The Exchange: After The Firm

Mitch was currently spending four hours a week working with a homeless shelter in the Bronx and representing clients who were fighting evictions. It was safe, clean office work, which was just what he wanted. Seven months earlier he had watched a death row client in Alabama utter his last words before being executed. He’d spent eight hundred hours over six years trying in vain to save the guy, and watching him die was heartbreaking, the ultimate failure.

Mitch wasn’t sure what Willie wanted, but the fact that he’d been called in was an ominous sign.

Willie was the only lawyer at Scully with a ponytail, and a bad one at that. It was gray and matched his beard, and just a few years before someone higher up would have told him to shave and get a haircut. But the firm was working hard to shed its fossilized image as a white-collar club filled with white men in dark suits. One of its radical changes was the ditching of a dress code. Willie grew hair and whiskers and went about his work in jeans.

Mitch, still in a dark suit but with no tie, sat across the desk as they went through the small talk. Willie finally got around to it with “Say, Mitch, there’s a case down south I want you to take a look at.”

“Please don’t tell me the guy is on death row.”

“The guy is on death row.”

“I can’t do it, Willie. Please. I’ve had two of those in the past five years and both got the needle. My track record is not very good.”

“You did great work, Mitch. No one could have saved those two.”

“I can’t take another one.”

“Will you at least listen?”

Mitch conceded and shrugged. Willie’s fondness for death row cases was legendary and few lawyers at Scully could say no to him. “Okay, I’ll listen.”

“His name is Tad Kearny and he’s got ninety days. A month ago he made the strange decision to fire his lawyers, all of them, and he had quite a team.”

“Sounds crazy.”

“Oh, he is. Off-the-charts crazy, probably legally insane, but Tennessee is pushing hard nonetheless. Ten years ago he shot and killed three undercover narcotics officers in a drug bust that went haywire. Bodies everywhere, total of five died at the scene. Tad almost died, but they managed to save him so they could execute him later.”

Mitch laughed in frustration and said, “And I’m supposed to ride in on a white horse and save the guy? Come on, Willie. Give me something to work with.”

“There’s virtually nothing to work with, except insanity. The problem is that he probably won’t agree to see you.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because we have to try, Mitch, and I think you’re our best bet.”

“I’m still listening.”

“Well, he reminds me a lot of you.”

“Gee thanks.”

“No, seriously. He’s white, your age, and from Dane County, Kentucky.”

For a second Mitch couldn’t respond, then managed to say, “Great. We’re probably cousins.”

“I don’t think so, but his father worked in the coal mines, same as yours. And both died there.”

“My family is off-limits.”

“Sorry. You caught a lucky break and had the brains to get out. Tad did not and before long was involved with drugs, both as a user and a dealer. He and some pals were making a big delivery near Memphis when they were ambushed by narcotics officers. Everybody died but Tad. Looks like his luck has finally run out.”

“No question about his guilt?”

“Certainly not for the jury. The issue is not guilt but insanity. The idea is to have him evaluated by some specialists, our doctors, and file a last-minute Hail Mary. First, though, someone has to go in and talk to the man. Right now he’s not accepting visitors.”

“And you think we’ll bond?”

“It’s a long shot, but why not give it a try?”

Mitch took a deep breath and tried to think of another way out. To pass the time he asked, “Who’s got the case?”

“Well, technically, no one. Tad has become quite the jailhouse lawyer and he filed the necessary papers to terminate his attorneys. Amos Patrick represented him for a long time, one of the best down there. You know Amos?”

“I met him once at a conference. Quite the character.”

“Most death row lawyers are real characters.”

“Look, Willie, I have no desire to become known as a death row lawyer. I’ve been there twice and that’s enough. These cases eat at you and become all-consuming. How many of your clients have you watched die?”

Willie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Mitch whispered, “Sorry.”

“Too many, Mitch. Let’s just say I’ve been there. Look, I’ve talked to Amos, and talked and talked, and he likes the idea. He’ll drive you to the prison, and who knows, maybe Tad will find you interesting enough to have a chat.”

“Sounds like a dead end.”

“In ninety days it will certainly be a dead end, but at least we will have tried.”

Mitch stood and walked to a window. Willie’s view was westward, over the Hudson. “Amos is in Memphis, right?”

“Yes.”

“I really don’t want to go back to Memphis. Too much history.”

“Ancient history, Mitch. Fifteen years ago. You picked the wrong firm and had to leave.”