Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Meet Hank
Hank Dnieper was a nasty man. He wore his judicial robes as if he were a reigning tyrant of a small Central American dictatorship in the 1920’s. In many ways, in his world, he was the Supreme Being, indeed, over all who entered his courtroom in the dusty, dingy, mouldy basement of Old City Hall in Toronto.
This red brick building once proudly was the show piece of the City and its administrative centre. It was designed in 1898 by a prominent architect, E.J. Lennox, in Gothic Revival style. Lennox had requested a plaque be placed with his name on the front of the building. The local councilors refused this as they were annoyed that his project had gone over budget. Lennox, in retaliation, had put garish looking gargoyles over the entry doors, depicting the faces of the key councilors in a mocking fashion. One stone, however, placed in the middle of these characters, showed a well known, local personality as a serious, studious, handsome figure. This was the one and only architect. Lennox also placed the engraved letters of his name, spaced at generous intervals around the circumference of the building.
Since 1898, Old City Hall stood at the top of Bay Street, with its monstrous clock face pointing south to Lake Ontario, chiming on the hour and half hour. The clock and the external red brick facade were all that remained. It was once the largest municipal building in North America. It had now been degraded to be the home of a pile of dungy court rooms, designed to provide a semblance of justice to the masses charged with criminal offences.
Those who appeared before Judge Dnieper were typically guilty of some form of criminal wrongdoing. His court was one which was devoted to “hearing” cases of the lesser criminal sort.
There were rarely serious trials in his realm. The accused often pleaded guilty by some form of plea deal. The standard practice of the cops was to make two or three charges and use the threat of more grievous one to provoke a “settlement” of sort by forcing a guilty plea to a lesser charge with some sort of mutual recommendation for penalty, generally one intended to reduce or avoid time in the slammer. Most often, the cops, the prosecutor and the unfortunate defence lawyers trying to earn a living in these cases, all accepted as a truism that these people came in guilty, at least of something, and would leave the same way.
A formidable task had fallen upon these defense lawyers. Commonly, they are funded by the Province’s Legal Aid Plan which is typically the only way in which their tawdry clients have to get anything bordering on legal representation. These last two words are a generous overstatement as the modest funding provided by Legal Aid is typically a “block fee” of a stated sum. “Spend as many hours as you wish”, Legal Aid advises those willing to do this work, “and you will receive but only this stated sum of the block fee”. The fee is a cheap one. Lawyers cannot possibly afford to spend any real time on mounting a defence by doing legal research or investigating the facts of the case or interviewing witnesses. Why bother? The client is guilty as sin and the block fee is all that they will get. Plead them out, close the file and send the bill has become their mantra.
The lawyers doing this work fit into two ranks. Into the first pile fall the young and eager and naïve, trying to find their feet talking in court. Their submissions in court are usually ones to support the plea deal.
“My client is contrite, understands he has violated the law, wishes to learn from this unfortunate experience and is starting a new job tomorrow”, is the common refrain. They see this experience as important to later take on real cases, a very valid point. Unlike civil trial lawyers who rarely enter a court room, these lawyers actually do appear in court, often daily. They learn to feel familiar talking on their feet, listening to the sound of their submissions, feeling out the judge, and debating the finer points of the plea bargain with the judge. Very little is at stake but even this experience is valuable.
They will be lucky to earn as much as $50,000 a year and underline the lucky part. That is the gross income. From that they need to pay some form of rent for their shabby office, usually miles from the downtown core and maybe one quarter of a secretary’s hours. They hope to see the end of Provincial Court, Criminal Division, as is the official reference, within a year or so, maybe two, and turn their back on it forever and ever.
The second pile consists of older lawyers who have long since given up on defending the ultimate murder case. They are an embittered lot, deadened by the sea of miserable clients that have come to them in these courts over the years and eagerly await the day of retirement, should that ever happen.
The more serious offences such as murder and the like are heard by a higher, more dignified process in the Supreme Court of Ontario. These are called “indictable offences”, similar to felonies south of the border. Hank’s case load consists of less serious crimes, known as “summary convictions”. The American equivalent is misdemeanors. In addition, there are a set of hybrid crimes in which the prosecution or the “Crown” as the term is au Canada, may choose to proceed by either indictment or summary conviction. Sexual assault is one such example. If the Crown chooses the summary conviction route, usually done when the physical harm of the assault is modest, a first time one off case, the accused will come before Hank.
Judges who sit on the more serious criminal trials will hear a variety of cases, including civil disputes, commercial cases, employment issues, matrimonial, bankruptcy and personal injury, to name the most prominent. These judges are more open to the possibility of the innocence of the persons accused before them. They have yet to become bitterly jaded as has Hank, as he has become known, to those few who befriended him, Dnieper.
The people who are summonsed to Hank’s courtroom 19 in the gloomy basement of this decaying, formerly beautiful, building are cast-offs from main stream society. They include hookers and occasionally their pimps, riff raff drug dealers, bookies, drugged out users, petty thieves, breaking and entering artists, and small time fraud scammers. Add to that list the mentally or emotionally ill, and those addicted to some form of narcotic and what parades before Hank day in and day out is less than a pretty picture.
The closest Hank ever came to seeing anything close to a “normal” responsible adult was a driving charge, usually an impaired case, or perhaps rarely, a dangerous driving case. Most traffic charges were heard by yet even a more inferior court, although such a lesser form of courtroom was hard to imagine. These traffic court cases were tried before a “worship”, an odd reference, a judge who was often not a lawyer. Indeed, at one time in Hank’s court, the judges also were not required, oddly enough, to be lawyers.
Apart from Legal Aid funding for defence lawyers, the Province also pays for “Duty Counsel” to be present in court rooms such as Hank’s. The typical DC is young, starving, eager to learn and naïve as hell. DC’s are paid a fixed sum to sit in these courts and try to help people who show up without legal counsel. The sum is very very low, as in $125 for a morning’s work of 5 hours. Above minimum wage, but not by leaps and bounds.
The DC sees a person appear in court, usually alone, frightened out of their skulls, does a quick interview outside the court room in a noisy, congested corridor and either suggests a pitch for an adjournment, where the case is “up” for the first time to get a lawyer, or occasionally recommends a plea of guilty where the offence is minor and there is no chance of jail time. It is somewhat less than a Perry Mason appearance.
DCs also come to court early as in 7 am early and, yes, that is early, to interview those unfortunate enough to have been arrested the night before. These people have spent the night in Her Majesty’s custody as the nature of the alleged crime was serious and they showed some likelihood of being a flight risk. The job of the DC is to understand the facts of the case and the life situation of the poor sucker standing in the jail cells below the court room. Their ambition is to get this person released on bail and let them walk the streets until the eventual trial date. The factors supporting such a release before trial are usually things like ties to the community, family and friends, a real job, children to support, no prior offences and particularly, no prior bail terms broken. The merits of the alleged crime are usually not a factor. Sometimes Hank will attach terms to the bail order, if granted, such as stay away from a particular person, usually if a matrimonial dispute or assault of any type, or avoid a certain business location if a similar altercation arose.
Hank also can order that the accused post a “surety” which means that a sum of money be paid if the accused fails to show for trial. This can be done by friends or family members, well anyone actually, but these are the typical ones to volunteer. Generally, this means just signing an agreement to guarantee payment of the amount as opposed to actually paying a cash. If the amount ordered is high as in $200,000 or over, real assets or this sum of cash need to be deposited.
Chapter 2 Meet Norman
Norman Echlin fit clearly into pile one as above. He was a young and very recent graduate from a prestigious law school, University of Toronto. This place spit out its students into the corporate commercial world of law in the high rise towers of downtown Toronto. These lawyers worked their butts day and night on fancy briefs such as the sale of commercial buildings, one ugly public company merges with another, initial public offerings, shareholder agreements and tax issues. The work was mind bogglingly tedious, technical and paid very well, which is the only reason why any logical person would possibly consider it. It was not the type of work which one could share around the table at Thanksgiving. “I found a hidden liability in pension fund accruals on the pending acquisition” is not the type of conversation that arouses interest in the family and friends eating turkey.
After five years, they beg for partnership, usually as an “associate partner” and their life stream was set.
Norman’s dream was to be a trial lawyer. He knew from his limited knowledge of trial lawyers that civil lawyers rarely went to trial. The life of these people was all about endless discoveries, the pre-trial process of finding the evidence of the opponent, mind numbing boring motions to force answers to questions refused on discovery, constant fights over documents to be produced, preparing briefs for mediations and settlement meetings. The paper accumulated in a simple file was overwhelming. Pleadings, transcripts of discovery, motion records for this and that, settlement briefs, client correspondence, opposing lawyer correspondence, memos to file to cover your ass about client discussions and multiply all that by two for similar junk from the other side, never mind constant email messaging. Managing the paper was a constant challenge, even with electronic storage.
These civil cases went on forever and rarely went to trial. The average life span was not quite Jarndyce vs Jarndyce, out of the Bleak House novel by Charles Dickens which went on for generations, but still it was 4 to 5 years. The risks were too high and the costs overbearingly expensive to actually take a case to trial.
Ontario law requires the losing party to pay a substantial portion of the costs of the winner. The numbers can be staggering. To make matters worse, “losing” is not limited to losing the case. Losing also includes “winning” the case but not exceeding a settlement offer made by the “loser”. A “win” of $100,000 which was less than an offer of $125,000 means a loss. That means the “winner” pays a lot of the costs of the “loser”. Add to this equation, the dollar number of the costs involved, often anywhere from $50,000 to hundreds of thousands for a trial. For this reason, the plaintiff needs to be very sure of a real win over the offer, or too stupid or too broke to care about the costs risk.
