Read Online An Ordinary Decent Criminal by Michael Van Rooy - Free Book Online

McMillan-Fowler, I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s a copy of our complaint to LERA about the fact my client was not given access to a lawyer immediately. That’s despite past advice he’s been given by his attorneys of record. Here’s a copy of the charge I’m going to be laying in civil court for mistreatment of my client by the city. Here’s a copy of my client’s real statement, given to me the morning after the incident. And . . . can we talk privately now?”
    The Crown was looking tired. This wasn’t going to be simple and all of a sudden she couldn’t see the end of it. She nodded and the secretary folded up her equipment and left. When she was gone, the Crown gestured to Thompson. “Go on.”
    Thompson spoke softly. “I’ve given my client written advice this morning. It’s on record, mine and his, and I state that I believe he should wait until after the criminal trial is resolved before proceeding with any charges against the police. I have given him this advice because I believe evidence will be manufactured by the police in order to discredit him, should he proceed at this time.”
    She stuck out her lower lip and snorted, “That’s been tried before. It’s never worked before and won’t work this time.”
    Thompson nodded, “It’s an indirect challenge to LERA’s constitutional viability. A lawyer has just advised his client that his federal civil rights might be violated if he goes forward with a complaint to a provincial board.”
    He closed his briefcase and glanced at me.
    “I’m also going to be leaking some of what I’ve told you to the mayor and the city council, so get ready. More will be going to the local MLAs, MPs, and so on. You should make up your mind very quickly on how you want to proceed because it’ll be going to the press. Amnesty International. Society for the Wrongly Convicted. Anyone else we can think of.”
    The Crown was now looking angry and frustrated and I was feeling bone tired, so I tried to wrap it up. “You’ll notice that we’re giving you more than we have to. Think about that. Consider it a sign of good faith insofar as I want this to end quickly.”
    We started to leave and she kept tapping her pencil against her teeth. I knew what she was feeling. She had thought she was playing poker when she had actually been playing fifty-two pickup.
    In the hall Thompson’s confidence faded like steam. He asked, “Think she’ll buy it?”
    “Sure. It just turned political. She’ll talk to her boss and her boss will talk to his boss. The buck will be passed. Each person will make it more complex and in the end I think they’ll take what we offer.”
    Thompson pushed me towards the elevator and, after a minute, he reluctantly agreed. “It’s a weak case without the confession.”
    “Right.”
    He kept speaking as though he hadn’t heard me. “Lots of risks for them.”
    “In this biziness there is much risiko.”
    “What?”
    “James Bond. Actually, some candy-assed villain speaking to Bond.”
    “Right.”
    He looked sick and preoccupied.
    “How about faint heart never won fair maid?”
    He didn’t seem to hear me. Ahead of us and down the marble hall, the cops were still keeping the reporters at bay.
    “That’s poetry. There’s also the SAS motto, ‘Who Dares, Wins.’ ”
    He was pushing me erratically down the hallway, weaving from side to side in preoccupation.
    “Or ‘Carpe Diem,’ seize the fish. Never understood that one, though.”
    Thompson stopped and came around to face me over the briefcases. He looked drained and exhausted.
    “I have something I have to talk about.”
    “Go ahead.”
    Thompson wheeled us over to a bench, where he sat and accepted the briefcases off my lap. He stroked his chin for a moment and then pointed a finger right at my face. “Last night I got a phone call at home. It was Walsh. He had found my private phone number and all your records.”
    “And . . .”
    He leaned against the back of the bench.