If you’re charged with regular DUI and your blood alcohol falls in the uppermost part of the range, they offer you a plea to 3 days of jail. You’d get 1 day losing at trial. When they aren’t anti-negotiating, they typically offer you the same thing you’d get at trial. Across the board, it’s one the most wasteful, absurd things I see in any Arizona court. When the court gives you notice of what they call a “trial readiness conference,” it says trial will be set within 45 days. They’re setting trials in late February and March right now. I doubt anyone wonders why the city’s courts are so clogged.

I spent most of the afternoon last Thursday in a motion hearing there. It’s a no-real-plea case, and I filed three motions to suppress. The prosecutor was irritated with me, almost as if he didn’t realize that it was his own office’s fault for not making a meaningful offer. However, his irritation was nothing compared to the officer’s. That poor officer couldn’t have made it clearer that he didn’t want to be there, and I don’t know who irritated him more, me or the prosecutor.

I honestly felt bad for the cop. He could be out patrolling the streets. He could also be getting some shuteye or mowing the lawn or spending some time with family. Instead, he’s spending an afternoon in a courtroom. He’ll spend more time there when the next round of motions comes along. He’ll devote yet more time in the future to depositions and complying with new discovery requests. He’ll kill a whole day or two in court when trial rolls around.

I felt even worse for the poor people of Scottsdale. That cop won’t be doing anything useful for them during all those hours he ends up spending on the case. It’s all because someone in the prosecutor’s office thought it would be a good idea to institute a ridiculously wasteful tough-on-crime policy that’s more tough-on-logic than anything else. If the zealots at MADD are right and enforcement is the key to stopping drunk-driving, I wouldn’t be surprised if Scottsdale soon becomes the DUI capital of the world. All of their DUI cops are going to be sitting in court because mayhem on the streets is apparently not too high a price to pay to avoid shaving off a little time from DUI defendants’ sentences.

It should go without saying that I don’t feel bad enough about any of this to do one iota less of work on any of my cases there. The constitution sets a high bar if we insist on it. All the government waste in the world is justified in my mind if that’s what it takes for one defendant to get his fair shake. Of course, my interests are my clients’ interests. The people who create wasteful policies have different responsibilities. They should be thinking about justice. They should be thinking about the broader consequences of their actions.

The objective of the representation in a case with no plea is still to do the best I can for my client. I have to make the system do its job, and the wheels of justice turn slowly. My clients and I win little by little with each passing moment the state has to devote to the case. Every second we spend means that some issue is being litigated and preserved. Holding the state to its burden is time-consuming. It should be. The questions the prosecutor finds objectionable and the issues that make the prosecutor roll his eyes are each little victories simply by virtue of the fact we are arguing them. The state never seems to get that. They never ask themselves if a Pyrrhic victory is really a victory at all if the person they’re fighting doesn’t suffer anything because of the loss.

There are plenty of bright people working at the City of Scottsdale. They have some great prosecutors, but sadly, they don’t seem to be the one crafting the policies. Whoever is in charge doesn’t have any clue what they’re doing, and the end result is an epic disaster where wasting resources and keeping police from policing are the norm. If more residents knew how their tax dollars were being wasted to make them all a little less safe, there’d probably be an occupy movement at the city attorney already. Maybe people will wake up sooner or later. Better yet, maybe the city will rethink its policies.

There’s an Arizona court of appeals case from last year called State v. Sweeney. In it, the court held that, after a traffic stop has concluded, an officer must have reasonable cause to initiate a second detention of a suspect. Based on the totality of the circumstances, the officer in my case didn’t have reasonable suspicion of anything that would allow him to continue the detention by asking to search. It was a routine traffic stop in every conceivable way, yet the officer chose to detain the occupants again after the stop had already concluded.

The prosecutor claimed that my client, unlike the defendant in Sweeney, eventually consented to the search and wasn’t forced to wait for a drug drug. He thought the reasoning in Sweeney shouldn’t apply. He thought not only that those facts made the detention after the termination of the initial stop de minimis, a factor considered in Sweeney, but also that consent by itself should change the analysis. He got that from the part in Sweeney discussing State v. Box, which discussed de miminimus intrusions in greater depth. He didn’t think differences in the facts between my case and Box changed the analysis at all.

