“Yes, Mrs. Russell. I know it may sound strange under the circumstances, but your timing was lucky.” He turned to Ronnie, and added, “But there may be some fees my firm won’t condone, and I’d like to have the eight thousand you mentioned as a retainer for those costs.” Also, having a nervous young woman with access to that much money was never a good idea.
A thought occurred to Ronnie as she watched her attorney spot the kitchen table and began to head in that direction. She had a puzzled expression. “Not that I’m ungrateful, Mr. Stimson, but since you will be representing me pro bono, why would you need the eight thousand?”
Yes, the girl was quick, he thought. Mr. Stimson set his briefcase on the table slowly and deliberately before answering her. He looked down on her as he got ready to sit. “Well, Ronnie, and is it okay if I call you that?” he asked, looking at her quizzically. At her nod, he continued while pulling out his chair. “We usually do pro bono for people without any means. If the firm sees you have funds they might suggest I reject the case. Also, having eight thousand dollars available to you, worries me, and frankly I’m sure it will worry the Marinos as well.”
Ronnie looked sharply to Nikko, and he confirmed her attorney’s words. She nodded her acceptance. “Fine, I’ll go to the bank this week.” Her arms crossed over her chest defensively.
“Good, now please sit, we have a lot to discuss today.” He indicated the seat across from him. He placed a pair of glasses from his breast pocket on his face, and popped open his brief case. Taking out quite a large stack of papers in several manila folders, he placed them on the table before him. He closed his briefcase and set it on the floor to make more room for them at the small round table.
Ronnie sat, as did Lou. The attorney looked to Nikko still standing. “Is Mr.
Marino staying?” he asked.
“It’s Nikko, and should I leave?” he asked in a tone of innocence. He had been hoping to stay, and hoped no one would ask him to leave. But, Mr. Stimson was too sharp to let something like client-attorney privilege go unnoticed. He didn’t miss a trick.
“Honestly, I don’t mind,” Ronnie looked at her attorney. “I have nothing to hide and I’m innocent. One-hundred percent innocent. And Nikko, is a . . . friend,” she added softly.
Mr. Stimson gave them a prolonged look, and lifted an eyebrow at Lou. She simply shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “Well, okay then. That’s fine with me, but please sit, Marino. I don’t like people towering over me. I often use your brother to do some digging for me, and may call upon him for this case. So, it’s fine by me. But this conversation is protected. Understand?” At Nikko’s nod, and while he got comfortable, Ronald added, “No interruptions either please.” He ruffled through his paperwork and pulled out the police report.
Ronnie saw her mug shot lying on the top, and cringed at the bewildered and frightened expression she wore when that photograph was taken. Remembering that moment, her stomach rolled.
“As to your innocence, well the good news is all the evidence is circumstantial. I can make a case easily that the drugs could have been planted and probably get a jury to buy it. The blood test performed on you showed no signs of drugs. That is excellent, although the prosecution will argue that dealers don’t normally do drugs.”
Lou nodded, and reached over to pat her daughter’s hand. She was relieved her daughter hadn’t experimented as many high school and college students did. “I’ve always stressed to my daughter the dangers of alcohol abuse and the dangers of drugs. Even marijuana can be a gateway drug and lead people down the wrong path.” Stimson was scribbling away on a yellow legal pad.
“Good, I may call you on the stand to testify to that. We will need the names of several people to use as character witnesses.”
Ronnie gave him the names of the few friends she had made locally, Margaret and Brad. She also gave him the names of some professors, and friends back in Maine who could attest to her drug free lifestyle.
Her attorney wrote a bit more after she was finished then asked, “Ronnie, have you ever used narcotics?”
“No, never.” She was firm.
“Will pictures surface showing you in an ill light. Facebook? Instagram? Twitter? Drunk, using drugs, smoking cigarettes, hanging out in places with less than respectable people.”
Ronnie’s stomach lurched. She nodded.
“What kinds of pictures?” he asked. “I need to know. The prosecution will find them, probably has them already, and I’ll need to find a way to explain them without putting you on the stand.”