Until Proven Innocent

The client was tall and muscular, and the first thing I noticed were his deep hazel eyes. His face was nicely framed by a dark brown three day stubble and his hair fell wavy just about to the end of his neck. He was wearing your usual inmate clothes, the long-sleeved ones because it was only March.

He was handsome in some kind of way, not the most conventional one, but I could definitely understand why he had a lot of women swooning over him. Just - he didn’t look a rock star to me. I’d googled him on the way here, just looked at some pictures.

He looked much different as he was sitting there. Smaller, somehow. Less metal in his face. No grills, and sadly, no pierced lip, either. If I didn’t see the cuffs on his hands and feet, I’d think he was your average neighbor waiting for his coffee at Starbucks. Or worse, his kid at preschool.

I knew that his name was Matthew Charles Sanders, and he was twenty-nine years old. I didn’t know much more from the file, and the time had been much too short to find out some more via google. Our eyes locked for a brief time, and he smiled half-heartedly. With that, I saw the faintest silhouette of dimples in his cheeks, which only made him look more innocent in a way.

It was a common reaction from some of my more pleasant clients to smile when they first saw me, mainly because they were glad someone was putting up with their troubles and helping them with the legal work. But on the other hand, no-one really liked to visit their defense attorney because, well, that meant you were being charged with something.

And that, my friends, was why none of those smiles were real.

“Uncuff,“ I said decidedly before I even walked closer. I almost hit myself in the face after I realized I really said that. The officer threw me a look. Alright, I know what you’re thinking. I’m tiny compared to him. They say he murdered a seventeen year old. But somehow I foolishly believed that this guy right here was not a hazard to me. Or anyone. That was, I may add, before I saw the pictures of the body.

“Mr Sanders, I’m Vivian Keller. I was called to represent you. Of course you may also get another lawyer.“ Alright, that was fucking lame. “Good afternoon,“ he spoke. His voice sounded pleasant. I would not have expected it as smooth, he was a metal singer, after all.

“You happy with cuffs off, no bullshit?“
“Yes please.“
“I’m on this side of the table, you’re on the other side. That’s gonna stay like this. If you even attempt to come on my side, I swear I’ll have those guys,“ I pointed to the officers at the door, “come in and twist your limbs, are we clear? I don’t care if you gotta stretch your body or it's just an accident or whatever. If as much as your fingertip lands on my side you'll live to regret it,“ I said.

I was told by most of my colleagues that it was good to set the rules right at the beginning, and to speak as clear as possible. And of course, to see his reaction. If it made him angry, I would have asked one of the guards to stay.
“Yes, definitely.“ He said. His voice was still calm and pleasant, and I could tell he was taking vocal lessons just by the way his speaking voice sounded.

I motioned for them to leave, and suddenly, Mr. Sanders and I were alone in the room. The icy feeling of fear came closer, but I didn’t let it crawl inside me. Instead, it felt like it was soaring around me, taking me into its dark arms, surrounding me. But over all, I would have thought to be more nervous when first meeting a supposed murderer. I took two deep breaths before feeling somewhat comfortable again.

“You’re pretty young for a lawyer,“ he remarked, his eyebrows going up, “did you graduate when you were twenty or something?“ Did he want to know how experienced I was? Or was that look on his face some... interest? I only shrugged, deciding I should not go there and think about why he asked me the question.

Maybe he was only trying to make conversation. My age was none of his business nevertheless, and I wouldn’t answer him that hidden question. I hoped he’d get the hint that I didn't want any personal questions, and when he changed the subject I was certain he did.

“I’m innocent,“ the client said. In his hazel eyes, I could see sincerity, but I knew I couldn't trust him anyway.

I let out a chuckle. All of my clients said they were. Except they weren’t. “Mr. Sanders, do you have any idea how many convicted criminals say that? Be honest with me,“ I let out. I felt the urge to roll my eyes, but Mr. Sanders was a murderer, after all, and I wasn’t quite sure how he would take it.

