The Family Lawyer Read online

  Forty minutes later, Velasquez emerges from the back, escorting Hailey. She’s a willowy brunette like her mother, tall like me. Statuesque like neither of us. Now, she’s walking down the corridor poised and serene as an English duchess mingling with the commoners. The Hailey I know. All at once, I find this more distressing than her panicked phone call, because it isn’t natural for a sixteen-year-old kid to behave this way. Not here and now. I blame those beauty pageants that Janet was obsessed with. Yes, my wife entered Hailey in kid beauty contests, JonBenét Ramsey’s murder be damned. The pageants taught Hailey to pose and preen and behave like an adult when she was just a toddler. At the moment, adult is the last thing she should seem.

  Chapter 3

  When I make a right turn out of the station parking lot, Hailey asks, “Where are you going, Dad?”

  “Home. Where do you think—?”

  “My car’s at school.”

  That’s what she cares about? I thought she’d want nothing more than to explain what happened.

  “I’ll take you to school tomorrow.”

  “Dad, I don’t want—”

  “Consider me your own personal Uber driver who’s desperate to earn five stars—we’ll get the car tomorrow. Tonight, why don’t you tell me why the police think you had something to do with Farah’s death.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What was your relationship with the girl?”

  “I was her mentor when she started ninth grade. She was on the soccer team, so they assigned me to her. She became obsessed with me, started stalking me. I told her to stop. That’s it.”

  “Stalking you how?”

  “Didn’t Mom tell you about this?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard about it. How did she stalk you?”

  “Like sending creepy text messages. Acting like we were best friends when I wasn’t her friend at all. We didn’t want her in our group. That upset her, I guess. Then she hit on Aaron.” Aaron is Hailey’s boyfriend.

  “Why would she accuse you of bullying her?”

  “She’s trying to stalk me from the grave, I guess.”

  “That sounds insensitive, Hailey. Under the circumstances, it’s important that you don’t—”

  “Please don’t lecture me. I’m having a bad day.”

  “Hailey, the cops don’t just arrest people for no reason.”

  “You always say they do! I can’t believe you’re accusing me!”

  “I’m not accusing you. I’m just trying to—”

  She folds her arms tightly across her chest and retreats into that teenager’s impenetrable shell of silence. When my daughter goes into that place, she’s unreachable.

  I process her reaction. The lawyer in me suspects she’s hiding something. The father in me wants nothing more than to believe in her innocence. I must believe in her innocence.

  Night has fallen. When I finally turn onto our street, I squint at the glare of flashing red and blue lights. A police patrol car is parked in front of our house. Our family’s nightmare is just beginning.

  Chapter 4

  Janet, arms crossed, is waiting on the porch, along with two uniformed officers.

  “Why are they here?” she says as soon as I climb the steps.

  I inhale deeply. “It’s a mistake. Hailey was arrested for—”

  “I know that, and of course it’s a mistake,” Janet says. “Why are they still here? I assumed you’d clear up this mess by now.”

  I shrug helplessly.

  Almost looking amused, the older of the two officers—his nametag reads OFFICER CRANE—holds up a document and says, “Mr. Hovanes, we have a warrant directing us to seize all computers, smartphones, and tablets belonging to your family or otherwise located on the premises. We’ll need you to gather the electronics and give them to us, and then we’ll search the residence for any other device. We waited until you arrived to enter the residence, counselor. As a courtesy.” From this guy’s smirk, I can tell they waited so they could enjoy turning our house upside down while I was present.

  “How very, very kind of you, Officer Crane,” I say. “I wish the others in the department were so considerate of the people whose privacy they invade without probable cause.” I take the warrant and read it carefully, searching for any irregularity that would allow me to quash it. Unfortunately, everything is in order.

  An impassive Hailey hands her cell phone to the younger cop, an Officer Verlander.