The popular joke was that only very wealthy corporate clients could afford to try a case, or alternatively, the very poor, who had no assets at work to worry about. If they lost, they would say “have a nice day” or file for bankruptcy. The average client with a house, a mini-van, two kids and a spouse just could not face the risks of a trial.
Because of all this, few of the civil lawsuits started went anywhere near a courtroom. Also, it followed that civil lawyers lacked basic trial skills, a proper knowledge of the law of evidence, how to question a witness in chief or in cross-examination or in reply. The rarer court appearances were, the more reluctant these lawyers were to appear in court, as each one knew that their trial skills sucked big time.
For all these reasons, Norman wanted to be a criminal lawyer, that is a lawyer who practiced criminal law, as opposed to a lawyer who was a criminal, and there are lots of those too.
Criminal files meant very little paper to manage. Documents were few. There was the occasional transcript to read but again this was rare. Witnesses were important, of course but usually there were no more than two or three to manage.
Norman was one of few students in his law school to realize that as a lawyer he would need to be an able public speaker, either in the court room or leading meetings of any sort. Law school was strictly academic and offered no form of public speaking courses. There was a “moot” or practice appeal in which the students submitted oral arguments as if arguing an appeal before three law professors pretending to be appellate judges. That was the closest law school had to do with teaching anything close to practical court room skill. It was far from adequate. There was so much to learn, it was impossible to acquire all the skills required to be a formidable lawyer in three years of law school.
Lawyers in any setting to plan strategy, offer advice, interview witnesses are in charge. They need to command the space with proper oratory, body messaging and all means of communication. Norman wisely took a course in public speaking, well several actually, to manage his innate fear of public speaking and gain confidence in and develop his oratorial skills. There was much to be learned still but he was smart to see his weaknesses and improve upon them. He was off to a good start.
After three years of law school, Norman had worked as a law student in the mandatory “articling” year before taking the bar exams. He worked for a well known litigation lawyer, Paul Jewall, who did personal injury cases mostly, but he was good to take any issue which required a trial lawyer. Jewall was one of the few civil lawyers in Toronto who actually did real life trials.
Jewall was a master of the art. Before each trial he prepared a brief dealing with the expected evidence issues that were arose in virtually every civil trial. This included a detailed memorandum of law, with case citations in support of each point and copies of the full texts of the cases with yellowed highlighting of the key passages. He made four copies of this, two for the judge and one for the opposing lawyer and of course, one for himself. The second copy for the judge was intended to allow the judge to make his or her own notes in the brief as Jewall made his oral submissions.
He had four different sets of these briefs to deal with the expected usual four types of objections to evidence in the course of the trial. The paper was massive. All these documents were stored in bankers’ boxes. He used a courier to schlep the boxes into the court room on a cart for every trial. He deliberately marked each box in bold black letters in 28 size font “EVIDENCE ISSUES & SUBMISSIONS FOR SMITH V ABC INDUSTRIES” so the opposing lawyer would pea himself with fright when the boxes were unloaded. He simply ordered three more copies of the briefs and switched the labels for every trial. They don’t teach this stuff in law school.
The most common evidentary issue was the “hearsay” rule, meaning that the witness could not testify about a conversation he had with another person to prove of the truth of the statement made by the witness. There were a myriad exceptions to the hearsay rule and Jewall knew them all inside out and then some. Jewall was always the plaintiff in the cases he did, which meant his case and his witnesses went in first. The first objections to any evidence would be from the other lawyer as Jewall questioned one of his witnesses in chief. Jewall was like a marine ready to fire his bazooka when the bad guy raised his rifle.
In Norman’s first trial assisting, a generous verb, Jewall, the case was about a 15 year old girl who had been severely hurt in an accident on school property. She had been running around the interior wall of an indoor gym when a rope hanging from the side of the wall somehow came loose, wrapped around her neck and caused momentary unconsciousness and brain damage. The issue of “liability” or fault seemed clear enough but the lawyers for the school, actually the insurance company for the school, had defended the case on the question of fault and also the extent of the damage claim, which was the real issue.
The lawyers for the school were far from amateurs and knew their way around the court room quite well.
Angela, the plaintiff, had, indeed, suffered cognitive brain damage due to the accident. It was not readily apparent upon meeting her for the first time, but the expert medical evidence from both sides supported this without doubt.
Jewall was saving the evidence of Angela until the end of this case as he expected she would be a very sympathetic witness for the jury and a dramatic way to end his case.
Juries were fairly rare in Ontario civil cases, but Jewall was very comfortable with them. He masterfully presented himself as a determined, but not brilliant, plodding to get to the truth, a kind of warrior lawyer. He was 58 years old, stocky, wore dark serious looking glasses, sometimes spoke intentionally with a stutter when he had none really, walked with a slight stoop, feet wide apart. It was all rehearsed. In fact, he was truly astute, with an excellent grip on the law, and indeed the perfect trial lawyer. He and his wife, a native Spanish speaker from Argentina, were each opera afficiandos, in Italian yet, which they both studied just for that reason. He presented to those watching earnestly on the jury as nothing but a simple Leafs’ hockey follower. He once stated his philosophy as a trial lawyer to Norman in these words: “The important thing about a trial lawyer is to show your sincerity and once you can fake this, you have it made”.
Jewall was a self-made man. He grew up in Timmins, in northern Ontario where winter lasts for only eight months and the remaining four are the time for black flies followed by stinging mosquitos which emerged faithfully every day at dusk. Those brave enough to venture outside were literally drenched in their blood by their penetrating sharp bites. He ran unsuccessfully in an unexpected close race for the Progressive Conservative Party as a young lawyer against the Liberal leader and Prime Minister, Lester Pearson.
He soon moved south to Toronto. His law firm was a small no name firm in downtown Toronto with no real pedigree to speak of. He himself had earned a solid reputation as the firm’s sole litigator but the remaining six members of the firm offered nothing to shout about. His cases were typically defended by one of the large law firms which dominated the large corporate and insurance defence firms. These firms were packed with blue blooded lawyers who shared the same swanky private schools, the same fancy pants private clubs in the city and at the crappy ski hills outside of town. They thought their shit smelled of rose petals. They looked down on litigators like Jewall as unworthy of their attention and respect. Jewall despised them all and enjoyed rubbing their faces in a good verdict.
Jewall’s first witness was the father of Angela, Harry. His mission was to speak of his observations of Angela’s behavior before and after the accident to lay a foundation of fact for the cognitive damage claim. All was going in smoothly.
He then asked Harry a question about Angela’s career objectives before the accident. It was a critical issue as the damage claim for the extent of the financial loss was meant by Jewall to include compensation for a reduction in Angela’s ability to pursue her prior dreams of becoming a physician. Angela herself could not recall these ambitions because of the brain damage. The evidence had to come from somewhere other than Angela.
Jewall put this question to Harry: “Did Angela prior to the accident ever speak to you about her career aspirations?”
The defence lawyer was Robert Montgomery, a smug, short man with an arrogant aura around him. Norman had bumped into him on the prior Saturday afternoon as Norman was doing his weekly grocery shopping. He saw Montgomery was pushing his shopping cart, wearing a flashy red and orange ascot around his neck yet, tucked precisely and neatly under his light blue dress shirt over which he wore a dark blue double-breasted blazer with shiny brass buttons. Norman, not knowing who he was then, thought “What kind of an arrogant asshole would wear an ascot to pile his celery and arugula into his cart. If he was such a fucking big shot, what is he doing buying his own groceries?”
As Jewall’s question to Harry came from his lips, Montgomery flew to his feet, shouting “objection, objection, my Lord”.
Hard to imagine that the court room etiquette then was to refer to the presiding justice as “My Lord” or “My Lady”. The language has since changed to the much more democratic “Your Honour”.
The presiding judge was Mr. Justice Reid. He was a silvered haired, stiff backed, seemingly aristocratic man, private school pedigree, conservatively oriented without doubt, yet still a fair-minded man.
Reid: “Please state the nature of the objection, counsel.”
Montgomery: “Clearly hearsay, my Lord”.
Reid to both counsel: “Should the jury be excused?”
Both lawyers in harmony: “No need, my Lord”.
The 6 members of the jury would typically be ushered out of the court room upon the request of either counsel should the submissions deal with the guts of the evidence which could be later ruled inadmissible. As the judge would have no idea of what the evidence may be, the request was typically allowed out of an abundance of caution to avoid any later mistrial motions.
Thereupon, Jewall opened the first box of his prepared evidentiary submissions A nod to Norman followed, after which Norman dropped with a loud slam the briefs and case books before Montgomery’s startled junior. The documents rose from the desk up to the junior’s reddened face. He then proceeded to deliver the two identical set of documents to the court registrar seated below the dias of the judge, who, in turn, dutifully handed the documents gingerly to Reid.
“Two copies for the court, my Lord”, noted Jewall, “to allow you to make notes on your personal copy”. Reid was impressed with such detailed preparation. Clearly Jewall had come to take no prisoners.
Reid stated, as he began to review the documents, to Jewall: “Thank you, counsel, please give me a few minutes to review these briefs.”
After 10 minutes, Reid continued: “This will be a good moment for the morning recess during which I will review in further detail these written submissions prior to oral argument”.
Montgomery’s face looked like he had been hit by a ten truck semi-trailer. He was stunned. The morning recess of 15 minutes was clearly not enough time to read these briefs, never mind prepare a reply written submission. He was screwed and tattooed and he knew it. What was even worse was that the jury saw the blood drain from his face and that he had been clearly sucker punched.
