âI never expected to see a Rochelle dare appear in my chambers again,â
Winewskiâs legendary sonorous voice boomed.
No doubt the family scandal was about to be rerun.
I straightened my shoulders and managed a cool smile. âNice to meet you, Judge.â
âWeâll see about that, Ms. Rochelle. Unlike your grandfather, I run a tight courtroom and tolerate no improprieties.â
His implication was clear. My grandfather had become a crooked judge. I had paid enough for my familyâs sins. No one was going to make me turn tail.
âI donât intend to make any.â Keeping my gaze locked on the judgeâs I experienced a small victory. He looked away first.
Iâm a hired gun.
Not the blazing bullets kindâ¦the legal kind.
After all, attorneys are the only publicly sanctioned form of revenge and payback our society allows. If someone damages your car or hikes your rent, instead of stringing him or her from the nearest tree, you go to court and duke it out.
However, if you do decide to take matters into your own hands or otherwise flaunt the laws of our country, youâll still need someone like me: Katherine Rochelle, criminal defense attorney, the ultimate in legal weapons.
We can be found in the yellow pages; you canât miss the ads with the pictures and bold assurances of our qualifications to defend you. If we appear to be larger than life, we have to be, for you are placing your life in our hands.
What you donât realize is that behind our serious demeanors, diplomas and certifications are individuals as flawed as you are. My brethren drink, gamble, lie, cheat and steal. They fight with their spouses and raise kids who land in trouble.
For some thatâs a dollar sign above their heads, not a halo, having sold out their ethics for the almighty buck or other glory.
For others, like me, the struggle to keep our principles and honor intact as we fight for justice leaves our armor dented and tarnished. Sometimes we needed crutches, like the kind I had now.
I paused before the double wood doors and fumbled in the pocket of my ivory silk jacket for the ever-present roll of antacid tablets. A little stomach insurance wouldnât hurt before I entered the chambers. Even this early in the morning, a cacophony of sound filled the Palm Beach courthouse hallway: heels clicking on the marble floor, briefcase locks snapping, voices echoingâquestioning voices, irritated voices, hurried voices. I tuned it all out to focus on the challenge before me.
A familiar burn began in the pit of my stomach so I took a few deep breaths. Here in the alcove, ammonia and orange furniture polish from last nightâs cleaning warred with attorneysâ colognes. Inside a new scent would be added: fear. Fear of the accused, fear of the judge, fear of failure.
Anticipation stirred to life, kick-starting my pulse. It had been six long months since Iâd had been in a courtroom. What did it matter that this was only a county court misdemeanor hearing where the main thing heard was criminal traffic offenses?
It was action. Soon enough I would work my way into circuit court where weightier crimes, such as battery, armed robbery and murder, were tried.
Granted, the hiatus Iâd taken to work with my two girlfriends, Carling Dent and Nicole Sterling, in setting up our own criminal defense firm certainly had been fulfilling. Our law school dreamâthe Law Offices of Dent, Rochelle and Sterlingâwas now a reality.
However, it still bit that I had been a casualty in a scandal at the U.S. Attorneyâs office. Losing my job hadnât sat well. Neither had waiting for our offices to be finished.
Practicing law was like falling off the horse; if you waited too long to get back on, you wouldnât.
I was more than ready to get back in the legal saddle. I reached for the door handle, but the overweight bailiff standing to the side shook his head. âYou canât go in yet, miss. The judge donât let anyone inside until ten minutes to court time.â
The docket was scheduled to start at 9:30. I glanced at the slender Chopard watch on my wrist: nine-sixteen. I cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff, but he merely folded his arms across his stomach in an âI wonât be budged on thisâ manner. The way he kept looking around indicated tension.