client.”
“Counselor, I’ll be the one to decide when you can talk to him.”
Sarah threw her arms in the air in a display of disgust.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “The law is clear. Unless Reineer asks to speak to you, I can proceed with my questioning. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Sarah stepped toward the arrogant veteran. The hard look in her eyes made him stand up straighter. I was sure it was the “sweetheart” remark that did it. “And you better make sure you advise him of that.”
McBean grinned. “I have.”
Sarah took a deep breath. She was up against someone who had heard it all before. I was tempted to jump into the fray, but unfortunately, McBean was right. The attorney doesn’t decide whether or not their client can be interviewed; the client does. The cops know that and use it to their advantage as soon as they get the suspect alone.
“I’m sure he doesn’t understand,” Sarah said. “My father told me he has received monthly aid from the military for some kind of mental disability.”
“He and a million other druggies the damn liberals are letting milk the system,” McBean spat back. “That doesn’t mean squat to me.”
I couldn’t keep silent any longer. “You know, McBean, what any of us think really doesn’t matter. What if he does have some kind of mental disorder and you won’t let him talk to his attorney?”
“Dobbs, you’re the last person I need to spout the law to me. I asked him if he wanted to talk to an attorney, and he said no. That’s all I need. I don’t care if an army of you ambulance chasers show up.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“I think the judge who eventually hears this case might,” I said, “and if he doesn’t, I’m sure the jury will.”
He looked over at Fillmore, who shrugged. I suspected McBean was weakening.
“A retired Superior Court judge informed you back at the farm that Mr. Reineer was exercising his right to remain silent.”
McBean shrugged. “So he changed his mind.”
“A jury won’t buy that. Especially when they find out your propensity for coercing confessions out of perfectly innocent people.”
I regretted the remark as it came out of my mouth.
McBean let go of the door and stepped quickly toward me. “You’ll always be a jerk, Dobbs.”
Sarah grabbed my arm and stepped between us.
We all stood silently looking at each other. The distant moan of an inmate broke the silence.
“I believe if he’s interrogated without my permission it will only create problems for you later,” Sarah finally said.
McBean started to say something, but she cut him off. “By interviewing him now, you run the risk of not being able to use what he tells you. If that’s the case, then what do you have to gain? Just let me talk to him first.”
McBean sneered. “So you can tell him what to say.”
Sarah took a deep breath. It was obvious to both of us that we were getting nowhere trying to bully him. “I would never do that,” she said in a soft, polite tone.
McBean, surprised by Sarah’s change in demeanor, looked over at Fillmore again. The sergeant’s head was lowered as he scribbled something on a form in front of him. Knowing McBean, he didn’t want to make it look like the young attorney had gotten the best of him.
“Look,” Sarah persisted, “you and Mr. Dobbs have obviously had your past differences, but I hope that won’t influence a decision you may regret later. If after I talk to my client, I believe his best option is to speak to you, even if what he says amounts to a confession, then I’ll recommend it. Doesn’t that happen all the time? A suspect confesses in exchange for a reasonable disposition. Maybe I can help you put a big red bow on this case. What do you have to lose?”
McBean sighed and gave me one last look of disgust. “All right,” he said and opened the door. I’ll give the two of you twenty minutes.”
McBean
“Counselor, I’ll be the one to decide when you can talk to him.”
Sarah threw her arms in the air in a display of disgust.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “The law is clear. Unless Reineer asks to speak to you, I can proceed with my questioning. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Sarah stepped toward the arrogant veteran. The hard look in her eyes made him stand up straighter. I was sure it was the “sweetheart” remark that did it. “And you better make sure you advise him of that.”
McBean grinned. “I have.”
Sarah took a deep breath. She was up against someone who had heard it all before. I was tempted to jump into the fray, but unfortunately, McBean was right. The attorney doesn’t decide whether or not their client can be interviewed; the client does. The cops know that and use it to their advantage as soon as they get the suspect alone.
“I’m sure he doesn’t understand,” Sarah said. “My father told me he has received monthly aid from the military for some kind of mental disability.”
“He and a million other druggies the damn liberals are letting milk the system,” McBean spat back. “That doesn’t mean squat to me.”
I couldn’t keep silent any longer. “You know, McBean, what any of us think really doesn’t matter. What if he does have some kind of mental disorder and you won’t let him talk to his attorney?”
“Dobbs, you’re the last person I need to spout the law to me. I asked him if he wanted to talk to an attorney, and he said no. That’s all I need. I don’t care if an army of you ambulance chasers show up.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“I think the judge who eventually hears this case might,” I said, “and if he doesn’t, I’m sure the jury will.”
He looked over at Fillmore, who shrugged. I suspected McBean was weakening.
“A retired Superior Court judge informed you back at the farm that Mr. Reineer was exercising his right to remain silent.”
McBean shrugged. “So he changed his mind.”
“A jury won’t buy that. Especially when they find out your propensity for coercing confessions out of perfectly innocent people.”
I regretted the remark as it came out of my mouth.
McBean let go of the door and stepped quickly toward me. “You’ll always be a jerk, Dobbs.”
Sarah grabbed my arm and stepped between us.
We all stood silently looking at each other. The distant moan of an inmate broke the silence.
“I believe if he’s interrogated without my permission it will only create problems for you later,” Sarah finally said.
McBean started to say something, but she cut him off. “By interviewing him now, you run the risk of not being able to use what he tells you. If that’s the case, then what do you have to gain? Just let me talk to him first.”
McBean sneered. “So you can tell him what to say.”
Sarah took a deep breath. It was obvious to both of us that we were getting nowhere trying to bully him. “I would never do that,” she said in a soft, polite tone.
McBean, surprised by Sarah’s change in demeanor, looked over at Fillmore again. The sergeant’s head was lowered as he scribbled something on a form in front of him. Knowing McBean, he didn’t want to make it look like the young attorney had gotten the best of him.
“Look,” Sarah persisted, “you and Mr. Dobbs have obviously had your past differences, but I hope that won’t influence a decision you may regret later. If after I talk to my client, I believe his best option is to speak to you, even if what he says amounts to a confession, then I’ll recommend it. Doesn’t that happen all the time? A suspect confesses in exchange for a reasonable disposition. Maybe I can help you put a big red bow on this case. What do you have to lose?”
McBean sighed and gave me one last look of disgust. “All right,” he said and opened the door. I’ll give the two of you twenty minutes.”
McBean
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