In the end, the suppression issue turned out to be moot, and speaking with the prosecutor long after the fact, he seemed to think that was good for me because I would’ve ended up “making bad law” for defendants. He thought an appellate court would severely narrow the ruling in Sweeney. He thought a case with bad facts, a description he used for my case, would lead an appellate court to make the de minimis exception swallow the rule or to broadly remove cases involving a consensual search from line of cases including Sweeney. What was most interesting to me was that he viewed all of that as a problem not just in the context of the case we had together. He seemed to think that I had a duty as a defense attorney to avoid creating case law that would limit the rights of defendants.

I was fascinated that he viewed my role as extending past the specific client I’m representing. He’s wrong, of course. I could have the worst facts in the world, the kind that would make the Supreme Court of the United States reconsider the exclusionary rule altogether, but if I thought they gave rise to a motion to suppress, especially one with enough merit to make it that far, I should probably file it. Sitting on a motion that’s worthy of appellate review almost sounds like malpractice. The most harm I can imagine any valid motion to suppress doing is to make the plea go away. Even then, a good motion results in a better plea more often than not, and when it does make the prosecutor pull the plea, it’s usually because the defense attorney is filing it because the case isn’t going to plead anyway.

Even more fascinating was the fact that the prosecutor thought the possibility of making bad law was anything more than wild speculation. Our court of appeals doesn’t have to issue published opinions. They can simply write a memorandum decision that cannot be cited, and if our supreme court denies the petition for review, nothing binding or even worthy of citation has occurred. Even if I had two clients with the same issue and one had a case facts that could lead an appellate court to change case law in a way that could theoretically affect the client in the other, I’d still file both unless there was some better reason not to do it. The odds of the worse case ever making it far enough to affect the other are slim to none. Speculative prejudice based on the speculative rulings of courts that don’t have to create precedent anyway sounds a lot like the kind of dubious “trial strategy” stuff lazy lawyers often say to justify their laziness during ineffective assistance of counsel proceedings. I’m not buying it in this context.

It’s strange that a smart, experienced prosecutor would so obviously misunderstand my duty as a criminal defense lawyer. It’s even more confusing to me that he would do it because of concerns about something that occurs only in the most unusual of cases. It confirms my skepticism towards prosecutors-turned-defense-lawyers. Assuming the issue has merit, I have no obligation to make good law or to avoid making bad law. My only obligations are to the person I represent, the one on the other side of the “V” from the state.

A long docket this morning, and I bet at least one inmate will ask to speak to the judge, hoping he’ll sweeten the deal and take the defendant’s side in plea negotiations. The judge won’t, of course, he’ll give his usual speech.

But think about it the other way around. Imagine if the judge weighed in on our side, pressured the defendant to take our deal. That possibility, I trust, makes it clear why a judge must remain neutral.

Although I’ve never practiced in Texas, the post seems to suggest there’s one big way things differ between Arizona and Texas. Here, we have something called a “Donald” advisement. We also have settlement conferences. Every county superior court I’ve appeared in does both. Maricopa County Superior Court goes so far as to order that the parties in every single case participate in a settlement conference. The judges even set deadlines for it.

In State v. Donald, Arizona’s court of appeals made it so a trial court can order the state to reinstate the original plea offer in certain circumstances. The defendant may not have been properly advised about what he faced losing at trial. What we call a Donald advisement is simply telling a defendant on the record what the plea agreement is and what his exposure is. It should be simple, but it can be a very coercive thing. Sometimes, the numbers alone make it that way. Sometimes, judges can’t help but offer their opinions. They may emphasize the benefit of the plea or even tell the defendant it’s a generous offer. At least one judge tries to get defendants say why they won’t accept the offer.

Settlement conferences can be even more coercive. Usually, it starts with the parties meeting with the judge in chambers and explaining their positions. The judge, who fortunately can’t be the trial judge without the consent of the parties, typically picks a side. Sometimes, the judge tells the state the offer needs to improve. I’ve had judges attack prosecutors for making ridiculously harsh offers or even call prosecutors’ supervisors to complain about office policies. On the other hand, I’ve also had plenty of judges tell me they think the offer is fair and my client should take it.

