Free Act of God by Susan R. Sloan

a deep sigh, pushed her way through the entrance doors. At the security gate, she exchanged
     her bar card for an ID pass, and was directed to the Number 2 elevator, which took her nonstop to the eleventh floor, and
     from there to a private interview room.
    The room, which more closely resembled a closet, was an irregularly shaped, windowless space with concrete block walls, one
     of which was painted a garish purple for no discernible purpose, and a steel door with one vertical, four-by-twenty-four-inch
     tempered glass opening. The cramped area held a small metal table, connected to a chair on either side of it, and bolted to
     the floor.
    Ordinarily, attorneys and their clients met in the public visiting room, and spoke to each other by telephone from either
     side of a thick Plexiglas panel. But certain law firms that had influence in the city, or were handling a particularly high-profile
     case, could arrange to meet with their clients separately. Cotter Boland had both, and had no problem obtaining the private
     room.
    Still, Dana looked around the cubicle with a heavy heart. Special treatment or not, it was a place she did not want to be,
     on a matter with which she did not want to deal.
    “Do you believe that everyone in this country deserves a rigorous defense?” Paul Cotter had challenged her after the Sunday
     meeting had concluded, the other partners had departed, and just the two of them remained in his office.
    “Yes, of course I do,” she had replied. “But even a defense attorney has to have standards. There may not always be a mitigating
     circumstance for a crime, but at least there has to be some level of rationale that I can build on. If I can’t believe in
     my client, I at least need to believe in the case.”
    “And you don’t believe in this one?”
    “No, I don’t,” she had told him, the queasiness in her stomach stirring again. “Look, I’m not one of those radical feminists
     who believe that a woman has the right to abdicate all responsibility for her actions. But that doesn’t mean I have any loyalty
     to the control freaks, either, who don’t give a tinker’s damn about fetuses and are just in it for the power trip. This case—well,
     I’m sorry, but I can’t find a whole lot of rationalization in some lunaticgoing out and killing innocent people as a protest against killing innocent people.’
    “And how exactly have you determined that he’s a lunatic?” Cotter inquired. “You haven’t even met him yet.”
    “No, I haven’t,” she agreed. “But there must be someone else, someone with more sympathy for his cause, who might be able
     to justify his actions, who would be better suited to represent him.”
    “On the contrary,” Cotter declared. “I think you’re perfect for it.”
    “Why?” she protested. “Aside from your idea about having a woman up front, this is a major case, certainly the most visible
     case this firm has handled in the twelve years I’ve been here. You know as well as I do that I have no significant capital
     crime experience. Aren’t you even a little bit concerned about that?”
    “What I’m concerned about,” he said, “is providing the client with the very best we have to offer.”
    “Well, in that case,” Dana responded, “does the client know that I’ve never sat first chair on a death penalty case before?”
    “The client knows everything he needs to know,” Cotter responded. “Namely, that the full resources of this firm will be put
     behind his defense.”
    “Which means what, exactly?”
    “It means that this will be a team effort, of course—all the way down the line. You won’t be operating in an isolation ward.
     Nobody has any intention of abandoning you.”
    It still felt like a case she knew she should be running, not walking, away from. “Why do I think you know something that
     I don’t know?” she wondered aloud.
    “Because you’re young and have a suspicious mind,” he replied with a smile.
    Now,