Free The Sacrifice by Robert Whitlow Page A

piece of corn bread.

7
    Know thyself.
    P LUTARCH
    T he following morning there was a message in Scott’s voice mail from Harold Garrison. He immediately dialed the number. It was a freight depot in Michigan.
    â€œYeah, he’s still here. He’s in the drivers’ lounge waiting for his trailer to be loaded.”
    Harold answered the phone. “What’s happened? Have you taken care of everything?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    Scott outlined the status of the case.
    Harold swore. “Are you tellin’ me they’re gonna send a sixteen-year-old kid to prison?”
    â€œProbably not immediately. He’d be sent to a long-term youth detention center until he reached eighteen, then transferred to a facility for younger offenders; however, my focus is not where he might go to jail but defending him from the charges. This is a much bigger problem than a juvenile court proceeding, and the initial fee will not cover the cost of his defense.”
    â€œYou want more money?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI gave you $2,500 a few days ago, and now you want more?”
    â€œThat’s the way it works in criminal cases. The entire fee is paid up front.”
    â€œHow much more are you going to charge?”
    Scott kept his voice steady. “Another $7,500.”
    Harold swore again. “What! I don’t have that kind of money! You don’t even want to know where the $2,500 I paid you came from.”
    Scott had not considered that possibility.
    Harold continued, “How many cases have you won anyway? I’m not paying you to take target practice on my son.”
    â€œI’ll be prepared,” he answered. “I’ve already met twice with Lester, and I’ll be filing several motions with the court before arraignment on Thursday.”
    Harold grunted. “You’d better get this case moving. I’m tired of you backin’ up.”
    For a moment, Scott had second thoughts about continuing to handle the case. It would be easier to withdraw, refund the fee, and try to forget Lester and Harold Garrison. But Scott wasn’t a quitter. Ever since he was a little boy, he’d always tried to finish what he started.
    â€œOkay,” he said confidently. “When you come home, call me.”
    â€œThat won’t be anytime soon. I’m on my way to Oregon, and next time we talk, I want some good news. Until that happens, don’t ask me for more money.”

    Scott had set aside part of the afternoon to prepare the motions he wanted to file before Lester’s arraignment on Thursday. However, the criminal-law books in the firm law library didn’t have up-to-date forms, and what he’d learned in law school prepared him more to argue a case before the United States Supreme Court than represent a sixteen-year-old boy in Blanchard County Superior Court.
    He took a short walk to the courthouse and copied the standard motions filed by a local lawyer with the best reputation as a criminal defense attorney. Returning to the office, he modified the other lawyer’s forms, then drafted a motion asking the judge to send Lester’s case back to juvenile court. Finally, he prepared a request that the judge set bond so Lester could be released pending disposition of the charges against him. Scott wasn’t sure his client could keep his rage bottled up indefinitely at the youth detention center, and a new set of charges for assault and battery would only make resolution of the entire situation more difficult.
    Tonight was the first meeting of the mock trial team. Scott went home to check on Nicky, then drove to the high school. The first meeting would be important. It would set the tone for everything that followed.
    Several cars were lined up alongside one of the modular units behind the gym. Scott parked beside a silver sports car. A young man was sitting in the vehicle talking on a cell phone. When he entered the trailer, everyone glanced in