weed. Bobby had only taken the case because the kid's father was an old Army buddy of his, and that Randal agreed to go through three months of drug rehab.
The Judge agreed to his terms after the prosecutor accepted the conditions of his release and that was that until the sentencing. Then he had to endure meetings for the rest of the day which left him wondering why his presence was even required since nobody wanted to listen to what he had to say.
By the time six o'clock rolled around, he was ready for a workout at the gym with Logan. He needed to relieve some of the stress of the day, especially after the meeting he had with Serena Southerlyn. She was an ADA under Jack McCoy and one of the toughest to please, which made her one of his favorites to go up against. He loved his sparring matches with her just as much as he loved his battles with Carver. And, just like Carver, she also loved having it out with him as well. She had practically asked for the case just so she could stretch her prosecutor muscles against him.
"You should ask her out," Logan told him after he mentioned his meeting with her.
Bobby pushed the barbell up as he told him, "I did, remember? Two years ago."
Logan went quiet for a second before saying, "Oh, yeah, right. She refused after you beat her in court."
"That's not why she refused. It just happened around the same time," he explained in a grunt as he brought the weights back down before pushing it back up. "What number am I at?"
"One hundred and fifty-five, fifteen more to go and you'll beat your current record, Mr. Incredible Hulk."
Bobby tried not laugh as he was focusing on not dropping the barbell on his chest. "Shut up."
Logan chuckled as he started counting off the bench presses. "One fifty-seven…one fifty-eight…So, what'd Southerlyn have to say?"
"Oh, uh…" Bobby forgot what he had been talking about before Mike distracted him with the date comment. "She doesn't want to cut a deal. The guy confessed, plead guilty, and I even got him to give up a murderer, yet she's reluctant to play ball with me for a reduced sentence. I'm hoping to get the Judge to rule in my favor at the sentencing. Oh, and I think with the Carlson case, I can get that one settled as soon as she's found unfit to stand trial. And thanks to you and Detective Eames, I've got further evidence to prove her psychosis. That keychain was a hell of a find, Mike."
"It was all Eames." Logan said with a hint of pride in his voice, and a light teasing as he said, "You should really ask her out. We got to talking about you during our search. She doesn't completely despise you, and I got her to admit that she thinks you're good looking, you know, despite the fact that she hates you."
Bobby blinked back as he asked in disbelief, "She thinks I'm good looking?"
Logan started laughing. Mike had known, and now so does John, that he's had a crush on the detective ever since meeting her. That had been nearly four years ago. She had been a witness for the prosecution on her second case with the Major Case Squad, and she was tough as nails, just like her father. He couldn't get her to falter and she was sharp, witty, and made him glad she was a cop. She had done a great job on the stand, blocking him at every move, and she had challenged him with her intelligence. He had really liked that.
The fact that he thought her voice was heavenly was an added bonus to her cunning intellect. Then he got Mike into telling him what she looked like; short woman, about five foot three, with blond hair, caramel colored eyes, toned muscles from keeping in shape, and a pair of legs. At least, that was what Logan had thought.
And, as he'd told Logan before, he wasn't a leg guy.
She would have won the case for the prosecution easily, but her partner at the time wasn't as clever. Catching him in a lie that wasn't even necessary, Bobby had torn the guy apart. The next thing he knew, the cop was being transferred to a different department and Eames had gotten another partner: Carolyn Barek, former FBI. Mike Logan was completely enthralled with her.
"Tell you what, I'll ask Eames out if you ask Barek."
"So, what kind of deal were you trying to pitch?" Logan asked, quickly changing the subject.
Bobby laughed, but didn't push it as he let it go. "I want to get his sentence cut down to ten, with counseling, and then a year of probation, two at the most. He has no history of violence. When Major Case busted him, he wasn't even packing."
"It sounds like she should have dealt."
"I think it's McCoy that's actually pushing for her not too. If this goes to trial, it'll run right into the McCullough case. I'll have to juggle both."
"Ah, your major Supreme Court trial case. D.W. McCullough, your sugar daddy. That's going to be a fun one to watch."
"He's not my sugar daddy."
"Keep telling yourself that, maybe one of these days you might believe it. So, wait a minute, what's McCoy's interest in whether or not you're juggling two trial cases?"
Bobby brought the weights back down as he told him, "Because it's McCoy who's prosecuting the McCullough case." He was at one sixty-nine. One more. Breathing out hard, he pushed up and it took nearly every ounce of strength he had left to get it up in the air.
"One seventy! Holy shit, look at you. I bet you could knockout Tyson in one hit," Mike exclaimed as he helped him secure the barbell on the rods.