He slowly read the briefs. He knew the basic legal issues but the details of the brief were overwhelming and he could see no way to win this objection. He hoped the jury did not notice the wet marks left by the rush of urine in his pinstriped trousers. He had foolishly agreed to the jury staying in. They would surely see him get crushed on this motion.
After 15 minutes, Reid started the proceedings again at which time Montgomery rose and withdrew his objection. Reid knew Montgomery was screwed on this objection and showed it by his facial grimace and nodding affirmatively as Montgomery spoke, as if he had expected exactly this.
Jewall also know he had Montgomery by the shorts as there would be no similar motions objecting to evidence for the remaining days of trial. He had won the battle and indeed the war. He could see Montgomery sneaking a look at the other banker boxes of evidentiary objections awaiting him and Jewall knew he had the arrogant prick. He was now his bitch.
Norman got it as well, as he thought to himself, “Clearly this is a zillion times better than anything taught in law school, this rocks!”.
As an articling student, the only trial experience Norman would be allowed legally to do was Small Claims Court, which then had the massive jurisdiction of $400. Today it is $25,000. He was also permitted to do “motions” before a “master”, a lesser judge of the Supreme Court of Ontario, which dealt with crap like questions refused on discovery, production of contested documents which were the ultimate tedium. He could also do traffic court cases such as violations of running a red light and such, less than intriguing.
Small Claims Court was at least fun, to be standing on his feet, examining and cross-examining witnesses, preparing clients for trial, arguing the case before the judge when the evidence had concluded. The money at stake was certainly low, and so were the consequences of a loss.
His first Small Claims Court case involved a dispute between two neighbours. One had chopped down a 25 foot high lilac tree which was according to Norman’s client was on the joint property line between the two backyards. When Jewall gave the file to Norman, Norman asked whether this should be in the next higher court, then called County Court, which had a monetary cap of $7,500.
“Nah”, said Jewall, “The tree cannot be worth over $400, go for it”.
Norman reminded Jewall that they would need a survey to prove where the tree was located.
“True, but that has to be recoverable costs disbursement”, said Jewall.
Costs were usually allowed to the winning party, generally around 60% of the real legal bill, called “party and party costs” plus 100% of eligible needed disbursements, such as out of pocket costs for expert fees and the like.
Norman found a surveyor and got the fundamentals of the case in place. The roots of the tree were clearly still visible and there was no doubt that it the tree once sat on the joint property line. The claim was served, defence filed and the trial date set. In Small Claims Court, there are no pre-trial discoveries and cases moved fairly quickly.
Norman drove a beat up British green MGB two-seater sports car. The suspension was shot. At a salary of $9,000 a year, standard fare for an articling student, Norman was happy to have it. Norman felt every pebble that Matilda, named after a long last aunt, hit on the road. He kept the top permanently down as the plastic inserted windows shook violently over every bump, particularly as Matilda bounced over the embedded street car tracks all over downtown Toronto. With the top down, it looked and felt much better.
On the morning of his first trial, Norman was ecstatic that Matilda actually fired up. It was a cool October morning which often caused condensation in the fuel line, not a good thing. British sports cars were equipped with notoriously ineffective Lucas electric systems. Even slightest hint of rain often spelled doom for the starter. He always parked the car on the crest of a steep hill near his rented apartment. If Matilda failed to spark open, he could push the car to start the decline on the hill, jump into the moving car and turn it over. He had done this hundreds of times.
Norman was waiting at a red light, ready to turn left, at the location of the Small Claims Court in Scarborough, a suburb in east Toronto. The light turned green and was a flashing light, which was a signal that he could turn left with no incoming traffic and indeed no pedestrians in his path. Except there was one. As Norman made the left turn, there was an elderly lady, in a bright green dress, using a cane yet, walking against a red light directly in Norman’s path.
“You crazy old nut”, Norman screamed at her as he came to a sudden stop, “it’s a fucking flashing green!”. The top of his car was down as usual and his voice clearly was heard by the old lady as her pace hurried across the road, as she shook her cane at him.
Norman entered the court, found his client and his expert surveyor witness. Norman was not sure the expert was actually required to be there to give evidence as the rules of court allowed for the service of the expert report without the need to call the authour of the report. The neighbour had not offered any contradictory report so likely Norman was being a tad conservative, which was understandable, given that this was his first real trial. The case looked like a sure fire winner as that all Norman had to establish was that the defendant was one who cut down the tree and the extent of the financial loss. He had photos of the once proud tree and another witness ready to speak to how much it would cost to replace the tree, which was $400, oddly enough.
Norman checked the list of cases. His was first up. He knew that the judge would deal with a few sundry issues, like cases on the list which had settled, consent adjournments or contested adjournments.
Norman spoke to a few of his cohort students before the court opened. They spoke of the presiding judge as a real tyrant, Judge Ferguson, known by all as Ma Ferguson.
Just as they were speaking, the Registrar announced the opening of the court, ‘Oyez, Oyez, all persons having business in the 9th Small Claims Court of the City of Toronto, draw near and you will be heard, Justice G. Ferguson presiding.”
Norman grabbed his heart as a streak of panic fled through his body. An elderly lady in a green dress, supported by her cane, entered the court room and sat at the dias. “Oh, my God, this could not be true, surely this cannot be the start of my first fucking trial!”.
He buried his head on the counsel’s table at the front of the court. “I am so screwed,” he thought. He debated telling his client and then decided to wait to see if the judge figured out it was he who almost ran her over, he would ask her to recuse herself due to this conflict. “Does this type of nightmare to J. J. Robinette?” he wondered. Robinette was the leading criminal counsel in Toronto, a household name in the City.
The stars were aligned for Norman. Ma Ferguson had no clue that it was he who had screamed obscenities at her on the cross walk. The first thing Ma said to Norman as she read the statement of claim was “Counsel, I sure hope you have a survey as you will get nowhere without one”. Norman handed her the survey for her inspection. “Any contrary evidence? she asked the defendant’s lawyer. The lawyer acting for the defendant was a real live lawyer about 50 years old. “How humiliating must it be to be in Small Claims Court at that age, against a rookie articling student on a loser case, yet,” thought Norman. He kept yacking about how he was getting paid, win or lose, which must have been his rationale for being a crappy lawyer in this court.
“No, your Honour”, was the response. “Very well, the survey is marked as Exhibit 1,” said Ma. Norman was ecstatic. His fear of being accosted by the judge had gone and now he even had entered his first document as an exhibit in an actual for real trial. “Crazy cool,” he thought.
The case went in without a hitch. Ma found for Norman’s client in the sum claimed of $400. Norman had somehow dodged a bullet, well a missile actually, and had won his first case.
Norman was now ready to get out there and be a real lawyer, a defender of justice, as he thought.
Chapter 3 The Clash of Hank & Norman Round 1
Norman signed up for Duty Counsel work in his day as an official lawyer, called to the Bar. In his first week, he was assigned to Hank’s court. The first mission was to interview any recently arrested alleged offenders, try to argue their bail terms or at least adjourn their bail review for a few days until their real lawyer could make to the court.
The second part of the Duty Counsel job was to request adjournments for people not in custody, usually for the first time in court, to allow, again their real legal counsel, to represent them in their case.
The last aspect was to plead a person guilty to one of the usual two or three charges, get the remaining charges withdrawn and make, typically, joint submissions with the Crown on penalty. This would never lead to a jail term as Norman knew that was way over his head. The mutual sentencing recommendation was usually an absolute or conditional discharge or a small fine.
Canadian criminal law allowed for these “sentences” in situations where the crime was modest, such as cannabis possession for personal use, no prior criminal record and no issues on apprehension. That meant that there was to be no criminal record. If the facts were slightly more unattractive, the judge could attach “conditions” to the discharge, such as refrain from drug use, keep the peace or stay away from a certain person or location as the case may require.
This type of guilty plea for Duty Counsel was rare as Norman knew he had not enough time to dig into the merits of the case to do a decent job. Only in exceptional cases would Norman do this, such as a simple pot possession case.
Norman had never met Hank until his first day in his court. He had no clue what he was all about. This was soon to change.
Norman was seated at the counsel table which extended across the court room from the Crown’s chair on the left to the defence counsel’s lectern on the right. As the registrar called each case, the accused and or their counsel appeared directly behind the counsel table.
Hank was clearly a no-nonsense type of you. He spoke firmly to counsel as they appeared before him, no morning greetings were offered in exchange as each lawyer spoke a polite “Good morning, your Honour” as they approached the open area in front of the court room, directly behind Norman. He wore a dark neatly trimmed beard, his receding hair was salt and pepper, and wore thick dark glasses which sat on the tip of his nose.
He glared over his glasses down into the direction of those unfortunate enough to appear before him. The first set of appearances included those setting trial dates and, consent adjournments. The next category was to be contested adjournments and guilty pleas. After that, if no trials were scheduled, as was the often the case, school would be out for the day, often even before the lunch break at 1 pm.
The registrar called out the name of Marsha Bartlett. The door to the court room opened into the crowded hallways outside the court and the elderly gent in the uniform at the door yelled out the name again. There were no such things as public address systems in court room 19. Even today, email or text messaging to alert the accused that their case is now up is not used. Fifty to sixty people sat in the sweaty court room or immediately outside and waited for their name to be yelled.
A blond, pretty, clearly shaking, 19 year old university student entered the court room. She had no lawyer.
The Registrar: “Are you the accused, Marsha Bartlett?”
Marsha, barely able to form words, stuttered out: “Yyyyes sir, I I I I am”.
The Registrar: “You are charged with the office of theft under $500 contrary to the Criminal Code. How do you plead?”