On the record, the judge usually gives a Donald advisement and tells the defendant his opinion about the plea. The defendant gets to talk not just with the judge, but with the prosecutor. Clients usually love settlement conferences. They can ask questions and tell their side of things, and it can’t be used against them because it’s in the context of plea negotiations. It can put the defense lawyer in an awkward position, though, especially when the plea really is a great deal and everyone but the client sees that.

A settlement conference can look a lot like a set up, and whenever I think the hearing is going to result in pressure on my client, I tell him in advance. I explain that he can talk to the judge all he wants, but most settlement conferences result in pleas. It’s worst for the defense lawyer when the plea has a huge benefit. When the client is facing life and has a deal to a few years, you really don’t want to make a record of how crappy the plea is. Talking your client out of a lifesaving offer in open court is an ineffective claim waiting to happen. Watching other people pressure the person who has put their life in your hands is terrible though. It’s all about balancing the various factors at play and using professional judgment.

When D.A. Confidential asks us to imagine if the judge weighed in on the state’s side and pressured the defendant to take its deal, I don’t have to imagine at all. Any Arizona criminal defense attorney is going to know exactly what it’s like.

A lot of prosecutors send out a letter with the first plea offer saying how any subsequent offers will be substantially harsher. They tell you the first offer goes away as soon as they have to do work, and they may view counter-offers as rejections. They have to think about your proposal, don’t they? Plea negotiations are a game where the plea isn’t intended to fairly resolve the case based on its unique facts and the unique history of the defendant, but to minimize workload and maximize the efficient use of state resources.

Some prosecutors make offers that plainly indicate they fear trial and will do almost anything to settle. Others don’t know their cases well enough for there to be any logical relationship between the offer and the case or even the offer and the defendant. Some of the worst prosecutors make offers based only on a mantra of being tough on crime. When their trial schedules get backed up and they start having to dismiss winnable cases, they become a defendant’s best friend. They lament the fact those dirty, no-good defense lawyers didn’t get their clients to plead.

From my perspective, both as a citizen and a defense lawyer, the best prosecutors make offers based on the facts of the case and the defendant’s history and personal circumstances. Time-saving and efficiency aren’t major factors in the offer. The interests of justice are the interests of the prosecutor, and the offer reflects that. I just handled a case where it was obvious the prosecutor subscribes to that school of thought.

The initial plea offer was fair. It was exactly what my client wanted at first, and we had signed the agreement and set the matter for a change of plea hearing. The prosecutor knew this.

Shortly after having reached what seemed to be a final resolution, my client came to me with new, mitigating factors. They didn’t affect his chances at trial. They only made a shorter prison sentence more appropriate in light of his family situation. I went to the prosecutor, who said he’d think about it. Yesterday, he approved a new offer.

Why? In his mind, the interests of justice required a new offer. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t have changed it. He knew the case would plead out regardless, so efficiency and time management clearly didn’t matter. Fear also didn’t matter for those same reasons, and being tough on my client never factored into the equation. By rethinking the plea under those circumstances, the only thing he succeeded in accomplishing was being fair. Many of his colleagues wouldn’t understand.

When I first started out, I saw a hard-nosed and thoroughly incompetent prosecutor laugh at some mitigating evidence before saying to another defense lawyer, “I prosecute the crime, not the defendant.” Based on my view of a prosecutor’s role, one the bar seems to endorse as well, he had it wrong. Luckily, I know for a fact that at least one other prosecutor has it right.

If I lived in Texas, I would have had a little more background when I read this post by Murray Newman. I was skeptical about what he perceived as a double standard even reading it without context, but that by itself didn’t seem worth a post on my part. When a prosecutor gets charged and defense lawyers don’t just rant about the presumption of innocence, I hardly see it as cause for concern. We’re still human, right? Defense attorneys live in the same world as everybody else, don’t we?