  I glance at Janet, who frowns but walks inside. The police follow, and Verlander begins in the living room, opening a drawer in the buffet in the dining area. I suspect the cops are going to use this warrant to tear the house apart.

  “Please be careful,” Janet says. “The china belonged to my mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Verlander says, and he seems to mean it, because he opens drawers in the buffet gingerly and doesn’t throw anything on the floor. Crane begins rummaging through a media console, and he’s much rougher.

  My son appears from the hallway and moves within two feet of Verlander. Too close.

  “Please step back,” the cop says.

  Daniel holds his ground. “This is an illegal search and seizure in violation of the Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution. I know all about you fascist paramilitary types. I’ve been the victim of police brutality.”

  Daniel insists that after he was arrested the second time, the cops abused him in the patrol car. The cops told me he was lucky they didn’t charge him with resisting. Since then, he’s been obsessed with real or imagined police misconduct—not with the cases that I try, but with the dangerous drivel spouted by radical fringe groups that lurk in the dark recesses of the internet and call for violent resistance against the police and the US government. As hard as I’ve tried to explain that it’s better to work within the system to effect change, he won’t stop looking at that junk.

  “Daniel, give the officer room so he can do his job,” I say in my calmest voice.

  To my relief, he steps back. But he says, “Why aren’t you jerks out catching murderers and rapists instead of rousting an innocent family and harassing a sixteen-year-old girl? You guys have no balls. But I guess this is better than committing genocide against innocent black and Hispanic people.”

  Hailey goes into her bedroom and returns with her computer and smart tablet. “It’s okay if you search my room,” she says. “Just please don’t make a mess.”

  “Show us your room,” Officer Crane says to Daniel.

  Daniel chortles, and then dashes into his bedroom and slams the door. The behavior is irrational for a seventeen-year-old, but Daniel is very immature. He’s also something of a savant at using a computer and a whiz at video games. They’re the only things that seem to interest him—that and his internet crusade against police misconduct. Now, these officers are about to deprive him of his most precious possessions.

  The officers follow, and Crane orders Daniel to open the door.

  “Fuck off, pigs!”

  That’s not what you say to a cop. Crane places a hand on his holster, and I take a step forward but stop when he drops his arm. Reason has overcome reflex for both of us—this time. What the cops don’t realize is that Daniel is still a kid although he’s a grown man physically—six foot one with a deep baritone. Grown men use profanity with cops at their own risk. I’ve represented quite a few clients who swore at cops and ended up hurt.

  “Open the door, or we’re coming in,” Crane says.

  When Daniel doesn’t respond, Crane tries the handle. Daniel has locked the door.

  “Last chance,” Crane says in a tone that confirms he’d love to break in.

  Janet looks on in distress, while Hailey observes this with a clinical frown, as if her brother were a lab rat in the midst of an experiment.

  “Let me talk to my son,” I say.

  Crane doesn’t react, but Verlander taps his partner on the arm, and Crane stands aside.

  I knock and say firmly, “That’s
enough, Daniel. Open up and let them have your computer.”

  He opens the door a crack. “It’s an illegal search and seizure. Stop them. You’re a lawyer.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re going to follow the law. That’s what lawyers do. These officers have a valid search warrant, and they’re just doing their jobs.”

  Daniel glares at me, considering. It’s that fragile moment when events could go either way. To my relief, he opens the door, fetches his computer, and shoves it into my hands. Then he tosses his cell phone and tablet at Crane’s feet.

  The officers spend the next half hour searching for other electronic devices, finding nothing. They do make a mess, but it could be worse, though I’m sure Janet doesn’t see it that way. When they finish, they finally make the demand I’ve been dreading.

  “You’ll need to give us your computer and electronic devices, Mr. Hovanes,” Crane says.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” I say. “It’s my work computer and work phone. They both contain information protected by the attorney–client privilege. Including information about lawsuits that I have against your department. As far as my personal use goes, I borrow my wife’s computer, which you already have.”