The offence of “theft under” was a summary conviction charge. A guilty plea, admission of the facts, which had yet to be read out, no exceptional events such as resisting arrest, a statement from the accused showing contrition, no prior record and ties to the community would lead to a sure fire absolute discharge, resulting in no criminal record and no impact on her life from this date forward. There would not even be a record of the absolute discharge in the official coppers’ files.
Marsha: “gggggguilty, your Honour, gggguilty”.
This was clearly a case for Duty Counsel as Marsha could be in big trouble if she had any form of past criminal conduct or any other pending charges. An absolute discharge is a once in a life time “get out of jail free” card and was to be used with extreme caution. There will never be another one. Norman had no clue if Marsha had any such issues, but Marsha needed at the very least cautionary advice before she made this plea.
Hank knew that there could be issues if he took a plea from an unrepresented accused making a plea on the first time up. He wanted to be sure to give Marsha all the appearances of a fair trial before he hung her out to dry. He detested people like Marsha stealing from small shop owners like the Chinese guy who ran his small variety store on Spadina Avenue in downtown Toronto. Hank had read the “cheat sheet” on Marsha’s case and knew the basic facts, at least those prepared by the cop who had arrested her.
A student at the University of Toronto, Marsha lived in the Kensington market area, close to Sam Ting’s small grocery and what-not store. Marsha was headed to her 10 am English class at Victoria College, one of the colleges at the university which offered classes such as English literature, French, philosophy and the like. “Vic” was known to be the preferred college within the university for the snooty kids from the hot shot neighbourhoods such as Rosedale and Lawrence Park.
Rainstorms are common in October in Toronto and one had started up with blasts of thunder and lightning as Angela had left her apartment on the fateful day and headed out for class. She had not taken her umbrella and sheltered under the awning at Sam’s store as the rain pelted down. She saw Sam’s small collapsible black umbrellas for sale at $8 each. There were nothing like the sturdy English brolly that her father had brought home for her on his last trip to London, but she thought “This will do just fine for now.” She picked one out and proceeded to the cash register where Sam was working. The line was huge. “Crap”, she thought I will never make it to class on time”. She stuffed the umbrella in her brief case and headed for the door. “I will come back and pay on the way home”, she said to herself, as Mrs. Ting grabbed her and called the coppers. Marsha was completely stunned. The yellow cruiser soon arrived. Marsha was in tears as she admitted her sins to P.C. O’Brien. As he gave her the charge and summons to appear in court, all she could think of was her father’s face when she told him what she had done. As of today, this she had yet to do.
Hank’s father was an immigrant from Ukraine. He worked hard, eked out a living and provided the basic necessities for his kids, very basic. Hank was not a cheerleader for the children of wealthy parents who, for whatever reason, had turned to crime. Angela, of course, had no clue about any of this.
Norman rose to his feet as Marsha offered her plea.
Norman: “If it please the court, Your Honour, my name is Echlin, initial N.”
He at least knew the customary form of introduction to a trial judge by counsel.
Norman: “If it pleases your Honour, I am Duty Counsel assigned to your Honour’s court this morning and indeed for the next two weeks which follow.”
Hank: “Congratulations to you, counsel. This news thrills me to no end. Does this then mean your predecessor, Burden, will at long last be out of my sight forever?’
Norman: “Your Honour, it is with regret that I am unable to advise on the future appearances of Mr. Burden in your Honour’s court”.
Hank: “I share your regret, Echlin, more than you might imagine. Now tell me why you have risen to your feet at this moment, apart of course, from utterly thrilling me with your identity and interfering with this plea from Ms. Bartlett to this extremely serious charge she faces?”
Marsha began loudly sobbing as she heard these last words.
Norman: “Your Honour, I request a short adjournment to allow me to speak to the accused about her plea”.
Hank: “My dear Mr. Echlin, are you retained by Ms. Bartlett in this matter?”:
Norman: “Your Honour is aware, as I have explained in my introduction to you, that I appear as Duty Counsel. At this moment, Ms. Bartlett is not my client”.
Hank: “Then please educate me, Echlin, how is it possible that you have status to interfere with this plea, as you are not her lawyer?”
Hank had elected to drop the honorific ‘Mr.” in addressing Norman, something that Norman would never endure for the next 38 years from any judge in any court across the country. The odd thing was that as the complexity of the cases increased, and the courts become higher in authority, such as the Court of Appeal for Ontario, or the Supreme Court of Canada, the more respectful the judges became. Regrettably, the converse was also true. “A complete asshole,” thought Norman, “This will not be easy.”
Hank enjoyed playing cat and mouse with Duty Counsel in this manner. No doubt he was that eight year old kid who had used his magnifying glass to burn the wings off flies he captured. Hank knew that he would give Norman the chance to advise Marsha but he wanted to see him squirm before he agreed.
Norman: “Your Honour, with respect, it is clearly in the interests of justice to allow the accused access to counsel before entering this plea.”
Hank: “Fascinating, Echlin, truly fascinating. I am in utter awe at your puerile submission. You believe that the interests of justice allow you as a stranger to this plea, with no retainer, to interfere in my court room as this young lady prepares, no doubt, to throw herself upon my merciful graces as Mr. Ting, the gentleman of Chinese origin sitting in the front row of my court, whom I presume to be the victim of her cowardly criminal act, awaits to see justice given? Do I truly have this right?”
Norman: “Your Honour has indeed a true grasp on the guts of my submission. There is, as your Honour I am sure is aware, the obligation of the Court to provide a fair and just process to the accused. It is true that I come before you at this moment as lacking a solicitor client relationship with Ms. Bartlett, yet I do implore you to allow her an opportunity to gain access to Duty Counsel to be apprised of her rights and indeed to retain counsel to guide her actions.”
Hank: “I must say, Echlin, that I am flabbergasted and in utter shock to hear you instruct me as to what my duty is as a trial judge of this court. How dare you ! I am of the mind to report you to the Law Society for your insolence which I am sure reflects your long standing career as a lawyer of four days”.
“What a complete and utter asshole,” thought Norman. He was not scared of Hank’s bull shit threat. Everyone in the court room, including other defence lawyers waiting for their case to be called were shocked at Hank’s tirade. Norman had no idea of how Hank had known when he was called to the Bar. Norman looked young. Hank had likely made a lucky guess. “Who else but a rookie like me would be doing this crap work”, thought Norman.
Norman: “I am sure your Honour will follow your conscience to proceed as you see fit. I do repeat my request to allow Ms. Bartlett the opportunity to speak with me”.
At this point, Marsha sensed that her fate was in jeopardy. She spoke up.
Marsha: “Your Honour, I would like the chance to speak to Duty Counsel, please.”
Hank: “Ms. Bartlett, thank you for at long last entering this debate. Your request is granted. Court will recess for the morning break.”
As the court room emptied, many lawyers, including the Crown Attorney approached Norman and offered their support for sticking up to Hank’s abuse.
“Good going, kid,” said Paul Morrison, the presiding Crown, “Hank is such an ass hole and you are doing the right thing. Don’t be swayed, stay the course, man”.
Norman was very much impressed with the support from his colleagues, but really was overwhelmed by Morrison’s kind words.
Norman took the break to interview Marsha. She presented well for the absolute discharge model. It was a very modest crime, $9 worth of merchandise, she was ready to admit guilt, indeed gave an inculpatory statement to the cop on the scene, no prior record, solid second year Arts university student, good parental ties, and was without doubt scared out of her skull and contrite. The fact she had yet to tell her parents of her present circumstance would likely not arise, nor was it a legal necessity. Hank had already heard her offer a guilty plea so there was no way in getting around that in any event, even if she had a defence, which she did not.
The court re-opened. Hank asked Marsha if she had made a decision.
Marsha: “Yes, your Honour. I have decided to ask Mr. Echlin to represent me.
Hank: “Yes, learned counsel, please advise me as to your client’s plea.
Hank was being a sarcastic prick. “Learned counsel” was a term of respect used in court to address Queen’s Counsel, a designation given by the provincial and federal government initially intended as noted sign of respect to distinguished trial counsel. In recent years, it was handed out as political patronage, even to lawyers who were sitting at a desk all day and never entered a court room. The province today no longer offers the designation.
Norman: “Your Honour, Ms. Bartlett will enter a plea of guilty to the charge”.
Hank: “These are the smartest words out of your mouth today, Learned Counsel”.
He just did not know when to quit.
Hank asked the Crown to read out a summary of the facts from the cheat sheet. Norman and the Crown had agreed during recess that these facts were accurate and also on a joint submission for an absolute discharge.
The facts were read in and Hank asked the Crown for his submissions on penalty.
The Crown:” Defence counsel and I have agreed to offer a joint submission for a discharge, Your Honour”.
Hank: “What are the facts to support this terribly lenient and exceptional disposition of this horrendous crime, Echlin?”
Marsha was standing before the court and began sobbing as Hank began to pull off her wings from her fly-like body. Hank truly enjoyed this. Everyone in the court would agree that crime should be deterred and that a good scare was fair game, but Hank had gone overboard.
Norman: “The accused, Your Honour is 19 years of age, a second year university student at the University of Toronto. She comes before you, as you may see by her demeanour today, contrite, aware of her wrongdoing and vows never to commit such a heinous offence or indeed any criminal wrongdoing again. She has no criminal record and is determined to complete her education and become a social worker, an objective which would be impossible with a criminal record”.
Norman thought this sounded pretty impressive.
Hank: “Thank you, Echlin for your standard fare submission for the discharge, one which I have heard countless times before. Is this the best you can do, really?”
Norman, completely shocked by Hank’s lack of any civility, replied: “These are my submissions, Your Honour”.
