I didn’t deserve to lose, in my humble opinion. My misfortune was that “Bad Chad” Coburn, generally recognized as the most ferocious linebacker ever to play for the Denver Broncos, graduated from law school and moved to my rural district. He started his campaign against me before he’d even passed the bar exam. His name recognition proved impossible to overcome. Two former Broncos quarterbacks even flew to Panorama Springs to speak at a fundraiser for him. a fundraiser for him. Coburn’s yard signs bore the blue and orange of the Broncos. To this day I can’t look at a Broncos jersey without feeling irritation.
An Ideal Client: The tabloids are calling him The Clifftop Killer. He spent less than two hours behind bars before bonding out. He’s uber rich. Those guys don’t stay in jail prior to trial unless a judge refuses to set any bond at all. He hasn’t even been arraigned, but his case is already the top headline in three online tabloids. I skimmed one and read the first paragraph of the others. The story reeks of sex, adultery, and cold-blooded murder. They claim he killed his rock-climbing partner three weeks ago by cutting the rope, sending a man named Seth Bley hurtling to an awful death. The Clifftop Killer is charged with first-degree murder, which means it was premeditated.
He’s sitting in my waiting room right now. Ryker Brando showed up without an appointment. He probably wants to hire me. I need him as much as he needs me. If all goes well, he’ll be the first person I ever defend against a murder charge. Not that murder is new to me. I’ve tried plenty of murder cases, but always from the prosecution’s side. I’ve never defended one. First time for everything, right? The Clifftop Killer? Seems like the tabloids could have done better. I haven’t read the stories close enough to know the details. I’ll find out soon enough. If you live in Colorado, you might have heard of me. My name is Wyatt Blake. I’m thirty-five years old. I practice law in Panorama Springs, a ski-resort town located on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains at an elevation of 9,995 feet. There are 20,000 lawyers in Colorado, but 18,000 are crammed like litigious sardines in Denver and its suburbs. That means the rest of us are scattered over the Rockies and plains. I’m one of about 100 in Panorama Springs. I’m well-known in a big-frog-in-a-small-pond sort of way because I served a couple terms as the district attorney for these parts. But my time as a public servant came to an abrupt end when a retired Denver Broncos linebacker beat me in my bid for re-election a few months back, even though he’d just graduated from law school and had never tried a case in his life. Politics is all about name-recognition. Sometimes that works in your favor; sometimes it doesn’t.
I’m a defense lawyer now. I’ve been a criminal defense lawyer since January 1— four whole months. Truth be told, I’m barely scraping by. I close the file on my computer. I’ve been reading my late wife’s obituary. I read it at least once a day. I wrote it fifteen months ago. Every word. I take the framed photo of my wife and daughter from its resting place next to my computer, glance at it, and slip it into a desk drawer. No need for an accused murderer to see I have a daughter. Emily is six. She’s the only true family I have left in this world, except for my estranged father, whom I haven’t seen in years. I glance at her face one last time before closing the desk drawer. I never kept a photo of either Tess or Emily on my desk when I worked at the prosecutor’s office. Too many bad people sat in the chairs across from me, and some of their clients, too. Just kidding, esteemed members of the defense bar. Sort of. I keep the framed photo of Emily and her late mother next to my computer these days, but hide it in the drawer whenever I meet with a criminal defendant. A lawbreaker. A potential client. I don’t have enough of them. I head for my waiting room, where my secretary, Nikki Swank, is undoubtedly plying our soon-to-be client with coffee or Diet Coke and entertaining him with scintillating conversation. Nikki can make anyone feel comfortable. She’s a great conversationalist, and probably smarter than I am. Sure enough, when I enter the room, Ryker Brando holds a Diet Coke in his hand and is nodding at Nikki’s story about the one time she went rock climbing. She fell twelve feet and landed on her cute derrière, but suffered no injuries other than hurt pride. I’ve heard her tell the tale many times. But... For God’s sake, Nikki, don’t you know what he’s charged with? Ryker Brando doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either. He’s listening intently to a pretty woman tell a story. It’s a small room. The front end of our shotgun-style building contains only Nikki’s workstation, a set of file cabinets, a bookcase full of law books, a couch, and three chairs. Paintings by Colorado artist Buffalo Kaplinski cover the walls. He was my first client when I entered private practice. I represented him free because I liked his name. My tendency to take pro bono cases is one reason my bank account is perilously close to zero. One of these days I’ll learn to say the word no.
