“Fruits of the Poisonous Tree”

There are at least a dozen different ways to stereotype lawyers--none of them any good. We chase ambulances, go to Hell, and work directly for Satan. I went to Princeton Law, just like my father. Unlike my father, I became a successful criminal defense attorney. Much to my surprise, I became too successful in the field. I wonder sometimes if I was just as guilty as our guilty clients as I help them get away with murder, drug peddling, rape, and a whole bunch of unpleasant crimes. But then there were the innocent ones, the clients I like.

Clara sat down next to me and began to cry. “Are you okay?”

I sat down and let the back of my head hit the wall. “I could ask the same of you.”

She shook her head, and tears slowly fell to the floor through her fingers. “Why? Why does this keep happening? I don’t get it.”

“It’s all in the damn money. We’re a new firm struggling to get on its feet, so we have to take whatever we get. I need to pay you guys and pay the rent, after all.”

“We’ve tried everything else.” She looked at me, her red face moist. “We’ve tried every other branch of law, and we still only get rapists and murderers and the scum of the earth.”

“What else can I tell you? We’re desperate.” I wiped the tears from her eyes and grinned. “We’ve made money a necessity in our lives. This is the price we’re paying for that. We’ll get away from this business one of these days. I’m one-hundred percent sure of that.”

She looked away from me and asked, “How can you be so sure? What if we never get away?”

I sighed. “A little belief never hurt a lawyer before. It’s moments like these that make me wish I could sell my soul to get out of this business. It kind of makes me wonder now. What are we doing wrong, Clara? What the hell are we doing wrong?”

I opened my eyes and moaned. Why was that plaguing my dreams? I never would have thought that day, which happened one year ago, would be a premonition or anything like that. It’s hard for even myself to believe that I was thirty-three. I felt much older, especially as I laid in this uncomfortable bed. Everyone I worked with was getting sick of taking on “scum-sucking clients.” I could see where they were coming from, but criminals were our only source of income. I rolled out of bed, took a quick shower, and got dressed for work. I guess this whole mess started with my grandfather.

The glamorous appeal of being an attorney is a dominant family trait for the Spencers. Most notably, my grandfather was the personal attorney for Robert Jensen. During the Great Depression, Jensen managed to keep his money. Although he had stocks invested, losing them was a minor injury on his finances. Every attorney, landscaper, plumber, carpenter, anyone desperate for a good paying job--they all lined up at Jensen’s front door. When my grandfather got the job for Jensen’s sole personal attorney, his family was set for life for generations to come.

My father was an attorney--criminal prosecutor. He was a great guy, and I looked up to him so much as a child. He was the world to me until he was murdered by a drug dealer who made bail. The only consolation from that case was the fact that the drug dealer was convicted. There were just two things wrong with that. The first being that that drug dealer is the grandson of Robert Jensen. The second being that he got out recently, his time served and up. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to me along the way. How did I become so unlike my father?

Of course, I don’t believe in fate or destiny or anything like that. Still, some occurrences such as Robert Jensen III showing up at my front door are hard to explain. I closed the door on him, but he kept pounding on it. I only let him in because I thought he was going to punch a hole through the door. My little mutt, Maxi, kept barking and trying to bite his shoes. I couldn’t have blamed the sweet girl at all. Maybe she could sense my disdain for him. Jensen walked over to my couch and plopped down.

Robert Jensen III had greasy black hair. His skin was slightly pale, and his dark brown eyes were bloodshot. He looked skinny and seemed to have o muscle on him. He sat down on the couch and tried to pet Maxi, but she just growled at him and ran towards me. I sat down in an armchair opposite him and just examined him. There was no harm in just hearing him out, but I had no intentions of helping him.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Well, I might have killed someone.”

I pointed to the front door. “Get the hell out of here before I kill you.”

“C’mon, James, just throw me a bone!”

“No. Give me one good reason why I should even consider taking you on as a client.”

“I will make sure that you get out of criminal law.”

I examined his face to see if he was bluffing. “How’d you know about that, Jensen?”

He smirked. “I’ve heard a few rumors that you were trying to get out of criminal law. Your ads don’t say criminal offenses or misdemeanors anymore. If you really want to, I’ll give you the chance. First, you have to represent me in this trial and win. Then, I’ll make you and your lawyers my personal attorneys. You’ll get some part of your wish. Does that sound good? I don’t hire just anybody, James. I hire the best.”

I couldn’t get away from the Jensen family. Apparently, my grandfather and my father couldn’t either. This wasn’t just my life, though. It concerned my colleagues as well. I was obligated to take this up with them before I did anything else. When I told Jensen that, he seemed a little disappointed. Jensen asked if he could stay for breakfast, but Maxi and I promptly kicked him out. The apple really doesn’t fall that far from the tree.