Sitting up, Bobby took the towel that was tossed on his head and wiped the sweat off his face, neck, and arms as Mike tapped him on the arm with a bottle of water. "Only if he was blindfold," he told him before he took a couple sips of water.
Logan asked as he took some weights off the bar, "How's the therapy going with your leg? You're not limping as much lately."
Bobby shrugged as he answered, "I'm still doing the bike, and they got me doing exercises in a pool now. They think it'll help ease the pain in my back."
"Water sports, huh, that sounds like fun. I think you could take Michael Phelps in the backstroke," Logan grunted out as he heard the metal clicking of the barbell being taken off the stand, but not before Mike had taken off a couple pounds.
Where he could bench press 200 pounds at best, Mike could only handle 150 if he was pushing it. Bobby listened as Logan easily grunted out a fifty before slowing his momentum. He had never been adamant about working out; in the Army, he had kept in shape but didn't stress over exercising and he hardly lifted weights. It wasn't until he had to maneuver in a dark world that he had started obsessing over keeping in shape. He never knew when he would have to protect himself from not only another person but from falling down a hole or something.
What was hard for him to maintain was his right leg strength. Shrapnel from the explosion that took his eyesight had destroyed his right leg, and then a stray bullet had damaged his spine. After three back surgeries, he had finally regained his ability to walk, but the damage done to his leg was irreparable. It could get better, but never completely healed. He had nothing left in his knee as far as cartilage went, and he had bolts and screws and pens and titanium bars and hinges. But that did nothing for the muscle loss. He would probably be using a cane on and off again for the rest of his life.
Right now, he was off it. He was handling the pain well and the physical therapy was rebuilding a lot of strength. He really hoped it stayed that way.
After Logan was done, they headed over to the bench that he used to do sit-ups. Mike had to help him with this task because he had to be almost upside down with his feet locked under the foot bar to do them, and his leg was hard to adjust at times. He couldn't bend his right knee a complete ninety degrees without nearly crying out in pain. Plus not being able to see the foot bar presented a challenge. Once he was lying on his back with his head angled toward the floor, and his arms crossed over his chest, he started.
"So," Logan said, "McCullough, double murderer."
"Alleged double murderer," he reminded him.
"Whatever," Logan said in annoyance. "Anyway, it's your biggest case ever. Blockbuster trial movie in the making. It's right up there with 'To Kill a Mockingbird', 'A Few Good Men'….'My Cousin Vinny', and you're going up against the big man himself, Jack McCoy. You've never gone up against him before. He's good; really good, and he just might break your undefeated record."
"Thanks for the confidence. And do you know why he's so good? He bends the rules, he breaks procedure and he stretches his ethics until they're virtually unrecognizable."
"And you hate him? I would think you would love him. He's like you, except older, grayer."
Bobby huffed out a breath of air as he shifted his eyes toward Logan, giving him a blank glare behind the sunglasses. "Hey, I still hold true to my ethics."
"I'm just saying. It's going to be tough, especially since your client's guilty."
Bobby had to stop talking so he wouldn't lose count in his head. He was at a hundred already. After a moment of counting, he said, "According to the law, he's innocent until proven guilty."
"Spoken like a true lawyer. We both know he did it so cut the bullshit."
"Yeah, well, like I said, it's not proven and I still have to defend him."
In his ten years as an attorney, less than ten percent of his cases actually involved innocent people. Besides the innocent, because they were few and far between, he preferred clients who confessed to what they had done; they were remorseful, they had a conscious, and they had a redeeming quality that Judges, juries, and the public wanted.
Then there were clients who declared their innocence the whole time, even when he found evidence to the contrary. Those were the ones he had problems with. If they couldn't admit what they did and their reasons, he had little desire to help them. Those were usually the cases that he tried to get the prosecution to make a deal with. He never wanted to go to trial, go into battle, for a heartless killer.
The McCullough case was one of those. Dwight McCullough, known to everyone as D.W., was one of the highest profile cases he ever had. McCullough was a prominent figure in the community being the tycoon of a film company based solely out of New York and not LA. He started off as doing independent films and made a break in the major motion picture business with back-to-back summer blockbuster hits a few years ago. He had the money to buy and own the dream team of attorneys to represent him if he wished.
Three months ago, McCullough's wife and brother-in-law had gone missing. After a week of searching for the two missing persons, they were found washed up on Staten Island wrapped in trash bags with two gunshot wounds in their heads. It was overkill and it was personal.
No other suspects were even looked at because the police zeroed in on McCullough. The tycoon had stopped talking to the police once they took him into custody and he had gotten him for his lawyer.