"Wyatt Blake,” I say, extending my hand. “Pleased to meet you.” My potential client stands. He’s a fit man in his forties with a square face, a strong jaw, and unkempt blond bangs that touch his eyebrows. He’s wearing a red, frayed North Face jacket, bluejeans, and hiking boots. “Ryker Brando.” He takes my hand and squeezes too hard. I don’t get the impression he’s doing it on purpose. “Come on back.” He glances at Nikki. “I’ll take you rock climbing one of these days, if you’re interested,” he tells her. Does he realize the connotations of what he just said? A man accused of murdering his rock-climbing partner during the climb has just invited my secretary to go up on a cliff with him? Alone? She smiles. “Once was enough for me, but thanks.” Her smile is genuine. I wonder if she’s seen the online stories. Probably not. We haven’t talked about them, and she wouldn’t have had time to read about his case after he showed up unannounced. I recognized his name, though, the moment I heard it. Ryker Brando. You don’t meet too many people with a name like that. I wonder if he’s related to the actor. Maybe a grandson? Great-grandson? Might be. Lots of Hollywood types have bought places in Panorama Springs during the past decade. Jake Turner was the first. Scores have followed. Next to Telluride, we’re the most popular ski resort town on the Western Slope. We’re cheaper, too. Fewer billionaires. I stand at the door to my inner sanctum and usher him inside. Behind him, Nikki is waving at me, beyond his line of vision. She’s holding up a document. It’s our health insurance bill. The payment is overdue. She’s reminding me how desperately we need a fat retainer. I get the message. I’m on it. I close the door. “Have a seat.” I settle in the tall chair behind my desk. He sits on one of the two wooden chairs in front of it.
He leans forward. “I didn’t murder Seth,” he says. He stares at me, awaiting a response. I lean back in my chair. He’s definitely getting right to the point. “Not on purpose, anyway,” he adds. His face is ruggedly boyish and completely inscrutable. He is perching on the front edge of the antique chair as if afraid he’ll break it. It will hold him. I bought it from a lawyer’s estate sale. It’s held bigger butts than his, no doubt. He’s remarkably calm for a man charged with murder. Unsettlingly so. “I heard about your case,” I say. “Who hasn’t? Makes a great headline—DENVER MILLIONAIRE KILLS BUSINESS PARTNER WHILE ROCK CLIMBING.” “Where’d they get the nickname?” “The Clifftop Killer?” “Yeah.” “Seth fell from the top of a cliff.” Ryker Brando omitted a key fact. “You cut the rope, right?” “I cut it.” I see no trace of remorse. This guy killed his best friend. You’d think he’d be racked with grief and guilt.
“It was an accident. I told the sheriff the whole story, but he didn’t believe me.” “Cops are untrusting souls,” I say, tapping my pen on a yellow legal pad while looking into his intense gray eyes.
~~~
At this time in our lives, many are finding it hard to accept any type of prejudice against one another. Even in a character. Interestingly in Choice of Evils, it is both a character as well as the author of the book who reveals a lack of sensitivity to many who know people with an identified problem... Yet he used it not to inform, but to ridicule... I couldn't help but remember the face of another man who chose this path. And, frankly, I was offended so much that it affected my opinion of the author, sadly...
Wyatt Blake was "elected" from his office as a prosecutor, when politics got into the middle of the legal system. A Senator had chosen a former athlete to mentor, knowing that his name value would be sure to garner votes--we have seen this type of activity played out during the last decade where, even the presidential, and other elected position, candidates came from name notoriety... And we've seen that their notoriety is often insufficient to declare them actually qualified to do the job... But Blake was now out of a job, so chose to go to the "dark" side rather than not continue in law...
He became a Defense Lawyer and was slowly redoing his skill expertise to take on those individuals who, by law, were to be defended to the best of his ability.
Blake immediately worried about the extremely rich man who had walked into his office, unannounced, but with a referral to hire Black to defend his case. He was accused of killing his partner...
It is not possible to share much about the case so that I do not give away any part of the events to follow. Other than to say that, for me, I picked up only "one" clue that put me on the alert... Because, Blake was immediately frustrated with this possible new client, but who he needed to accept as a client, purely because of his financial condition which his staff often reminded him about...
You see, the possible defendant presented one of the many possible effects of Asperger's: social difficulties resulting in an even level (monotone) of voice use--little, if any, empathy... The character was made to present as such, along with other effects, which were difficult for Blake to deal with. In other words, he reacted negatively to the individual and they both knew that he didn't like the client. Yet the amount of money offered could not be passed up and, Blake knew that, even if he didn't like him, he was the type of lawyer that still would work to win his case, if at all possible.
But that was not enough for the writer. He wanted to give a big ending--which he did. Perhaps he thought this would be rectified in future books, which I will not be reading... Yes, I am an individual who once loved a young man with Asperger's, who committed suicide... because he couldn't handle his life...
And just like many felt when the president made fun of an individual with a disability, I was disheartened that somebody chose to use a disabled individual as was done in this book. Many writers create characters to inform and introduce people with disabilities into their stories. I have appreciated those authors. I found the author's use of the legal history as was done, a firm example of just how we are losing the rule of law in America right now! We are making a mockery of the law... through lies that nobody will acknowledge as lies...
However, my ranking is only one point lower in giving my personal opinion. If you decide to read, let me know what you think, but, just like I wouldn't ban a book that bothered me, I wouldn't not recognize the effectiveness of the story for the majority of the book.
GABixlerReviews
“My favorite part was his low opinion of prosecutors,” she says. She opens the book, finds the page, and reads aloud: “A prosecutor hopes and expects to be a judge, and after that he will aspire to be governor, then senator, and President, in their regular turn. To accomplish this noble ambition, he must in each position give the people what they want, and more; and there are no rungs in the ladder of fame upon which lawyers can plant their feet like the dead bodies of their victims.”