Hank: “Notwithstanding your inadequate and failed submissions, Echlin, I must admit that I am tempted to grant the discharge. Do you have proof of your client’s academic standing at the university?”
Norman had not expected this one: “Your Honour, the Crown has joined in this submission and agrees that the facts to support this plea are accurate, including my client’s academic status”.
Hank: “ I could not give two hoots whatever idiotic pact you and Morrison made. I want confirmation that the accused in enrolled at the university.”
Marsha nudged Norman and said that she could easily get a letter from the Bursar at Vic that she was currently enrolled.
Norman: “Yes, Your Honour, this could be done without a problem but it will take a few days”.
Once the case was to be put over to a new date for such additional evidence, the next date would be weeks or months away to find a free time slot. Hank scoffed at Norman’s novice “few days” suggestion and asked the registrar for the first free date.
Registrar: “Monday, December 20 is the first date, Your Honour”.
Marsha gasped at this news and in a voice Hank could clearly hear said to Norman: “I cannot do that date, my family has planned to go to Aruba for Christmas holidays”.
Hank: “Well, my dear accused, we would not certainly want to interfere with your family’s plans to visit Aruba, the gem of the Caribbean, due to a piddly little criminal case to which you have pleaded guilty. How dare you suggest that your trip to this luxury resort stand in the way of the court’s work! Do you think Mr. Ting here will be touring Aruba with you? Of course not, he is a hard working man trying to provide for his family from whom you steal while you are off sipping white wine spritzers on the azure beaches of the Caribbean between tennis matches. You will be here on December 20 or face hard jail time and you better bring your parents with you”.
Hank was in a major rant. There was no reason to order that Marsha’s parents be in court but Hank rightly guessed that her parents would hit the ceiling at the thought of canceling the trip. Hank was hitting and hitting hard. It was likely beyond his jurisdiction to make such an order requiring her parents be in court.
Marsha certainly had no cash for an appeal and her absolute discharge was now at risk. She was in utter shock. Her family’s Christmas vacation was now bobbing in the toilet due to her criminal wrongdoing. Her parents would do a major freak, particularly given that she had yet said not one word about this charge to any of her family members. She sat down in the first row in an uncontrollable fit of angst.
Norman’s work was now done. As Duty Counsel, he was forbidden from using this position to hit on these people to become regular paying clients. He explained all this to Marsha outside the court room. He expected that she would spill the goods to her family and that dad would hire a real lawyer to represent her on the next court date after he peeled himself off the ceiling once Marsha opened up about her state of affairs. There was no doubt she would get the discharge once she appeared again.
Chapter 4 Hank & Norman Round Two
Hank did convince Norman what a nasty jerk he could be. There would, however, regrettably, be other needless reminders.
Dwayne Minden was a mild mannered 53 year old, married with two grown children. He worked as an accountant in a small firm north of Toronto. He was shopping in the Canadian Tire store, a large franchised hardware store across Canada, when he picked up at $4 screw driver, placed it in the pocket of his windbreaker, and continued through the aisles of the store. Twenty minutes later, he headed out the store with the screw driver still in his pocket. He was then apprehended by the plain clothes store detective who had been following him on his trip through the store.
Dwayne’s protests that he had simply forgotten to pay for the item in his pocket fell on deaf ears. The store was run by an independent businessman who had long ago adopted the policy of prosecuting all shop lifters. Numerous posters at the store’s four entry points had made point this perfectly clear.
Dwayne was charged with theft under $500, well under actually, and soon appeared at the door to Norman’s office in Scarborough, an eastern suburb of Toronto. Dwayne was also a first time offender, and was clearly headed for an absolute discharge. Dwayne maintained throughout the interview that he had simply forgotten that the screwdriver was in his pocket. He insisted on a trial to prove his point.
Norman explained the risk of a not guilty plea as it put the odds of a discharge slightly at risk. Dwayne was a member of a regulated profession. Any disposition short of a discharge could impact his professional standing as a licensed accountant. Dwayne was nonetheless adamant that he wanted a trial, even with the stiff fee of $750 requested by Norman for the trial.
Norman showed up at Old City Hall for the trial. The first appearance to set the trial date had been in court 23, before Judge Bigelow. He was no push over, certainly a cantankerous 73 year old, but he conducted himself with much more civility than Hank. Norman was at court 23 at 9 am on the day of the trial, looking for Dwayne’s case on the list, when he saw the notice that all the cases that day in court 23 had been transferred to court 19. That meant that he was again in Hank’s court. “Crap,” said Norman, “not that ass hole again”.
It was not long until Dwayne’s case was called. This was Norman’s first ever real trial.
Hank: “What an honour, indeed, it is to see esteemed learned counsel before me in my court. I presume that the gentleman next to you is the accused offender and if so, I will offer my congratulations to him on his wisdom in selecting trial counsel of such long standing at the bar of this province. Is it now three weeks, Echlin?”
Hank was clearly the ultimate prick. He had to try to embarrass Hank before his client. Norman had told Dwayne of the date of his call and that this would be his first real forever trial, thank goodness.
Norman: “We are ready to proceed, your Honour”.
Hank: “Very well, the case of Regina vs Dwayne Minden will now proceed. The plea of not guilty remains. Please proceed Mr. Morrison.”
“Regina” was the Latin name for “The Queen” in whose name all criminal prosecutions in Canada were made. Morrison was the same Crown who had offered Norman his words of support in Marsha’s case.
The Crown called as his first and only witness the security guard who recited in his evidence in chief that he followed Dwayne around the store, saw him pocket the screwdriver, continue his walk through the store and leave 20 minutes later with the item still in his windbreaker. None of this was news.
It was now Norman’s turn to cross-examine the witness. This was his first time as a cross-examiner as a real live lawyer. Norman’s intent was to try to establish a reasonable basis for the defence of no “mens rea”, that is, no intent to steal the goods. The physical act was clear. The Crown needed to prove both components for a guilty finding. Norman had spent endless hours plotting his cross. He was nervous and ready.
Hank was seated in a swivel based, leather chair, several feet above the court room floor where counsel and the audience sat. As Norman rose to start his cross, Hank swung the chair around to face the wall behind him. Norman could hear the chair squeaking and looked up to see the back of the chair facing him. Norman waited to speak, thinking that Hank was checking his notes, picking his nose or some such thing. A few minutes passed.
“Proceed, Echlin, proceed,” shouted Hank, still facing the wall.
“Are we in Guatamela?”, wondered Norman, “what the fuck is going on here?”
Hank was in no way prepared to assess the witness’ demeanour, his body language or conduct himself politely. This was certainly a modest case but the profession of the accused was theoretically at risk here.
“Proceed, Echlin, I can hear you, move it”, shouted Hank.
Norman was visibly shaken. He, nonetheless, proceeded with his cross which clearly established that Dwayne did appear somewhat absent minded, looked down at his shopping list frequently, stopped for 15 minutes examining different paint patterns, read his newspaper occasionally and when apprehended, immediately protested his innocence and had offered to pay for the screw driver. This was as much as Norman could have hoped for in cross.
There was no re-examination by the Crown.
Norman called Dwayne to testify. Hank had turned his chair to face the court room when the cross had completed and was in the normal position when he had asked the Crown for any re-exam.
As Dwayne took his position to testify in the witness stand, and as Norman was ready to examine him in chief, again Hank twisted his chair around to face the wall. Norman just could not believe that this was actually happening. Norman finished his chief. Hank swung around again to ask the Crown for cross. There was none.
Hank: “Very well, submissions, if you please, counsel”, stated to both Morrison and Norman.
Morrison proceeded as expected, submitting that the evidence supported the case for the Crown.
As Norman rose to do likewise in support of his case, again Hank turned to face the wall. Norman’s argument that there was reasonable doubt on the issue of lack of criminal intent fell on deaf ears.
Hank found Dwayne guilty and requested submissions on penalty. The Crown asked for a conviction with a suspended sentence, which is much more severe than the absolute discharge. The record would show a conviction which would require a condition such as no other criminal conduct for a year or two. This would spell disaster for Dwayne’s professional status.
As Norman rose again, Hank once more faced the wall behind him. Norman made his plea for an absolute discharge. Hank turned to face Norman for the first time in the trial and agreed with the discharge submission.
Norman: “Thank you, your Honour. Would you please advise me and my client why it was that each time I spoke, in cross or in chief or in final argument, you turned your chair and faced the wall?”
Hank’s face drained of colour. He did not expect such a confrontation from such a junior pip squeak lawyer as Norman.
Hank: “How dare you speak in such a manner to this court!”
Norman: “Well, surely you don’t deny this your Honour? Everyone in the court, including my client, the Crown and the Registrar and the transcriber witnessed your conduct today”.
This conversation was being transcribed by the court reporter as it was part of the live case. Hank hit the ceiling. He now expected a complaint to be made to the Judicial Council of his behaviour and was not particularly happy.
Hank: “I was clearing my nasal passages. Your insolence will not be tolerated, Echlin. I will report you today to the Law Society for your reprehensible and insolent conduct”.
Norman left the court room. He was not fearful of the threat. At least, his client was ultimately treated fairly. Norman had not been comfortable with the “I forgot to pay” defence in any event. He still could not believe the way Hank had conducted himself. “Why does this judge hate my guts”, he asked himself, “So bizarre”.
No Law Society complaint was made by Hank, nor did Norman do so to the Judicial Council.
Chapter 5 Hank & Norman Round 3
Another stint of Duty Counsel work had been assigned to Norman. He hoped and prayed that this would not find him in Hank’s court. As fate would have it, Hank indeed was the presiding judge.
