Free The Advocate's Conviction by Teresa Burrell Page B

watch. His client was nearly ten minutes late. He gazed over the wall at the remaining attorneys with their clients, who were waiting their turn to learn what would be the next step in their pathetic lives. It was relatively quiet down below—he could see ten or twelve defendants, about a half dozen attorneys, two marshals, and a Chinese interpreter he recognized from the Vu case. Most of the courtrooms had recessed for lunch. Bob looked at his watch. It read 12:14. He’d give her a few more minutes.
    A while later, Karen Lecy passed through the metal detector, apparently smart enough to not enter with drugs this time. She looked around and then started for the stairway. Bob met her part way. She smiled when she greeted him but made no mention of being late. He didn’t know the client very well, so he didn’t know if she was just rude or if it was drug-induced self-centeredness. Karen’s red eyes surrounded by the dark circles coupled with her disheveled appearance indicated that she hadn’t wasted any time getting a fix upon her release from custody.
    Bob led her to a couple of chairs and a small table that sat in one corner of the large hallway next to the four-foot wall. “What is the status of your criminal case?” he asked.
    “I entered a plea for possession. I shouldn’t have, though. They wasn’t my drugs.”
    “How did they get in your bag?”
    “Someone must have put them there.”
    “Who do you think would do that?” Bob was toying with her now.
    “I don’t know, maybe someone behind me who didn’t want to get caught with their stash. Maybe they just dropped them in my purse.”
    “Did they check them for fingerprints?”
    “They said they had mine on them, but I dig in my purse for stuff all the time. Maybe I touched them without knowing.”
    “But then they would’ve had to be in there a while before you put your bag on the conveyer belt to go through the metal detector.”
    Karen wiggled in her chair. “It must’ve been someone outside before I came in then. I seen this one guy who was acting all crazy. It was probably him.”
    Bob didn’t really care about her drug use except how it affected this case. If she was stupid enough to use, then it was her problem. “You’re probably right,” he said. “When do you go back to court?”
    “In two weeks. I have to go back for sentencing. The DA agreed to probation. My attorney said it shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “Who’s your attorney?” Bob picked up his pen to write down the information.
    “Uh … Betts. Mr. Betts.”
    “Do you have his card?”
    Karen reached in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She looked around. “Can I smoke in here?”
    Bob shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
    She laid the cigarettes down on the table, reached back in her purse, and took out her wallet. She fumbled through it and removed a card. “Barry. Barry Betts,” she said.
    Bob reached for the card, copied the information, and handed it back to her. The card didn’t have the government logo on it, which meant he was in private practice.
    “Was this attorney court appointed?” Bob asked.
    “He’s not a public defender or nothing like that,” Karen replied.
    “So did you hire him?”
    “No.” Karen picked up the pack of cigarettes.
    “So, how did you get him as your attorney?”
    “He was just there.”
    “What do you mean ‘he was just there’?”
    “He came to see me at the jail. He said he likes to do some ‘bono’ work or something and he was taking my case.” She flipped the cigarette pack back and forth in her right hand.
    “Pro-bono. That means he takes the case for free.”
    “He offered to do this case here, too, but I told him I already had an attorney.”
    “You know you’re free to make that choice.”
    “No. I like you. You seem to know what you’re doing.”
    “Thanks,” Bob said. He sarcastically thought how flattering it was to have one more druggie’s approval. “So let’s talk about this