I once got hammered for writing about a colleague after reading he’d been charged, and I left the mess feeling like “presumption of innocence” was a chorus sung outside of court only by those people with some skin in the game. Everyone feels outrage when they’re attached to an accused. Secret grand juries, presumptions against bail, and mandatory minimums don’t seem so bad when you don’t care about the person who bears the brunt of the rules. Otherwise, who cares? It’s all about fairness when you’re linked in some way to someone on the receiving end, but it doesn’t matter every other time.

In a post so perfect I couldn’t possibly add anything, Mark Bennett at Defending People explained why there is no double standard. Lack of contradiction isn’t the only thing that matters, however. There are additional, fundamental reasons why Murray’s post misses the mark, and here’s the passage that bothers me most:

The irony of the situation is stunning, because as members of the Defense Bar celebrate and rebroadcast the arrest of a prosecutor or police officer, they are abandoning the most sacred principles of the Constitution.

First, they are presuming them guilty.

And second, they are relishing in the idea that they should be treated more harshly under the law because they are different.

That last part is where I get the wind knocked out of me. It’s also where circumspection ties in. I’m going to be far less artful in my approach here than the others I cite, as the gravity of the situation as I see it depends on the full picture being crystal clear.

Here’s what’s happening, for the less-than-attentive: a prosecutor, one who once argued for a life sentence in a drunk-driving case, was just arrested for DUI. This comment from him in that life-sentence DUI case, which Mark quotes to start his post, is absolutely stunning in light of his current predicament:

Prosecutors Lester Blizzard and Kayla Allen, however, asked Ellisor for life sentences to send a message to anyone who would drive while intoxicated.

“To send a message to anyone who would drive while intoxicated.” If I could emphasize that more, I would. Should I put it in all caps too? “TO SEND A MESSAGE TO ANYONE WHO WOULD DRIVE WHILE INTOXICATED.”

Maybe they were misquoted, as news outlets rarely get it right with criminal cases, but that doesn’t matter much. Presumption of innocence and the fundamental role of a criminal defense attorney aside, this just isn’t a double standard in the traditional sense. This is something far greater. This is the kind of irony from which great tragedies are written. Mark does it justice, but I just can’t get over how amazing this is.

If this is indeed a double standard, it’s a justified one, if such a thing exists. This prosecutor is different. I do indeed relish the idea that this man, if guilty, should be treated more harshly under the law. I relish that because this man, if guilty, is different. I’m also saddened because cruelty and ignorance, when applied to one who himself has sought institutional cruelty and ignorance, is no less cruel or ignorant. I really am overwhelmed by this situation, and I’m having trouble grasping how Murray’s response can possibly make sense.

What about a defendant who is treated more harshly after being convicted of child rape because he was convicted of committing the offense at a time when he was entrusted with the child’s care after she had been raped by someone else? Would Murray view that as a double-standard? My analogy is crude, to say the least, but not as far off as it might seem. Isn’t someone more culpable than he would otherwise be for doing something if he was endowed with and had in fact exercised incredible power against others in order to prevent them from doing the very thing he was convicted of doing? Do additional circumstances beyond his control change things? Do they make him different from the supposed monsters he once fought?

This isn’t something that would ever cross my mind if 99.9% of prosecutors I know were arrested for DUI. I would normally rant against the DUI laws and other bullshit legislation after hearing they were charged. The system is unbelievably unfair when you don’t sign up for the insanity. If you wrote it, enforced it, or upheld it, you won’t see a lot of sympathy from me when you break it, if in fact you broke it. Even if you didn’t break it, if you supported the laws that made you likely to be wrongfully convicted of breaking it, you won’t get any sympathy. But then again, depending on the case, I probably could put my feelings aside and give my heart to the representation.

The situation is remarkable, obviously. It’s like anti-gay Republicans getting busted for rest area blow jobs and tax-and-spend Democrats getting busted for hiding assets from the IRS. It has all the makings of a great tragedy. It is a unique situation. It is something I will think about for months, maybe years to come. My feelings about the situation, however, are not evidence of any kind of double standard. Of that much I am sure.