  “As you told your son, counselor, we have a valid search warrant and are just doing our jobs,” Crane says. “Please surrender your phone and tell us where the computer is.”

  I pull out my cell phone, but instead of handing it over, I call Debra and inform her of the situation.

  “I’m on it,” she says and hangs up. She and I often read each other’s thoughts.

  Meanwhile, I stall for time. I argue the law, which doesn’t impress the cops one whit. I call Ernesto Velasquez and ask him to tell his guys to back off, but he says he can’t do anything without the approval of the district attorney. So I phone the DA’s office and ask to speak with Joshua Lundy, but Lundy has left for the evening—or so the secretary claims.

  “Hand over your electronic devices or we’ll have to place you under arrest, sir.” It’s Verlander who makes this threat. So much for the good cop.

  “Don’t do it, Dad,” Daniel says. “It’ll bullshit.”

  “Stop it, Daniel,” Janet says. “Matt, I don’t understand what you’re doing. Haven’t—?”

  And then my phone beeps, and the e-mail from Debra comes in. I open the attachment, and there it is—a signed order from a superior court judge prohibiting the police from seizing my computer, phone, or any device that has privileged information on it. Not only is Debra a top-notch lawyer, but she’s surprisingly well connected.

  I show the police my screen and say, “I think we’re done for the evening, officers. The judge’s order has already been forwarded to your superiors and to the DA’s office.”

  Crane makes a call, confers with his partner, and the two of them grudgingly leave.

  “So you get to keep your stuff, but we don’t?” Daniel says. “That’s bullshit. Maybe we should’ve hired Debra.”

  I don’t bask in my small victory. I fear the police will find something incriminating—on Daniel’s, not Hailey’s, computer.

  Chapter 5

  I summon everyone into the living room, and unlike most occasions when I call a family meeting, everyone complies. We sit in our usual spots—I on the threadbare occasional chair, Janet and Hailey on the overstuffed sofa, and Daniel off to the side on the wicker chair. As usual, rather than looking at us, he stares down at the floor.

  “Tell me what you know about Farah’s death, Hailey,” I say.

  “We already talked about this, Dad. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Of course she doesn’t know anything,” Janet says.

  “Why didn’t I know that this girl was stalking you?” I ask.

  “Because you’re never here,” Janet says. “The law firm of Grant & Hovanes is your family.”

  “Lest you forget, the law firm of Grant & Hovanes puts your gluten-free pasta and free-range chicken dinners on the table.”

  “You work to save the world. If you wanted to pay the bills, you’d join a big law firm and do white-collar crime work.”

  It’s an old argument that I don’t want to repeat. “I’m speaking to Hailey,” I say. “I want to understand. Was there a confrontation with Farah? Did you call her names or post bad things on the internet?”

  “I told you no,” Hailey says.

  “Did Aaron know the girl?” I ask.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hailey says. “You’re always dumping on my boyfriends. That’s fucked up.”

  “Don’t use that language. Why would this Farah girl blame you on that recording, just before she—?”

  “Because she was a crazy nutcase?” Hailey replies, her tone a verbal eye roll to accompany the real one.

  “I think you should have a little more sympathy for her given what she did to herself,” I say.

  “Whatever.”

  “Why are you cross-examining her?” Janet asks. “You should support your daughter, not interrogate her. She already told you, she doesn’t know anything about this.”

  “Bullshit,” Daniel says, still looking down.

  “You’re horrible, Daniel,” Janet says. “Maybe your father should be asking what relationship you had with that disturbed girl. Hailey says she saw you talking to that weirdo. Two peas in a pod.”

  Daniel stands so violently that he almost knocks over a lamp, then storms out of the room with his arm raised and his middle finger pointing upward.

  “That was unnecessary,” I say.

  “That’s all you can say when he’s disrespectful and vulgar toward me?” Janet says.

  “Did Daniel know Farah?” I ask.

