Free Anatomy of a Murder by Robert Traver Page A

that’s not because of a legal defense but rather despite the lack of one. Juries, in common with women drivers, are apt to do the damnedest things. Gambling on what a jury will do is like playing the horses. The
notorious undependability of juries, the chance involved, is one of the absorbing features of the law. That’s what makes the practice of law, like prostitution, one of the last of the unpredictable professions —both employ the seductive arts, both try to display their wares to the best advantage, and both must pretend enthusiastically to woo total strangers. And that’s why most successful trial lawyers are helpless showmen; that’s why they are about nine-tenths ham actor and one-tenth lawyer. But as things now stand in your case, all the law would be against you. The judge would be virtually forced to instruct the jury to convict you. Don’t you see? A jury would find it tough to let you go; they’d have to really work at it. Legally your situation presents a classic one of premeditated murder.”
    Quietly: “You don’t want to take my case, then?”
    â€œNot quite so fast. I’m not ready to make that decision. Look, in a murder case the jury has only a few narrow choices. Among them, it might let you go. It might also up and convict you. A judge trying you without a jury would surely have to, as I have said. Now do you want to go into court with the dice loaded? With all the law and instructions stacked against you?” I paused to deliver my clincher. “Well, whether you’re willing to do so, I’m not. I will either find a sound and plausible legal defense in your case or else advise you to cop out.” I paused thoughtfully. “Then there’s one other possible ‘or else.’”
    â€œOr else what?”
    A chastening hint, a light play on the client’s fear that the lawyer of his choice might walk out on him is also sound strategy during the Lecture. It tends to keep the subject both alert and appropriately humble. “Or else, Lieutenant, you can find yourself another lawyer,” I said, waiting for him to squirm.
    â€œLike who?” the Lieutenant inquired coolly and without squirming. “Who do you recommend?”
    Things weren’t proceeding according to plan. But I couldn’t back down or display weakness now. If this cool bastard wanted someone like roaring old Crocker he could damn well have him. “Why, we have a splendid old ham-acting lawyer in this county,” I replied. “He’s all ham—real boneless country-cured ham. He’s also the Peninsula’s expert on unwritten law.” I could have added, but charitably didn’t, that this last was largely so because I’d never known him to crack a law book. “I might even intercede for you with him,” I said.
    â€œYou mean Amos Crocker?” he said calmly.

    I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “Maybe,” I parried. “How come you know about Crocker?”
    â€œWe tried to get him,” Mister Cool replied. “Couldn’t because he’d broken his leg.”
    â€œLeg?” I said. “Old Crocker broke his leg? I didn’t know.” I felt a sudden wave of pity for the windy fulminating old fraud. Beside Parnell McCarthy he was about the last of the old-time colorful gallus-snapping practitioners left in the county. The rest of us were getting to be a fine, colorless, soft-shoe breed, something like a cross between a claims adjuster and an ulcerated public accountant. “When did all this happen?”
    â€œThe very night I shot Quill,” the Lieutenant said. “Fell climbing out of his tub, his housekeeper told my wife over the phone. Is in the hospital with his leg in traction. Won’t be up and around for several months.” The Lieutenant looked around the room and sniffed slightly. “That’s a trifle too long to wait around in this place. If I’ve got