The crime was supposedly possession of marijuana, and my client is a first-time offender. The state has a serious uphill battle in the case, as the stop is questionable, the search is questionable, and the facts are about as good as they get for trial purposes. He may lose, as the odds never really exceed fifty-fifty when you’re playing with a jury, but he has no real risk at trial; he’s ineligible for jail even if he loses.

Unfortunately, my client missed two hearings in a row. He missed the first because he had a severe allergic reaction to medication. When the commissioner showed a rare hint of compassion and reset it for the next day instead of issuing a warrant, my client missed the second because he couldn’t get a ride on such short notice. With Phoenix’s urban sprawl and lack of good mass transit, transportation is often an issue. Judges, of course, don’t care. It isn’t like they’ve ever had to take a bus to court from where many of my clients live.

My client, who couldn’t get jail losing at trial, was picked up right away and held in custody on a very small bond he couldn’t possibly afford. His initial appearance on the warrant was in front of a commissioner I’ve mentioned before, and she held true to form. She wouldn’t even consider new release conditions and insisted the assigned commissioner address the issue later.

The assigned commissioner was another person I’ve mentioned before, someone isn’t exactly a defendant’s best friend. That poor client sure does have some bad luck. Her assistant wouldn’t set a release hearing in advance. Instead, she suggested I file a motion to modify. Courts assume defense lawyers are lazy, so they often request motions knowing the lawyers won’t follow through. It has to work on somebody or they wouldn’t do it. I suspect that’s what she was doing. It definitely doesn’t work on me, however, and I got the motion filed right away. I did everything I could to stress its urgency.

I expected my motion would go unnoticed. I expected the assistant would screen my calls and ignore my messages asking for the earliest possible hearing date. I expected the prosecutor would be unavailable, fail to respond, and further stall the proceedings. I prepared for spending hours on the phone just trying to get an opportunity to be heard by someone, and I anticipated dealing with attempts by the court to ignore my motion without considering my arguments at all. Courts love to claim there’s no change in circumstances or that the state needs ten days to respond in order to put off dealing with the merits of motions to modify release conditions. I fully expected to encounter every conceivable snag in this case. I was certain that making sure my client wouldn’t spend the holidays in jail was going to be one hell of a battle.

My expectations turned out to be wrong, and I couldn’t be happier about it. The very next morning I got a call from the initial appearance commissioner’s clerk asking how soon I could be in court. She was in a remarkably perky mood. Another commissioner was covering the morning docket and had noticed my motion. He wanted to get me and the prosecutor there right away to issue a ruling, so I rushed to court. To my surprise, the prosecutor was actually there. She’d even written a response to my motion and agreed to release. The commissioner called the case, granted my motion, and ordered that my client be released. It happened so quickly it felt surreal. My client was out within hours.

It took a few moments of calm on the drive home for me to really think about how remarkable that situation was. The motion actually made it in front of a judicial officer within 24 hours. That’s fairly unusual, but not as unusual as the fact that judicial officer happened to be someone who was sympathetic to my arguments. Even more unusual is the fact he happened to have the time to read it before starting the morning docket. His clerk made the calls promptly, and perhaps most surprisingly, the prosecutor acted quickly too. Many prosecutors would see my client being taken into custody as the perfect opportunity to try to force a plea out of him by opposing release absent some kind of agreement. Instead, she stipulated knowing she’ll now be dealing with multiple motions and a jury trial before spring.

The system doesn’t always work like that. In fact, it almost never works like that. I hope the prosecutor doesn’t get in trouble for stipulating to release. She may; I know it’s happened before to her colleagues. I hope the commissioner doesn’t get in trouble for hearing it so quickly and ruling in my favor. He may too; I hear he’s had complaints from his colleagues for doing similar things. Every time someone does something to help a defendant, it seems like they’re setting themselves up for problems later on.

I shouldn’t keep focusing on the negative. Instead, I should focus on the fact my client is out of custody for the holidays. He’s lucky to have gotten a little bit of fairness out of a generally unfair system. Our system don’t always suck, and I should at least be a little happy about that.