Bobby, at the time, didn't understand why the man wanted him when he could have hired anyone, even an entire law firm, to represent him. All McCullough told him was that he wanted the best and the best was him.
What had made him dislike the man and made him not want to take the case was the fact that during the entire investigation, and even now, McCullough was more concerned about his business than what the deaths had done to the families. Bobby had gone to McCullough and was going to deny him his services, but then he received a payment. It was a check for $250,000 up front, and he hadn't even agreed to represent the man at that time.
A few days ago he was given another check for $125,000. On the first day of testimony, he would receive another for $125,000. The first quarter of a million was his, it was his pay. The second quarter of a million was for the investigation and trial fee.
A half a million dollar client. It was every defense attorney's wet dream to get a deal like that.
He had never been one to think about the money, and he had taken on a number of cases pro bono, but he admitted that the money was why he took it. He had to make a living and there was a lot he could get accomplished with a quarter of a million pay day. He had been able to finally afford some things that his own medical coverage and VA benefits didn't cover, like health care for Atticus. That dog was expensive as hell to take care of.
At the moment, his professional life was doing very, very well. He couldn't see an end in sight. Bobby did his last sit-up, stopping at a hundred fifty, and said, "All right, help me down."
Logan helped him into a standing position and asked, "Ready to go or do you want to go for a swim?"
Bobby wiped his face again with the towel before shaking his head. "I'm ready to go. Today wore me out."
"I'll call John," Logan told him. "I'm sure he's ready to get home by now. What park did he say he was going to?"
"Uh…the one, um…four blocks down."
"Hey, John. Yeah, we're done here…Okay, see you in a few." Once the call was done, Logan told him, "You know, even though you're a lawyer, you are the most moral and ethical one I know. I hope you leave McCoy weeping in defeat after you get done with him."
Bobby smiled proudly for a moment before he told Logan, "I'll do my best."
Bobby's Brownstone
Taking the ball from Atticus's mouth, he threw it across the room, toward the wall. He heard it hit off the wall as Atticus chased after it. He was sprawled out on the floor in-between the couch and entertainment center. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken and he was dressed in a pair of black athletic pants and his New York Yankees t-shirt. Leaning back onto his forearms, he listened as the ESPN commentators got into a heated discussion over tomorrow night's baseball game.
Atticus dropped the ball in his lap and then proceeded to pounce on him; he caught the dog by his front legs but he fell backwards, bringing Atticus with him. Rolling to his side, he pushed the dog away while laughing. It didn't stop Atticus from happily running back to him for a fight. Anticipating his dog's playful attack, he managed to tackle him to the floor before letting him up. The wrestling match lasted up until the doorbell chimed. His dinner was there.
He found the ball and tapped it on the floor, getting Atticus's attention. "Ready…set, go," he said as he threw the ball, sending it flying through the house.
Atticus bolted in chase.
Bobby grabbed the couch and pulled himself up. He quickly went over to the door. The first thing he noticed when he opened it was that the delivery man didn't greet him like usual. And, the man smelled different. He'd been smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana. He could also smell the food he'd ordered. "You're not Adrian."
"Adrian?"
Bobby held the door against his body and foot, ready to take action if need be. "Yeah, he usually does the deliveries in this neighborhood."
"Oh. I was called in on my night off…I usually don't work this shift. He probably called in sick."
For some reason that didn't sit right with him, but he wasn't going to argue the fact. Bobby had already counted off the right amount, plus tip, and had it waiting on the table by the door. He reached over and grabbed it, holding it out to the guy as he told him, "Just put the food on the table, right inside the door." He heard the man do just that as Atticus rubbed up beside him and dropped the ball.
The man took the money from his hand and then said, "Have a good night."
"Yeah, you too," he said as he waited until he heard the man step away before closing the door and relocking it. He didn't know why he was curious of the guy, but he had been. Adrian had delivered to him from Luca's for five years. He practically knew the guy's entire life story by now, and he always worked Monday nights.
Shaking it off, he went into the kitchen and prepared Atticus dinner for him so he wouldn't try and bother him while he was eating his. Once done, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and then took it and his food as he made his way out into the hall, down the stairs, and into the study.
He had a lot to get done before he went to pre-trial next week for the McCullough case, and then the week after that was when the trial started. His opening statement hadn't been worked out yet and he was still working out the fine points of the defense. Everything had to be planned out.
That was where Denise usually did most of the work he paid her for. She transferred so many documents into braille, as well as making tapes for him to listen to that described the crime scene photos in so much detail that he could picture it in his mind's eyes. She was amazing at helping him with his case preparation.