  Hailey shrugs. “I saw Danny talking to her a couple of times.” Only his sister can call him Danny. “I don’t know what they were talking about.”

  “Were he and Farah friends?” I ask.

  Hailey and Janet glance at each other.

  “Danny doesn’t exactly have friends,” Hailey says. “I mean a couple of the guys from grammar school still, but…The girls don’t like to talk to him. It’s sad. I wouldn’t call Farah his friend. More likely she was trying to use him to get to me.”

  Intellectually, I know that Daniel is a loner, an oddball. But when it comes to their own children, parents are the ultimate self-propagandists. No matter how severe the problem, you overlook, minimize, spin until you can’t anymore. Then you hope.

  “The boy has problems, and you ignore them,” Janet says. “You’ve always ignored them.”

  “He’s a good kid,” I say. “He’s a teenager. He just needs to grow up.”

  “That’s how you explain his horrible behavior?” Janet says. “If you were making that argument in court, the judge would laugh in your face. People are afraid of him.”

  “He’s never hurt anyone.”

  “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. That’s my biggest fear in life. Maybe he would’ve turned out better if you’d acted like his father, not his lawyer.”

  And soon, Janet and I are yelling at each other, at which point Hailey gets up and removes herself, as if we were the children and she the grownup. The same scenario has played itself out countless times over the years: Janet clashes with Daniel, he blows up, I come to his defense, and soon we’re quarreling.

  “Maybe he needs an advocate because his own mother is always judging him harshly,” I say.

  She gets up and leaves the room.

  Daniel was born when Janet was thirty, according to plan. Janet conceived Hailey four months later, after a night of alcohol and carelessness. Suddenly, we were caring for two infants thirteen months apart. Daniel’s problems started in preschool—biting, tantrums, defiance—and haven’t gone away. Hailey was always easy.

  In Janet’s view, Daniel is our tarnished misstep and Hailey is our golden surprise. If that’s true, why is Hailey the one who’s been charged with homicide?

  Chapter 6

  Debra and I sit
in the conference room, staring at the blank screen on the wall monitor. Ten seconds ago, I inserted a flash drive containing the video of Farah Medhipour’s last moments on earth. I can’t bring myself to click Play. I’ve tried many violent-crime cases, both as a prosecutor and a defense attorney, including brutal rape and murder cases. I’ve never been squeamish. Looking at gruesome photos, visiting the morgue is part of the job. Watching a fourteen-year-old kill herself doesn’t feel like it’s part of the job.

  Finally, Debra reaches over and launches the video. I will myself to watch the screen. The seventeen minutes and forty seconds that follow are the most harrowing of my life. During the entire video, my heart hammers against my chest. Once it ends, there are tears in my eyes, and I want to run from the room and vomit. I force the bile down and stay where I am. If I’m going to defend Hailey, I have to stay where I am. None of this means anything, I tell myself. The girl was disturbed, delusional. So, why do I feel a simmering anger toward my daughter?

  Debra stands and turns on the lights. There are no tears, no signs of revulsion, just the impassive look of a defense lawyer objectively analyzing a piece of evidence.

  “Hard to watch,” she says. “Awful. But I’m encouraged. That video is going to form the centerpiece of the prosecution’s case, and it’s vulnerable.”

  “I want you to handle the lead on Hailey’s case,” I blurt out, surprising myself because we haven’t decided which lawyer will defend Hailey.

  She gives me a hard, businesslike stare. “You should go with Davies or Grutman, or maybe Thau.”

  She’s named three of the top defense lawyers in the state, maybe in the country. But Debra Grant is the brightest, most tenacious lawyer I’ve ever met.

  “I want you, Debra. I trust you with my life. No, more importantly, I trust you with Hailey’s life.”

  Chapter 7

  I sit in the living room across from Janet and Hailey. I’ve just announced that Debra will act as lead defense counsel and that I’ll sit second chair.