“I really am,“ he said. I realized he wasn’t that much different from all of my clients. He was not the type I liked, the one that told you all the details. It was important to know all the details when it came to the trial, so you could find some kind of strategy to explain everything. Well, theoretically.

Practically, you just worked with whatever the police found and told you about, and hoped to God no-one found anything else until the trial, then you could at least somewhat prepare. But as for Mr. Sanders: He was just another of the ones that believed their own lies of being innocent.

“That’s for the court to determine, I’m afraid. Let’s start with the basics, Mr. Sanders. Matthew Charles, born July 31st 1981 in Huntington Beach, California. Metal singer. Married, one son, that correct?“

He swallowed, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. “I’m divorced, actually,“ he rasped, “And I don't know if the kid is mine." I noted his response. “Fresh, huh?“ I asked. Then I cursed myself for being so nosy. He was divorced, I didn’t need to know more. #

He nodded. “And you?“ It hit me unexpected. Usually, none of my clients asked me a single personal question. All they wanted was for me to keep them out of jail. I was used to getting hit on a lot, but not by clients. Never.

“My personal business is my personal business, Mr. Sanders,“ I huffed. I didn’t know if I wanted him to have any personal information on me. He was suspected of murder, after all. For example if I told him where I lived, he could easily have someone take revenge if I didn’t perform well in court.

“You wanna represent me in court, work for me, and you really think I shouldn’t at least know a little about you? Do you have any idea how long we’re gonna be spending together? It takes four to six months until the first day….“

“Of a trial,“ I completed. “I’m an attorney, I know how our legal system works. If you’re unhappy with me representing you, maybe you want to get a different lawyer who uses you as her psychologist and maybe screws you in here. But with me, it’s gonna be simple. I’m your lawyer, not your friend. I can give you a CV but that will have to do.“

He nodded. I could see that I was trying his patience, but so far, he didn’t show any signs of anger. I relaxed, realizing that he controlled himself pretty well.

“Alright, I'm a little younger than you indeed. I went to law school in Munich to become a DA, then fucked up and now I'm a defense attorney. At least working somewhere with criminals, I guess. Shall we continue with why I'm here?" I said brusquely, and Mr. Sanders licked his lips before forming a “yes."

“Are you addicted to any drugs or alcohol?“
“No.“ Liar, I thought. Maybe I was a little biased knowing he was a rockstar. Those constantly did drugs, right?
“Did you take anything yesterday?“
“No. I mean, I drank one or two beers after the show, but…“

I nodded. The blood test they ran yesterday didn’t show a high concentration of alcohol. But there was something else, something they weren’t able to determine yet.
“No pills or anything?“ He shook his head no. I wouldn’t get him to admit anything, so I’d just wait to see what the lab results were. It was not my job to figure out anyway, I just wanted a general overview over the case for starters.

“And that girl, Christina Ehrmantraut, you met her after the concert last night?“
He nodded, remorse in his eyes.
“Did you have sex with her?“ He began to nervously tap on the table, and I was surprised at how satisfying the sound of it was.

“Yes," he said, licking his lips. “But I didn’t rape her. She… initiated it.“ I nodded, then wrote down what he said.
“Did you know she was seventeen?“
“No. I even asked for her ID. We... we do that to... groupies. I... You probably know that's rather common. Anyway... It said Lisa, and she also introduced herself as Lisa.“
“Did you know the legal age is eighteen in Germany?“
“Yes.“

I soon ended my visit with him. I’d have to wait and see what they were able to come up with, anyway.

“Is there anything I can do for you in there while we wait and see?“ He didn't think long.
“I’d like to shave,“ he said, and I made a mental note to ask for a shaver. It was not my call to make whether or not he was allowed to do it in private, but I supposed not.

I’d always hoped that one day I’d have my first murder case. But there were two things that I didn’t foresee:

One, I would be defending my client.
Two, I would have this intense gut feeling that it was the wrong guy.

Notes

Another update for you guys on this story :)