From the beginning, my client has wanted to plead. He just doesn’t want to lose his license for a year, which is the case with DUI drugs, so we asked for him to plead to DUI for being impaired to the slightest degree, a different subsection with a 90-day license suspension attached. It’s a case where the supposed marijuana use was a day before driving. My client is young and has no prior criminal history. The facts of the case as well as my client’s personal circumstances are very sympathetic. My client’s was a modest request at best.

The prosecutor’s response to why she couldn’t make my client a regular DUI offer was that there was no drinking involved. “There’s no factual basis for impairment or alcohol,” she said. Immediately, I asked, “so if my client had been drinking before he drove, we probably could have worked out a deal to a lesser DUI?” She seemed to think so, which led me to my next question: “should I then advise clients that, if they’ve ingested marijuana, they are best off also consuming alcohol prior to driving?”

My question resulted in a long, confused silence. Somehow, I don’t think her office has really thought its policies through.

I’ve written before about prosecutors offering pleas that no defendant in his or her right mind should ever accept. I’ve also written before about Arizona’s DUI drug statute. I haven’t written about how defense lawyers are enabling and even encouraging prosecutors to offer worthless pleas to defendants in drug DUI cases.

A plea should give a defendant some benefit. Otherwise, there’s little if any reason not to go to trial. Prosecutors seemed to know that before, as the standard offer for a first time drug DUI in many courts used to be a plea to an “A1″ DUI stipulating to nothing more than the absolute mandatory minimums. “A1″ refers to the statute subsection for driving while impaired to the slightest degree. By pleading to being impaired to the slightest degree rather than to having certain drugs or metabolites in your system, you would face a 90-day license suspension instead of a one-year license suspension. It makes for only a marginally decent plea at best, but at least it was something.

Now, I’m seeing the standard offer become a straight-up plea to the charge. If you want to do the plea under A1, the prosecutor will let you, but it will be amended to show drugs were involved. The court abstract will show that, which is the problem. The Arizona MVD relies on the abstract in determining the appropriate license suspension. It doesn’t matter if the plea is an A3 (the DUI drug subsection) or an A1 involving drugs. You will get your license suspended for a year if the abstract shows it’s a drug DUI.

I’ve sat in court a few times over the past months and watched defense attorneys plead client after client to that standard offer. In most cases, I think it’s borderline malpractice.

I have never heard of anyone taking a DUI drug case to trial, losing, and getting more than the mandatory minimums. It’s possible, and I’m sure it’s happened, but it certainly isn’t likely. Tell your clients it can happen, of course, but be realistic. Explain to them that there is a possibility of 6 months jail, 5 full years of probation, and $2,500.00 in fines plus a huge surcharge on top of other DUI-specific fines, assessments, and other costs. Tell them that, but say that remote possibility is the only reason not to fight the hell out of the case. If defense lawyers would suck it up, get off their asses, and take every “standard offer” case to trial, the offers would starting getting better across the board.

To my disbelief, defense attorneys actually argue with me on this. One argument goes something like this: “I can’t afford to try all of these cases; if I do that, I will have to charge more and get fewer clients.” Since when do our finances clients dictate how diligently we represent existing clients? For some lawyers, I guess it must. If you’re making that argument, don’t ever expect a referral from me. Charge what it takes for you to do the job right.

I’ve also heard this one: “by taking anything to trial where the plea doesn’t offer any benefit, you’re suggesting clients pay for an outcome, not professional services.” I don’t buy it. There are times that I’ve poured my heart and soul into a case and gotten no movement on a plea. The goal is always the best possible outcome for the client. The agreement is always for my absolute best efforts, and every client understands and acknowledges in writing that they’re paying for that, not a guarantee that some ideal result will occur. Any lawyer who can’t understand the difference is a bar complaint waiting to happen.

Prosecutors make these non-offers because defense attorneys let their clients take them. There’s absolutely no excuse for enabling prosecutors who don’t understand the concept of a plea bargain to go around screwing defendants. Defense attorneys need to quit it. Prosecutors couldn’t do this without our help.