In reality, Jensen is just as rich as God, falling a few bucks short of Bill Gates. The money would have been good for us. I was about to be evicted from my apartment. Besides, I had my mother to think of. She’s currently in the hospital, battling stage four lung cancer. I have funeral costs to think of and my law firm. My other colleagues had their own agendas. However, this is the guy who killed my father. This was a huge conflict of interest. Of course, I’m a kind guy. I can’t help but pass up money that will benefit others, or maybe I was just rationalizing it to cover up my own greed.

I finally said, “I’ll think about it.”

Criminals are our forte. However, we stopped taking them on as clients if it wasn’t court-appointed. If I didn’t, my entire law firm would have executed me. We were having a rocky start getting our criminal-free law practice up and going, mainly money being the major problem. We had to pay office rent and our own bills at our homes. A good friend of mine, Aaron Campbell, has alimony and child support to pay. Michael Ross is saving up for an engagement ring and a wedding. However, taking on criminals was destroying us and our sense of morality. We had to stop for our own benefit.

As their wonderful boss, I had to take this issue with my colleagues. I didn’t have a clue what to do, so I figured I’d let them help me. When I arrived into work and gathered everyone in the conference room, I told them about Jensen’s deal. It was more difficult than it seemed. Part of me wanted to because it paid a lot better and was our ticket to success. The other part of me resented the guy for what he did to my father. Of course, I never had intentions of telling them that.

The African-American to my left, Aaron, glared at me. “If you don’t take this deal, I’m going to kick your ass. We need the money badly, Allen. This law firm being affiliated with someone so prominent as Robert Jensen III would do us wonders. Our criminal-free career will kick off with gusto. If we can defend and win a case for someone like Jensen, that sends the message that we can win anything for anyone. I think we should go for it, Allen.”

“But that’s exactly why we shouldn’t.” Michael Ross fixed his blond hair and shrugged. He spoke in his usual gentle voice. “Have you seen Jensen’s rap sheet? The juvenile aspect is long enough. As an adult, he’s even worse. Do we really want to be associated with scum in a non-criminal sense? That’ll do our non-criminal reputation more harm than good. And didn’t Robert Jensen III kill your father? Do you really want to work for someone who’s vindictive enough to kill your father for a successful conviction?”

“But the money,” said Aaron. “The money’s going to keep us alive. I’m not sure about you, but I have a family to support and think of. Don’t you want to propose, Mike? And what about your cousin? Clara needs to live, too. If we don’t get anymore clients and pass up this big fish, who knows when the next time an opportunity like this will come back. Remember that court-appointed defenses bring in no money and do us more harm. We have a chance right now and only now, and we should seize it before it’s too late. Not many people are willing to flash this much money for a criminal trial plus the standard Jersey retainer. This money will help us through any rough patches ahead of us as well as get our new law career on its feet and running. Good or bad, this is still a ticket out of criminal law. Am I right, James?”

“We can still find some other way to get this thing running,” Michael said, exasperatedly. “We don’t have to start with scum when we’re trying to get away from scum. That just won’t look good for us. Reputation is everything, just like money is.”

I sighed. “I have to admit. You both make valid arguments.”

“Well, if we didn’t,” said Michael, “we’d be shitty lawyers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s true. Well, what are we going to do? We got out of criminal law to spare our consciences the grief and aggravation. Are we going to take a plunge into this new world filled with ease? Or are we going to struggle to survive and stay true to what we decided on?”

“The thing is, both William and Michael are correct.” Clara Rockwell pulled her long blond hair back. “We’ll get enough money to live for a few years, and we will get our of criminal law. However, being associated with scum is the same as being associated with a rapist or a drug dealer or a killer or whatever. No matter what, we’re going to get the short end of the stick. James, I’m so sorry, but I am fairly neutral on this issue. The final say is up to you, after all.”

I closed my eyes and tried to decide. They were both right. None of them was more correct than the other. If I asked my conscience, it would probably respond with a yes. My own feelings had to be put aside, but that was just impossible. Clara pulled a quarter out of her pants pocket and handed it to me. Mystified, I asked why.

“We’ve done this before,” she said. “We’ve made the most difficult decisions with the flip of a coin. Most times, we’ve won. Flip the coin, Allen. Heads, you do it.”

I fingered the coin and carefully examined it. Its shiny silver mesmerized me, but Clara was right. We probably would have defended OJ Simpson or even Bruno Hauptmann if a coin told us to. I flipped the coin, watched it somersault in the air, and bit my bottom lip. As it came back down to the table, my heart began to race. I could tell that everyone was on the edge of their seat. The loud sound of metal making contact with wood sounded, and I nearly fell back. Michael and Aaron got up and stared at the coin.

Michael said, “Wow, I certainly wasn’t expecting that to happen.”

Aaron picked up the coin. “Looks like the coin says no.”

I sighed. “I guess so.”

Our secretary barged into our office. She seemed a little anxious. “Excuse me, Mr. Spencer, but the police are here! There’s also some guy who claims you’re representing him.”

The coin said no. We are amazing lawyers if we listen to a coin for legal advice. I walked out of the conference room and saw seven uniformed police officers with guns pointed at Jensen. The coin said no. I asked the police for an explanation. The coin said no, but I was saying yes.

