“Liz, Derek is on the phone – urgent, he says.” Nathalie grabbed Liz’s coat and shooed her towards her office. “It is the third time he has called. Wants you to take a client – you know him apparently. Never mind. Go talk to him.”

Liz slid into her chair, picking up the phone, noting the click as Nathalie hung up the extension.

“Derek, I have been at 361 University all morning – you could have called my cell.”

“Right, Liz. I like having these conversations when I can be sure I have your attention. Did Nathalie tell you who it is that I would like you to represent?”

“No. Nathalie rushed me to my office. What are you doing referring clients? You don’t practice these days.” Liz would have loved a coffee. Her head ached. She fiddled with a pencil – rolling it between her fingers.

“Remember Carey Stratton? Well, he has surfaced again, charged with first degree murder.”

How could Liz have forgotten Carey Stratton. The Stratton brothers proudly wore the colours of the Devil’s Team and pursued some rather career-limiting activities. Derek had become their counsel of choice when “troubles” came their way.

Liz had been Derek’s articling student and had assisted at one of the trials. Carey and his brother, Peter Stratton, were charged with drug trafficking. It should have been a straight forward trial. The Devils (in Kitchener) were well known “cookers” of various stimulants. Carey and Peter were arrested in possession of a considerable quantity of “bennies”. They were charged with trafficking a narcotic.

One of two things have to be proven to get a conviction – that the “bennies” (a street name for uppers) were a narcotic or that the “bennies” were held out to be a narcotic. What the substance really is becomes irrelevant.

In the Stratton trial the Crown had a problem with the evidence. The “bennies” in question were not narcotics. So the evidence had to establish that they had been held out to be narcotics. The Crown realized that the undercover police officer giving evidence hadn’t made that critical link. The Crown and a couple of other officers were seen in close conversation with that witness during a break in the testimony. Of course it is strictly prohibited to talk to a witness who is testifying about anything relating to their testimony. On returning to the stand the officer quickly stated that the brothers had held the bennies out to be narcotics.

Derek leapt up in a fury at the slick delivery of the evidence needed for a conviction. He advised the Court that Liz had overheard a conversation between the Crown and this witness during the break in the testimony – Liz hadn’t overheard the conversation just observed it. That was not even a minor concern to Derek. Although the Crown protested innocence the judge declared a mistrial.

Liz learned then and through the years that, during a trial, Derek’s clients’ interests were paramount. He was rarely perturbed by an abstract duty to the court to adhere to the truth. Liz was not so committed and to this day was uncomfortable that she allowed a known lie to change the course of a trial.

Derek’s voice echoed on the phone pulling Liz back to the issue at hand.

“Liz, what do you think? You should step up on this one. Getting an acquittal here could make your reputation.”

Liz didn’t answer. Carey Stratton – murder. A murder trial was the dream of every aspiring defence counsel.

Derek’s voice echoed in my head. “And it’s even better, Liz. Carey has money. The case will not be the usual legal aid headache. He promised his girlfriend would deliver a substantial retainer as soon as you confirm you will take the case.”

Liz wondered how Carey Stratton could have acquired sufficient resources to fund a murder trial? Honest means didn’t leap to mind.

“What should I do, Derek? This will be a major trial leaving no time for other clients. Is it worth the risk? Damn, Derek, my gut is telling me that this could be real trouble.”

“Liz, promise me you will go and talk to him. He is at the Don Jail. There hasn’t been a bail hearing yet although I expect you won’t be successful in getting a release.”

A murder trial. She couldn’t say no. Liz carefully put the receiver back in the cradle.

A rap on the door – Liz’s assistant, Nathalie, peaked around. “Sorry to interrupt but the Crown is on the phone. A bail hearing is being scheduled for tomorrow for Carey Stratton. Do you want me to let the Crown know that you will be there?”

“Shoot, Nathalie. I haven’t been formally retained. How did the Crown get my name?” Liz paused. “Look, tell him go ahead and schedule the arraignment and I will get back to him before five this afternoon.”

Liz rubbed her head. It had been a tedious morning at the Court House – a couple of guilty pleas and a sentencing. All legal aid, all repeat clients. One had just “graduated” to adult court. He had been a long time young offender client of hers. In fact, he had been her first client in her first year of practice.

A murder trial would be quite a change.

“How had the Crown got my name? Did Derek presume that I could be persuaded and tell the client I was on board? That might be worrisome as I had no retainer yet. I didn’t want to be in a position of having to withdraw my services when I hadn’t offered them.”

“Well,” Liz groaned to herself, “If the decision has been made for me, I at least owe my prospective client a first interview.”

Standing up she fired the pencil at the wall. It broke, leaving a long, dark mark on the fresh paint. Sighing, “Well, that was mature!”

Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Never mind – I will clean it up. I expect you will want a formal retainer letter for tomorrow?”

Liz pulled a notepad off the desk and shoved it in her worn, leather portfolio case. So much for that coffee and lunch looked in jeopardy as well.

Next

Today had been a typical day – until now.

Liz wasn’t being run off her feet in these early days of her own practice. She had decided to go solo just a few weeks ago after spending the first four years after her call to the bar working for a senior practitioner, a specialist in criminal law. Of course, she got the least stimulating cases and he was showing no signs of planning to retire. Unfortunately, six months ago, he had a massive heart attack in the middle of his submission to the jury on a manslaughter case. Unfortunately, for me, he had made no succession plans for the practice.

The last few months had been chaotic, winding up the practice as the relatives couldn’t agree on a value for it to be sold. The future looked bleak. Liz had a few files of her own but criminal practice doesn’t tend to produce long-term, faithful clients. Repeat clients, yes. That doesn’t say much for the system’s success at rehabilitation. Once headed down the path of criminality there seem to be few opportunities, or incentives, to change direction.

Liz’s new law office was upstairs, on the second floor of an old brick home that had been converted to offices. The home was tucked amongst the renovated properties on Pear Street in Toronto, just around the corner from one of the leading lights of the Ontario criminal bar. Liz considered the location to be appropriately prestigious but not pretentious.

Liz descended the stairs, stepping carefully on the slippery, threadbare carpet. The hall was dingy, not freshly painted like the office. Little light came in the frosted glass on the heavy, weather beaten wooden door.  A brass plate beside the door announced Liz’s presence to the world – well, not exactly the world but at least the few souls who wandered down this quiet street.

Her practice didn’t cater to walk-in trade. The location was more to reflect Liz’s notion of a suitable establishment for an up and coming barrister in the criminal bar.

Elizabeth Catherine Best, LL.B. Barrister and Solicitor, Specialist in Criminal and Family Law

As Liz turned towards the lane running alongside her office she shivered both with trepidation at the upcoming interview and the coolness of the day. The sun didn’t reach this narrow lane, shaded continuously by the buildings. A few scrawny tufts of grass struggled to thrive in the broken pavement. There was no lawn behind the house, just 3 small parking spots. Liz opened the door of an old VW beetle occupying one of those spots. She threw her case on the passenger seat and pumped the clutch as she turned the ignition key.

Liz was flattered that Derek had suggested her to Carey Stratton. In the back of her mind she was nonetheless puzzled that the client had leapt at the proposal. In retrospect she should have known immediately that something was wonky.

[Next setting – the Don Jail, interview room – next scene, the conversation with Carey Stratton]