Hank appeared in the “dungeon” in the basement of Old City Hall on the first Monday of his new shift at 7 am. His job was to interview candidates for bail submissions that morning at 10 am.
He entered the cell and found a beautiful woman with long blond hair, in serious angst. The tears would not stop. As he questioned Pierre it was apparent that he was indeed male. He was in the middle of a transgender procedure. He had been taking estrogen and preparing for the surgery which was two weeks away. His breasts had developed into the usual female form. His voice was softened, at least, presumably so. He looked, acted, and talked like a young gorgeous woman.
He faced charges of breaking and entering a private residence. He was apprehended by the owner in the process. There was no weapon involved, he was complacent when arrested by the burly occupant and fully co-operative with the police when they arrived. This was his first encounter with the law.
He was 19 years old, from Montreal and had moved to Toronto 4 weeks prior to prepare for the surgery. He had no relatives here, no personal contacts at all in the immediate community, and no employment. He had been disowned by his parents in Montreal who could not stomach the idea of a child who was transgender. These are all factors any judge, including Hank, would take into account when considering a release before trial. If he was confined to jail, the trial date would be 3 to 5 months away. On an offence like this, jail time was very unlikely. The expected penalty was a suspended sentence with conditions attached, such as keep the peace and be a good boy, or girl, for 2 years. A refusal to allow bail would mean 3 to 5 months of jail time for a crime that would, in itself, not merit jail. Such was the bitter irony.
In addition, jail time would mean Pierre would miss his surgery date. Norman thought that this factor should throw the odds in Pierre’s favour.
Norman was thinking of how he should proceed. One idea was to delay the bail hearing while Pierre applied for a Legal Aid Certificate which he could use to hire a lawyer to represent him. That, in reality, would likely mean a delay of at least a week, at the earliest as lawyers’ schedules, even Legal Aid guys, are often jam packed.
Norman explained the options to Pierre. He went nutso.
Pierre, sobbing in a river of tears: “I cannot possibly spend another night in here. This is absolute torment. Do you have any idea what these guys are doing to me in the darkness of the night?”
Norman had some idea. The prisoners were separated into different cells, 4 to a cell, based on gender, that is, based on their genitals. There was no half-way cell for persons such as Pierre. Pierre was clearly being sexually assaulted. “What a nightmare”, Norman thought, “This guy was at risk of suicide or other self harm, if he stays in this hell hole”.
Norman thought, in all the circumstances, the best bet was to make the pitch for immediate release and that he would make this submission this morning. Hank had proven himself to be extremely rude and personally offensive to Norman but at the end of the day, his final judgments had been basically fair. Enough time had passed since their last encounter, that each one knew the threats of professional complaints were idle boasts. After all, this type of case is just what Duty Counsel is made for.
Pierre’s case was called. An agreed statement as to the events of the crime was read in. The Crown was good to read in a similar agreed statement summarizing Pierre’s life context, but Norman thought that even a judge as cold as Hank would be swayed by hearing this evidence from Pierre directly.
Pierre’s testimony went in smoothly. He also gave evidence about his treatment from his prisoner colleagues last night. He was sympathetic and entirely believable. Norman thought that he had a good shot for immediate release.
Norman made his pitch in argument. The Crown offered no submissions and left the call to Hank.
Hank: ”I order the accused released”.
Norman felt a load of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders. Pierre smiled for the first time. Hank was not quite done.
Hank: ‘’Subject to the following conditions: (1) he report weekly to the police station and advise of any change in address; (2) he remain in the Province of Ontario; and (3) he keep the peace until trial.”
These were standard fare conditions of release and were not upsetting to Norman. Hank, however, continued:
Hank: “And the sum of $300 be provided by a surety. Next case, Registrar.”
Norman’s heart skipped a beat. The surety condition in most cases would not be an issue. This would mean that someone would sign as a guarantor to pay this amount should Pierre skip the province and not attend trial. Norman could see the point, given that he was from Quebec but this would be an insurmountable objective for Pierre, who once again flipped out into an emotional harangue.
Pierre was ushered back down to the cells, screaming a torrent of tears.
Norman went to the back of the court and spoke to the Salvation Army guy who was always there. Norman asked him if he could do anything. “Nope, sorry counsel”, was his response.
Norman took a deep breath and proceeded to the court administrative office and signed for the surety. He could not bear the thought of Pierre living in the torment of his jail cell for three months. He soon returned to the court. When Hank had a spare moment, Norman approached Hank.
Norman: “Your Honour, I am now providing you with the signed surety to allow for the immediate release of my client prior to trial”.
Hank read the signed surety and observed that it was Norman who had provided the guarantor signature for the surety.
Hank: “I knew you were less than a stellar lawyer, but now I can see that you are much dumber that I could ever believe, Echlin”.
Norman: “ I suspect our diverging views are reflective of a differing moral code, your Honour.”
Norman expected an explosive tirade would follow, but Hank said nothing in response as Norman left the court room. Hank instructed the registrar to cause the prisoner to be released.
As Norman left the rear door of the court room, a grey haired, clearly seasoned criminal lawyer, who had witnessed the entire episode, including the surety issue, approached him in the crowded corridor.
“Son, I don’t know what type of law you will practice, but please take some advice from someone who has lived in these court rooms for a long time”, he said slowly, “Stay away from criminal law”.
Norman heeded his advice. This was his last day in Old City Hall, or any other criminal court room.
Chapter 6 Norman Changes Direction
Although Norman truly abhorred the idea of becoming a civil trial lawyer, he quickly realized that he did not have the stomach for criminal law. It seemed that there were just too many criminals in it, oddly enough. Rookies such as Norman were not given heavy duty murder or major league fraud trials, for good reason. Norm and company, even if the clients were actually able to pay real money and not Legal Aid trash, were magnets for the bottom feeders of the criminal world. It would likely be years before Norman would have a decent case load and even, once in a blue moon, an actually for-real-innocent person and one, yet, who could pay him.
Norman was soon hired as the civil litigation guy for a small firm. The two partners had no clue about trial work and used Norm to keep their commercial and real estate clients from drifting to other firms and perhaps losing the client, when needing litigation advice. The work was tedious, demanding and paid, at best, average. The clients insisted on checking in on the relevant partner to validate Norm’s advice, which although understandable, was infuriating nonetheless as neither one had any idea what the world of litigation was all about.
Norm’s practice was general litigation, which meant, well, general junk. Mortgage foreclosures, personal injury claims, aka car accidents, contract disputes, landlord tenant issues, estates litigation, some insolvency work and whatever really happened to fall through the front door from the firm’s existing commercial clients and contacts.
One matrimonial case showed Norman up against a well-known expert in the area, Malcolm Kronby. Kronby had written the defining text book on the law of divorce in Canada. After a few exchanges, Norman was convinced that Kronby’s reputation not only preceded him, it exceeded him. He was really not that bright at all. He fumbled on the facts of the case and did not really know the law inside out as Norman had expected.
“Hmmm, “ thought Norman, “Why is it that he has such a well known marquee?
“Because,” he pondered, “he has written a book”.
Kronby obviously had a very busy practice and was doing well, all because he had the energy and foresight to write a book. The contents of the text was excellent. Norm often thought that he had hired a whiz type nerdo academic guy to write the book. In those days, lawyers were not allowed to advertise so the publication of the book was a brilliant way to advertise in a market where none was allowed.
Norman thought he, himself, was a decent writer. He had very much enjoyed researching and writing papers in his political science classes as an undergraduate and had done well.
Norman had no client pull. His personal set of friends were his age, losers just like him and certainly not in need of his legal wisdom. His buddies may at best buy a home in the next ten years or get caught smoking dope. None of his friends had influential parents in business, not that they would have hired a punk young no name like Norm, if they did. Norm could see no real wealth of legal work coming his way soon. As soon as his pay grade increased over the next few years, he predicted that his new firm would keep him only if his billings justified it and would dump him in a heart beat, if not. All that depended on what work his firm generated for him, which was not a good situation.
Norm wanted to be independent and not rely upon anyone else for his financial security. “What’s the point of being a lawyer if you are getting kicked around by the firm that has hired you”, he thought.
As soon as he had met Kronby, he called all legal publishers in Canada, all five of them, and had pitched the idea of writing a book on employment law. To his astonishment, one of them said yes and soon a letter from Richard De Boo, a prominent legal publisher, arrived setting out the very basic terms: “Write a text on Wrongful Dismissal, complete it in 12 months and receive a royalty of 10%”.
Norman had no idea that the standard royalty in the business was 15% but he would have paid them 10% to get a book off the ground. He was a no name rookie lawyer. He was thrilled to get the opportunity. In the next twelve months, he worked nights, weekends and actually the occasional, well frequent afternoons on the law firm dime, at the Osgoode Hall library researching every decided case on the subject matter. It was an arduous task but in twelve months, the transcript, handwritten yet as Norm could not then type, was submitted. It included photocopied pages of relevant passages from reported cases to show judges’ quotes. Six months later, without any edits, not even a comma, to his utter disbelief, Norman was a published legal author at the crazy age of 28.
There is a tender moment for every writer when a book is released, particularly a first book. Norm was terrified as to how it would be received by its readers. He was very nervous that he may have missed an important issue or had misstated a fundamental legal point. Competing lawyers are not exactly full of love for a young nobody, with zero pedigree in the business, suddenly taking upon himself such a task. Norman later thought how insane it would be for a novice lawyer to write such a manuscript when he had actually zero real time case experience in the subject matter.
As fate would have it, the publication was somehow a resounding success. It had worked such as planned. It became an excellent marketing tool. Norman had become an employment litigation lawyer. He soon formed his own practice and hired partners and juniors. Business was brisk.