The detective stepped forward. “This man is being charged with first degree homicide.”

I could hear Allen: “What an interesting day.”

Maybe it was the heat that made something so ordinary seem so interesting. When I stomped up the white stone steps to the courthouse, I stopped. There was an apple partially eaten. It was browning, and flies were swarming all over it. I snapped back to reality when a few people bumped into me. I didn’t know why I was here. All I knew was that I said yes and practically sold my soul to the devil himself with just the uttering of one simple word.

Apparently, Jensen had gotten into an argument with his girlfriend, Rachel Johnson. The argument escalated into physical violence and ended with Jensen sticking a kitchen knife into Rachel. That’s a lesson to never have a fight with someone you love in the kitchen. Jensen tried to hide the body by throwing it into a dumpster in an alleyway that was seldom used. He then ran but left the murder weapon in the sink. One of the neighbors reported the disturbance, and the police busted down Jensen’s front door. The police found the murder weapon, found Jensen’s prints and Rachel’s blood on it, and found Jensen. They subsequently arrested him without a warrant.

It was hot as hell in this courtroom. The walls, benches, tables, and chairs were cherry wood. There was the seal of the State of New Jersey and “In God We Trust” engraved in the wall behind bench and the judge’s seat. There was also the State of New Jersey and American flags on each side of the judge‘s chair. Only nine small ceiling fans were keeping the heat at bay, but they never relieved any heat. The floors were a beige color and reflected the lights from the elegant ceiling lights. Everyone sat down, except for the defense attorney and prosecutor.

I cleared my throat before the clerk could say anything. “The defense would like to waive reading because, quite frankly, it’s a waste of time. We also ask that all charges are dropped against Mr. Jensen.”

The haggard old judge asked, “On what grounds?”

I frowned. “Fruit of the poisonous tree, Your Honor. My client was arrested because of a knife found in his home for murder. The police were initially called for a domestic dispute and disturbing the peace. They were, in no way, initially looking for a murderer. The basis for their arrest is the knife, which was discovered without a search warrant.”

The prosecutor, Jack Peterson, scoffed at my argument. “The police were there because of a dispute, yes, but that dispute obviously led to a murder. It’s fair game, Your Honor, search warrant or not. It’s something called probable cause.”

“That makes no sense,” I said. “Probable cause is basically a damn good reason to assume such and such happened. Knives are used to cut meat. How did the police know he didn’t just leave it in the sink after he chopped up some meat? It was his knife to begin with, so it’s natural his prints would be on the handle. There is no probable cause there.”

The judge narrowed his cold hazel eyes. “Mr. Peterson, you might want to look up the definition of probable cause after this trial. I am inclined to agree with Mr. Spencer. Find something else to arrest Mr. Jensen on. You’re free to go.”

I packed up my things and tried to get out as soon as possible. Peterson was already out the door. The bailiff released Jensen from his handcuffs and went back to his post in the courtroom. Jensen had a giant grin on his face and looked at me. I was disgusted with myself. I hated myself so much for doing this, for even being here. I could tell Jensen knew how much I hated him, but that didn’t stop him from asking for my help. He knew how to exploit my firm and knew that I would take the decision to them. I hated myself for being exploited by a homicidal drug addict.

Jensen extended his hand to me. “Congrats!”

I swatted it away. “I refuse.”

“Huh?”

My heart ached for the courage to do what was needed to be done. “I refuse your offer. I never want to see you again.”

I made the right decision, right? In the end, I was able to stay true to my values. I turned around and headed out the door. Why did I feel hollow inside? Sure, I let the scum of the earth free. However, I declined the job that could have financially set me and my firm for life. That meant there was still some hope left for me and my twisted sense of morality. I saw Allen Peterson walking into the bathroom. If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn he was crying. Of course he was crying. It was known in the courthouse that he looked up to my father, and I let my father’s killer go free.

Clara tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, you did the right thing.”

“Then, why does it feel like I should just rot in hell for the rest of my life?”

“James, don’t be like that. Please, it’s only money. With enough perseverance and effort, we can become something great without having to kill ourselves on the inside. We won’t have to just sit around and reap the benefits of other people’s suffering. I’m sure that day will come.”

She left, and I continued walking to the parking lot. Even if that day will definitely come, it wouldn’t erase the past. We had let rapist and serial killers back into society. Time and time again, we swept it under the same rug: We’re just doing our jobs. We repeated the same words over and over again, and we believed those were our magic words. The phrase became a useless prayer in order to help us feel better about ourselves. Then I think about the children in this town and what the adults tell them about detestable people like us. Then I think about the safety of the children in this town and what rapist of serial killer will target them next. I was so deep in thought that I didn’t realize I was already outside.

As I stomped down the steps outside of the courthouse, I saw the apple infested with flies.

Author’s Note: I would like to thank William Golding and his wonderful novel, Lord of the Flies, for the inspiration given to me to write this short piece. I honestly don’t know if flies are really attracted to dead fruit, so I pray that they are.