I am bustling around trying to get organized for the memorial service, since I have confirmation that my 91-year-old-date will be ready for pick up at his residence over in Ballston at 12:45.

The man we will memorialize was blown up in an IED attack in Iraq last year and struggled with PTSD since returning. He took his own life two weeks ago, unable to cope or re-engage with his wife and two kids. His Dad is an old shipmate of ours, so it is important to show solidarity for his memory an the other wounded warriors.

It means a trip to Leesburg, but that in inconsequential for me, though a bit of a haul for Mac. But it is to convey the understanding that we know this was a combat death, albeit delayed, and not some character flaw.

It is really sad. We talked about it at Willow the other night, about the tragedy of the extended adventure in Iraq, along with a zillion other things.

“Did you see the President’s motorcade?” I said, to no one in particular. “It was amazing. There must have been fifty vehicles rolling through Zumbrota, Minnesota. It was a great YouTube video.”

“He has the same thing on Martha’s Vineyard to take the girls to the book store,” said Old Jim from the apex of the Amen Corner. “Funny how out of place Imperial Washington is when it travels to the real world.”

“The vacation entourage is supposed to be 150 people,” I said. “And they brought two mobile cell towers with them so they can yack on their phones. I don’t begrudge the President some connectivity, but the whole thing seems sort of excessive, given the times.”

“No wonder we are out of touch,” said Old Jim. “But that is not the only strange stuff that is going on.” Elisabeth-with-an-S was behind the bar, and walked over to give me tulip glass and swirl some cool crisp happy hour white into my glass. As you know, she is actually a credentialed attorney, and only biding her time on the other side of the bar until something suitable comes along.

I asked her how she was doing, and if she liked the picture I took of her when Mac and I were there.

“Didn’t have a chance to look,” she said. “Been here all day, and the free time on break I was following the Memphis Three.”

“That is a strange thing. I didn’t recall the original trial, but it was something about murdered Cub Scouts and Satanism, right? It sounded horrible.”

Elisabeth nodded. “The case had everything. Coerced confessions, contradictory DNS evidence, all sorts of stuff. The three of them became quite the cause celebe.”

“Well, yeah, but that is what I didn’t understand from the news on the radio. Didn’t they plead guilty and then were let go? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It is a seemingly contradictory deal,” she said. “That is why I find it professionally interesting, and I get to follow the legal reasoning.”

“Like Spiro Agnew and the nolo contender plea?”

“Sort of. Judge Laser vacated the convictions of the three, including the capital murder charges. The three then declared their innocence, were found guilty an allowed to walk free.”

“You got to help me, Councilor. How does that work?”

“It is a thing called the ‘Alford Plea,’ which is a legal mechanism by which defendants are allowed to maintain their innocence, and are only pleading guilty because they consider it in their best interest. The judge ordered a new trial, then he sentenced them to time-served. The prosecution didn’t think it was worth going through the motions to do anything else, since a lot of evidence has disappeared over the years and witnesses have changed their minds about their testimony.”

“Let me get it straight. The three Cub Scouts are still dead, the convicted murderers are walking free and no one did it?”

“Essentially. The only DNA evidence left is connected to one of the kid’s stepfathers, so this is going to go into the Cold Case bin. An Alford Plea means that someone is going to be responsible, for the record, but both sides acknowledge that it probably didn’t happen that way.”

“It’s creepy,” I said. “How do you attorneys live with yourselves?”

“We tend bar,” She said, topping up the happy hour white. “But look at it this way. I am waiting for a chance to get into the public interest side of the law and do the right thing.”

“I know one thing that would be in the public interest,” I said. “You may be too young to remember, but after the Savings and Loan collapse in the ‘80s and early ‘90s, hundred of those bastard bankers were indicted and a lot of them, including Charlie Keating, went to jail. He got a dozen years in the slammer for fraud.”

“I am old enough to remember precedent,” she laughed, her chestnut ponytail swinging merrily. “That is what we lawyers do.”

“Well, Keating got his conviction overturned with plea bargain.”

“I think he still did some hard time, though. I don’t recall whether it was an Alford Plea or not that got him off with time served.”

“One thing is for sure,” growled Old Jim. “Not one person of any consequence has paid a damned thing for the aftermath of the credit crisis and the real estate melt-down. Not one indictment and not one day of jail time.”

“Maybe that’s because we haven’t reached the aftermath yet,” I said. “Maybe everyone got an Alford Plea already. Or maybe it’s only just begun.”

“I remember a song by that name,” said Elisabeth brightly. “It was popular back before I was born.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“Carpenters. 1970,” said Old Jim with a scowl. “When things didn’t make any more sense than they do now. And we had only got started on things.”

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com