The victim in one of my domestic violence cases has recanted. She is very eager to tell everyone, myself included, that she lied about what happened and wants the prosecutor to dismiss the charges. I know for a fact she told the prosecutor she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the case and was not willing to participate in any way. The letter I sent to the prosecutor reminding him of his obligations under Brady and Kyles demanded, among many other things, interviews with all of the prosecution’s witnesses. The victim, of course, is one of them.

Keeping in mind the fact I know the victim told the prosecution she would not cooperate with them or participate in the case because she wanted the charges dropped, consider the following sentence:

Note; [the victim] wishes not to be interviewed.

That appeared in the prosecutor’s written response to my letter. I think it’s seriously misleading, if not an outright lie. Your thoughts?

Downtown RCC is in the basement of the central court building. When you get out of the elevator, you walk down a hallway and go to an area that looks a little bit like an airport terminal. There’s a line to check in, a help desk, and seating for defendants. I often see a private attorney or two waiting in line with the criminal defendants. I once asked the lady at the desk if I was supposed to wait in line and she couldn’t give me an answer. I never check in, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m supposed to. Awkwardly standing around not feeling entirely sure about what to do is a recurring theme at the Downtown RCC. I think they cultivate that.

If you want to talk with the prosecutor, you have to go to the negotiation room. To get there, private attorneys have to go stand by a locked door and wait for someone with access to open it. It’s usually a public defender who lets you in. Sometimes, it’s a sheriff’s deputy, but that will only get you through the first door. You’ll just end up stuck between two locked doors, waiting for a public defender to let you through the second. Nothing says professionalism quite like looking like a poor puppy dog stuck outside, patiently waiting for someone to let you in.

After you get past those doors, you’re in the public defender’s office. To get to the negotiation room, you need to walk past cubicles, a copying machine, and a conference table. Three right turns and you’re there. Of course, then you have to get in touch with the prosecutor. There’s a dry erase board that usually lists the prosecutors and their extensions. You have to figure out who’s assigned then give him or her a call using a phone in the negotiation room. After using the county attorney hot-line, you get to wait again.

Getting to the phone in the negotiation room is reminiscent of the opening sequence of Get Smart. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but it’s definitely more complex than it needs to be. Plus, I think the negotiation room is actually directly adjacent to where where you have to wait for a public defender at the beginning. Would an extra door have been that difficult? Also, the prosecutor’s office has a little window next to where you first wait. Couldn’t they just put someone there and have them get the assigned prosecutor if you need to talk? Never mind, that makes too much sense.

In the negotiation room, you’ll probably find the police reports and a plea. The prosecutor you’ve summoned on the bat-phone is usually going to be one of a generally pleasant group of lawyers. The problem is that they have basically no discretion to do anything. Except in the rarest of circumstances, they can’t change the plea, approve that extra continuance, or dismiss a guaranteed loser of a case for the State. They’ll tell you with a smile that they can’t do a damn thing to help you. At least you’ll know who does have authority to approve your deviation request when you write it.

After accomplishing a whole bunch of nothing, you’ll probably want to communicate what’s happened to your client. If your client is in custody, the fun has just started. You get to backtrack through the cubicles and enter a hallway with little visitation booths. That’s where you get to wait looking helpless until a sheriff’s deputy gets your client for you. You’d better be patient. There’s a good chance you’ll get to wait quite a while before you can contact a deputy to get your client, and a great chance you’ll have another significant chunk of time to wait before seeing your client.

If your client only speaks Spanish and you want an interpreter, you’d better clear your schedule for a day. Okay, okay. Not really. But it seems like that. Downtown RCC experts tell me a defense lawyer’s best bet for an interpreter is waiting outside of those first two locked doors. Instead of looking like a house pet that’s been locked out, you now get to look like a zombie. For best results, approach every professional-looking person who walks by and desperately asking them if they’re an interpreter. If you get one, you begin the process described in the preceding paragraph.

I wouldn’t shed a tear if I never had another Downtown RCC case. I might like it if I was a public defender or a prosecutor (or someone who liked watching private attorneys look dumb, for that matter), but even public defenders and prosecutors seem to hate it.

Every RCC experience I have leaves me wondering who thought it would be a good idea to set it up the way it is. Anyone know? More importantly, if any of you know, do you know if they still like their idea?