Chapter 7 Jim Smith
Some twenty years later, Jim Smith entered Norman’s office in the South Tower of Royal Bank Plaza. The space was swanky, but its 1200 square feet were cramped for four lawyers, secretaries and a bookkeeper. Norman was in the process of looking for larger premises the day Jim Smith hired Echlin & Partners, as Norm’s firm was now named, for his case.
Jim had been in a business partnership with Mark Sweeny. Sweeny was the 70% majority partner with Jim as the lesser light. The business purpose was to offer consulting advice to manufacturers of electronic devices across North America to become more efficient in their processes, eliminate waste, lower production costs and other boring stuff.
Jim was a civil engineer and Sweeny was the marketing flim flam guy who pitched the business and looked after keeping the firm’s clients happy. That included sending the chief hunchos off to the Caribbean for free vacations, strip club dining and drinking, club seats at sporting events and whatever it took by Sweeny to land and keep the business. Jim was basically the nerdy grunt who did the work and Sweeny was the smooth talker magician who brought in and maintained the business. Sweeny had at one time owned the business himself and had employed a technical guy like Jim which worked out poorly. It was for that reason Jim was hired, really off the street, from a job advertisement placed with the Professional Engineers’ Society. After year two, Jim was offered a partnership cut.
Everything had worked well for the first seven years of the business. They had both prospered, that is, until Jim had discovered that Sweeny had bought a jet plane for $400,000 and had used the firm’s free cash and had pledged its entire solvency for a loan of another $600 grand to buy the plane. All this was done without a word to Jim. The plane was not a terrible idea as Jim flew everywhere around North America doing his hands-on consulting work. He needed to get his hands dirty on the production floor to see where the improved efficiencies were needed. But Sweeny had bought the plane, not to accommodate Jim’s travel, or even accompany him to smoosh the clients, but rather to fly to his hide-out at Flagstaff in Arizona.
Jim, naturally enough, went biserko, tore up the partnership, and began a competing business, all done without a word of legal advice from anyone. Sweeny soon sued for injunctive relief to stop Jim from competing. Sweeny’s lawsuit landed in Norman’s office, complete with a wheelbarrow full of legal documents. Their partnership was based on a handshake. There was no written agreement outlining respective rights and duties.
Injunction applications come on fast and furious. Time is an important factor to obtain an order which stops someone such as Jim from running his new business in what arguably was an illegally competitive manner.
Norman drafted the defence and filed a counterclaim against Sweeny for his breach of fiduciary duty in doing something as inane as buying a jet plane with the company dime, without even a word to his partner, yet. There were multiple affidavits from both sides, third party witnesses, and cross-examinations in court reporters’ offices. The documents piled up momentously. None of this happened in court. The lawyers then prepared summaries or “facta” for the judge containing relevant snippets of all this paper.
These were intense moments for Norman and Jim. Every day was spent from 7 am to 10 pm to prepare for the court hearing coming up in two weeks’ time. Norman had done some cases “on spec” which meant delaying the billing until the case was completed. That was impossible in this case. Jim did pay fees as the case was prepared but still there was to be a huge junk that was agreed to be deferred until Jim was up and running his new business, which Norm was sure would happen. The only issue for the injunction part was whether Jim could and did “solicit” the old firm’s clients.
Norm had learned by trial and error, mostly error, to get a feel for what clients he could trust or not and the answer often was “not”. Unpaid legal fees, once the work has been done, were notoriously hard to collect if the client had decided to stiff the lawyer. Norm felt Jim was a stand-up guy and Jim proved him right.
A relationship between a lawyer and a client is an odd animal. Within two hours of meeting a client, he has told the lawyer things he would not discuss with his bff or, perhaps, even his wife or partner. This initial meeting includes talking about salary or financial compensation, personal financial issues, medical issues as often health benefits could be important, and even personal relationships at home with the wife or husband.
“Can I talk to your wife about all this stuff, or what does she not know, will she be freaked about this claim against you, will she ditch you if ‘we’ lose, does she know you guaranteed the bank loan of the business”? were common questions. It is a suddenly intimate relationship with a person whom two hours before was a stranger. Norm often thought that it was more like a priest and a parishioner, with the lawyer taking confession and kinda giving absolution. Norm had a no clue what went on in a church or any form of house of worship but he did feel very much like it was indeed an unusually tight relationship which emerged so quickly with a stranger, and yet after the case was done, the same people often never spoke again. “It is a very odd life,” Norm often thought.
Norm and Jim shared this intimacy over the two weeks of paper piles, deli lunches of ham and rye, diet cokes, coffees and what became the near religious rite of a late night shot of cognac to end the evening.
The court application was successfully defended. The injunction failed. That left the claim against Sweeny which was resolved by a settlement meeting three days later. Sweeny coughed up a few hundred grand, Jim’s name was removed from the loan guarantees and Jim’s new business was off and ready to rock. All in all, a full victory.
Two weeks later, Jim invited Norm out for a celebratory dinner to meet his wife.
Sonya Smith was a lovely fun woman, whom Jim had been very fortunate to meet. Jim was a decent guy, but fun was not quite his life mantra. He was an engineer, which is what an accountant would like to be if he got loose one day from the adding machines and dark green visor over his eyes. Sonya was full of spark and a joy to share a conversation with.
Sonya had been married for twenty years before meeting Jim. She was roughly the same age as Jim, about 52. She had married quite young, and had three, now adult, children from her first marriage. Jim had no kids, and his beloved Doberman had passed away soon after he and his last girl friend had broken up. Sonya had become the joy of his life, whom he admired even more than his new litigation counsel. They had now been married for three years.
As dinner was ending, Sonya asked Norm: “By any chance do you know Judge Dnieper, Norm?”
Norman: “Regrettably I have less than fond memories of that asshole, Hank Dnieper”.
Sonya: “ Well, Norman, I share your views”.
That startled Norman as somehow he could just not imagine Sonya as a drug dealer, hooker or shop lifter entering court room 19.
Norman took a deep breath and threw out the dice: “Do tell, do tell, Sonya, how is it possible your path has crossed that wretched disgrace for a human being?”.
The red wine hurled out of Norman’s mouth across the table as Sonya responded with a wink in her eye, as she lifted her glass of vino: “Well, I was married to him for twenty years.”
Norm went from catatonic shock to gales of laughter: ”My God, Sonya, please forgive me for having said this, it’s just that he was such a grade A asshole to me”.
Norm shared his stories about Hank. Sonya was not surprised one bit.
“What you don’t know is that he took home the pornography exhibits back home to his study for ‘further examination’”, she said laughing as the words came from her lips.
They shared their love of detesting the same man and enjoyed one another’s stories over another nightcap.
Chapter 8 Sonya Becomes a Client?
Norman continued his, what was now a friendship, with Jim and Sonya in the ensuing years. One night, again over dinner, Sonya asked Norman if she could tell him about a personal issue involving Hank and her three children.
Norman: “Of course, Sonya, please, spill whatever is on your mind”.
Sonya: “Thank you, but from this moment on, please consider what I am about to tell you as a confidential lawyer client discussion.”
Chapter 9 Maybe Not? Mary Shibata
Norman had a rule about doing trial work for friends, which was no. His mind flashed back to Ben Shibata.
When Norman was about five years in practice, a good personal friend, Ben Shibata, had asked Norm to act for him. Ben was terminally ill with cancer of the kidneys, with at most three months to live. He had recently obtained a divorce from his wife which was an easy enough issue as all financial matters had been settled many years prior.
Canadian law, must like anywhere else in the Western world, allowed an initial “decree nisi” which was step one to obtaining the final divorce papers, called a “decree absolute”. The trick was that ninety days were required to pass from the granting of the decree nisi until the decree absolute could be obtained. The reason for this is to ensure all parties have had notice of the decree nisi and could act legally to challenge it if there was some issue. Once the decree absolute has been granted, either party is then free to marry again. The law wants to give a good chance to anyone to fight the first decree, if needed.
The problem facing Ben was that he wanted to remarry his girlfriend of long standing, Mary Merkley. Ben was employed as an addiction counselor and had a significant life insurance policy worth around $500,000. Mary needed a ring on her finger before she could legally be Ben’s beneficiary under the terms of the insurance policy.
Mary was a fairly well-known artist. Her specialty was “macrame art” which was touchy feely avant-garde stuff, with fabrics flowing in a free fall and intervening with one another and somehow meaning something. Norm did not love it particularly but others in the art world, with apparently much more eclectic feel for the wooly mammoth art, as Norm called it, apparently did. Some of her work hung in the gallery of a popular venue in downtown Toronto known then as the O’Keefe Centre.
All this meant that Ben needed a judge to vary the usual 90 day waiting period for the granting of the decree absolute, which could be done under exceptional circumstances. Norm thought that these facts would likely persuade a judge to grant such a rare order. Ben’s health was failing rapidly. Any day could be his last. These instructions had been given to Norm as Ben lying prone in a hospice facility, prepared to die.
The only complicating factor was that Ben’s ex-wife was not exactly enamored with Mary and the possibility she could take such a significant sum of cash from Ben’s policy. If Mary did not marry Ben, the insurance sum would fall to Ben’s estate and arguably their two adult children, one of whom was in grad school, could have a shot at this cash. This was so even though Ben had provided for his children in his will. The ex must receive notice of the court application so it was far from a slam dunk case.
Norm explained all these issues to Ben and Mary. They wanted to give it the best shot. Norm told Ben what the expected fees would likely be and there was no issue. He felt uncomfortable asking for a financial retainer from his good friend on his death bed and did not do so.