Before she went on maternity leave, she worked overtime to get everything done for him. That was why he was able to read over the prosecution's case right then at his desk. Why he was able to put in a tape and headphones and listen to every detail of the crime scene. He would determine how the prosecution's case was going to get played and then he would come up with the best defensive plays to counter-act theirs.
It was like a game, and it was all in the strategy and the presentation of evidence. It had to be perfect and there had to be no stones unturned.
That was where Logan came in. Mike was investigating all aspects of the crime for him, even looking into the backgrounds of the deceased, Tonya McCullough and her brother Edward Atwood. He never wanted to get blindsided in the courtroom. It didn't only look bad on him as a defense attorney, but it also looked bad to the jury.
At some point Atticus had come into the room and laid down in the doggy bed that was in the corner without him noticing. It had probably been when he had his earphones in. He was so engrossed in his work that he lost track of time and it wasn't until his clock announced that it was one in the morning that he decided it was time to go to bed. Half his food was gone, having forgotten about the rest of it as he focused solely on working, and his beer was warm.
"I think it's time for bed, Atticus; what'd you think? Ready to go to bed?"
The dog let out a bark before running out of the room and then into the bedroom. Bobby heard the bedsprings creak as Atticus jumped on it as he left the study for the upstairs kitchen. He threw away the beer but put the food in the refrigerator before following Atticus to bed.
Over an hour later the prospect of getting any sleep was fading as he rolled again in the bed. Groaning, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Atticus must have realized his discomfort and frustration because he came up the bed and flopped down against his chest. Laughing a little, he wrapped his arm around the dog and started petting his chest. Doing that always seemed to comfort him and ease his frustration. Breathing out deeply, he felt his body relax as he started to finally drift into a light sleep.
Feeling Atticus move stirred him awake. Without opening his eyes, he felt the dog move to the end of the bed. Not giving it any thought, he settled back down into the pillow when he heard it. There was a faint sound off in the distance. It was a sound that didn't come from outside, but inside.
Bobby's eyes jerked open as he sat up in bed, listening harder. Before he could call the dog back, Atticus jumped and was running down the hall barking. Pulling open the drawer to his nightstand, he took out his gun and magazine then inserted the 15 round magazine into the Beretta he moved slowly to the door.
At hearing the barking suddenly cut off, Bobby froze as gunshots shattered the calm, quiet night. Instinctively he grabbed the door and shut it just as bullets shattered through the wood and impacted the bed and wall.
The barking started again deep in the house as he stayed up against the wall as the bullets kept coming. Once he counted fifteen rounds fired, the shooting stopped but the doorknob was turned. Whoever was trying to kill him was now trying to get into the bedroom. Taking a breath, he grabbed the handle and swung the door open as he barged right into the person in his house. They both went tumbling to the floor, but he was on top of the man. He smelt that same smell as earlier; it was smoke. The intruder was the delivery man.
Bringing his left hand around, he shoved the gun into the man's chest. "Don't move."
He heard movement right before he felt something metal impact the left side of his face. The man had hit him with the gun he still had. He heard barking getting closer as he jammed the gun into the man's body again and fired.
A gasp of air and then a scream of pain filled his head as he was hit again, this time falling off the man and into the wall. He heard the man struggling to get to his feet, trying to get away. Footsteps hurried down his hall as he let the man go. He didn't want to risk hitting his dog, or not hitting the man at all, but he knew he shot him. That the man's blood was on his floor, and sooner-or-later the man was going to be in a hospital with a gunshot wound.
He breathed heavily in the hallway as he listened. It was silent. There was no movement anywhere near him or in the house. Letting out a deep breath, he laid down as he called out, "Atticus?"
Then that was when he heard the whimpering. Getting to his side and pushing himself up to his feet, he slowly moved down the hall along the wall toward the whimpering. His foot hit something solid. Bending down, he felt a body. A human body…
The man hadn't gotten as far as he thought. He was lying in his hallway. Feeling around his neck, he felt for a pulse and didn't find one. Before he had time to panic that he'd killed someone, he heard his dog's cries again. Leaving the dead man, he continued down the hall. "Atticus?"
A soft yelp made him stop his movements and turn back toward the dead man. Atticus must have been next to him. He dropped to his knees and reached out until he felt fur. His dog was on his stomach and whimpering at him. He grabbed Atticus and pulled him onto his lap. Running his hands over his body, he stilled as he felt something wet and sticky right before he felt the bullet hole.
"Oh…shit," he breathed out a he pulled his shirt off. He wrapped it around the wound and pressed down on it as he lifted his dog up. He carried him into the bedroom where he found his cell phone on the nightstand next to his alarm clock.
TBC…