Norm first had to go to the court registrar and beg for an early court date as routine court appointments were three to four months down the road, which clearly would not work well. That was easier than Norm had expected. A date was given which was 2 weeks away.
The court application consisted of affidavit material setting out the settlement of the financial issues between Ben and his ex, his relationship and engagement to Mary, his medical reports, the details of the insurance and everything else Norm could predict that the judge would need. All these documents were assembled in a comprehensive brief, complete with a detailed statement of the law supporting the application, served on the ex. Norm was ready to see the judge seven days later.
Ben’s ex, to the astonishment of all, did not show up in court. The judge had read the materials in advance and agreed to shorten the time period to the court date and actually signed the decree absolute himself that day.
Three days later Ben and Mary were married with Ben in his hospital bed, with Norm and many close friends sharing this sad, yet romantic, moment. Ben regrettably passed away seven days following.
A week later, Norm closed the file with a reporting letter summarizing all that had happened, copies and originals of all court documents and his statement of account. The fee was $7,500 which was more than reasonable, given all issues.
One day prior to the report, Mary had told Norm that the insurance company wanted to deduct six months of unpaid premiums from the insurance proceeds. Norm freaked out as he had no idea that there was this unpaid sum as it could have caused a cancellation of the policy. The amount owing was $3,200. Norm called the company and asserted that it could not deduct this sum from the pay-out as it was a claim against the estate, not against the insurance proceeds. Norm knew that the estate was worthless as Ben had owned his only asset, his home, jointly with Mary and this title transfer did not go through the estate. The insurance company caved and paid the full sum of $500,000 to Mary.
One week after the reporting letter went out, Mary showed up at Norm’s house with three pieces of her macrame art. “That was a nice gesture,” thought Norm, even though he detested the art. “I guess I can find a place to hang it somewhere I hopefully will never see it”, he wondered.
Two weeks later, he called Mary to say hello and see how she was.
Norman: “Mary, I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you were Ok and the insurance payment was resolved,” he said.
Mary: “Yes, Norman, everything worked out fine”.
Norman: “That’s great news. Congratulations”.
Mary: ‘Norm, I wanted to be sure that you were happy to accept my art in lieu of paying your fee”.
This news was absolutely stunning to Norman. This had certainly never been discussed and the last thing Norm wanted was her crappy art as a trade off for his account.
Norman: “Mary, what on earth are you talking about? We have never had that agreement and quite frankly, I am not a fan of your art, with the greatest of respect. I expect my fee to be paid. You can come anytime and pick up your wooly mammoths”.
Mary: “Norman, I was never your client. Your client was Ben. I thought it was very generous of me to give you my beautiful works of art. Good bye”.
Norman collapsed in a state of utter shock. He could not believe his ears. He did not request a retainer from his good friend on his death bed and now he was being stiffed over a lousy $7,500 bill by this utter bitch who just grabbed half a million dollars due to his work. He was stunned into disbelief. He vowed never to act for a friend again. He would never been so careless in a business relationship with a stranger. He threw the revolting fabric art into the fireplace. It was therapeutic to watch it burn.
Chapter 10 Sonya’s Case
All these thoughts rebounded through Norm’s head as Sonya spoke. “Ok,” thought, Norm, I will listen politely and then decline the brief”.
Sonya: “Here is the story, Norm. I was married to Judge Hank for twenty odd years. Together we had three children, all of whom are now over the age of 21. Hank’s mother died five years ago.
Norman thought: “Oh my God, this is an issue involving the asshole Hank!”
All doors were now open. The image of Mary Shibata quickly flew from his cerebellum.
Sonya continued: “Hank’s mother left her entire estate, valued at roughly three million dollars, in equal shares to our three children. They have yet to receive a dime, nor has there ever been an accounting of the estate. And Norman, guess who is the executor of the estate? Yes, indeed, it is the one and same asshole Judge Hank!”
Norman could not contain himself. Sonya wants to retain him to sue Hank?
Crazy ! “How could I possibly refuse this brief !”, Norm thought. He could scarcely believe this was happening. “Crap, I would pay real money to act against that creep,” thought Norman as his thoughts drifted back to the nightmares of courtroom 19.
Norman asked the usual junk, has the will been probated, yes it had been; are the kids all over 21 and have no cognitive disabilities, yes check; are they behind this mission, yes also check.
Ontario law required the “executor”, now called “estate manager”, to show up annually before a judge and “pass the accounts”, which means tell the judge what assets were in the estate, what was paid out and why and report any income received and show income taxes were paid. This was all routine stuff. Norm was surprised that this apparently had not been done. Perhaps it had been and Hank just had not notified the kids of the court dates or had not reported to them as he should have done.
Norm agreed to the retainer. ‘How possibly could life be so kind to me?” he thought on the drive home. This was now the chance to reverse the tables on good old Hank.
Chapter 11 Hello Hank, Me Again.
Hank was still ruling his kingdom in court room 19 after all these years. He had remarried ten years prior.
Norm laid awake, thinking of how odd it was that this situation had now arisen. He considered delivering his first letter to Hank personally in the courtroom. He imagined himself walking in after the morning recess and heading up to the counsel tables at the front of the court and saying in a brassy voice, exploding with bravado, “Good morning, Your Honour, I have a special delivery, personal and confidential for you”, then leaving the court room with everyone in the room wondering what this could possibly be all about. In As the sun rose the next day, Norm thought that this far too dramatic. He had his letter to Hank delivered by courier to his personal office at the Old City Hall.
The letter was crisp. It read:
Dear Your Honour Judge Dneiper:
Re: The Estate of the late Helen Dnieper & Samuel, Mark & Aaron Dnieper
You or may not recall some years ago I had the distinct pleasure of appearing before you in court room 19 at Old City Hall.
I am writing to advise you that I have now been retained by the above referenced Dniepers, whom you will readily recognize as your children. You will be aware that the Dnieper children are the sole and equal beneficiaries of the Estate of the late Helen Dnieper, your mother, who passed away on May 1, 1988.
Similarly, you will be aware that you were appointed the Executor of the last will and testament of your late mother’s estate by letters probate issued on June 28, 1988.
I am advised that as of today’s date, some five years following the issuance of the letters probate that: (1) you have yet to bring about the passing of the accounts of the estate and (2) there has been no distribution of the capital of the estate to the beneficiaries.
Should I be incorrect as to (1) above, please advise me to the contrary and provide to me copies of the court order(s) passing the accounts.
The Dnieper children are all of adult age and clearly entitled to their share of the estate. Please provide an accounting of the estate proceeds payment of same immediately to them and copy me on your correspondence.
I would be grateful for your immediate response and await same within seven days from your receipt of this letter, which is being delivered to you on today’s date.
Many Thanks,
Norman Echlin
Norman had set the seven days’ time in stone in his mind. He waited anxiously for the response. Even a reply which asked for a further time period to provide the substantive answer would have been welcomed. However, the seven days had come and gone with not even a glimmer of an answer.
A second letter followed, addressed and delivered in the same manner. It read:
Dear Your Honour Judge Dneiper:
Re: The Estate of the late Helen Dnieper & Samuel, Mark & Aaron Dnieper
I note, with some concern, that you have not seen fit to reply to my first letter sent eight days prior. I do have the delivery confirmation from the courier with your signed receipt of my letter.
Please be assured that this issue will not evaporate. I must insist on your prompt and clear response immediately. Please treat this matter as urgent and deserving of your highest priority.
Many Thanks,
Norman Echlin
There was no defined time period for an expected answer in this letter but Norm set his time clock again for seven days. These seven days came and went and there remained a deafening silence from Hank.
Again, on the eighth day following, Norm took to pen and paper again. This letter had a more serious bite to it. The gloves were clearly off. It read:
Dear Your Honour Judge Dneiper:
Re: The Estate of the late Helen Dnieper & Samuel, Mark & Aaron Dnieper
I am disappointed that you have chosen to ignore my two prior letters to you, dealing with this serious issue. You have a duty of trust imposed by law upon you as the executor of this estate. This includes a prompt and clear accounting to the beneficiaries of the capital and income of the estate.
This shall be my last letter to you. I am now sending a full report of this issue to the R.C.M.P., the Ontario Provincial Police, Fraud Division, The Law Society of Upper Canada and the Judicial Council.
Govern yourself accordingly.
Norman Echlin
Norman had thought about how he could insert somehow a reference to the “gem of the Caribbean” or a judge facing the wall while counsel spoke, which eventually he concluded was childish and just dumb, but would have been good fun, nonetheless.
Within days, a phone call came in.
Voice of caller: “Is this Norman Echlin?”
Norman: “Yes, It is. May I please ask your name please and the nature of your call?’
Caller: “My name is Rita Dnieper”.
Norm paused as he was not aware of this name. He thought it may have been one of the children initially, perhaps using a nickname. He had met all the children many times and this voice did not match.
Norman: “Yes, how might I help you?”
Rita: “You are a fucking son-of-a-bitch. I hate every inch of you, you detestable human being”.
Norman saw this as a rather unique introduction.
Norman: “Excuse me, what on earth are you talking about?”
Norman could not recall years later if he smiled to himself slightly or lowered his head in sympathy, but as the years wore on, he became convinced it was more of a joyous irony which gripped him as Rita’s next words followed.
Rita: “My dear husband just read your letter, had a cardiac arrest and is now dead at my feet in my kitchen”.
As the estate was investigated over the next three months, it was revealed that Hank had stolen $1.3 million from the capital of his mother’s will and his children’s legacy. He surely would have faced serious jail time, disbarment and kicked off his judicial pedestal in court room 19. One can only imagine the fate that would have awaited a provincial court hanging judge when in Her Majesty’s custody. Perhaps death was the easier road out.