Keep Quiet (11 page)

“I’m sorry.” Jake grabbed Ryan, just as his son pulled away.

“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

“Ryan, come here!”

“No!” Ryan jumped aside and batted Jake’s hands away, but Jake went after him, grabbed him, and struggled mightily to muscle him closer, into an embrace. The days were over when he was stronger than Ryan, and Jake didn’t know if he could still take him. He flashed suddenly on Ryan as a little boy and remembered that they used to race each other in the driveway, then down the sidewalk, and his heart broke to think of those sunny days, now consigned to Before.

“All right, down, all right, you win,” Jake heard himself say, shaking his head. “We’ll see the lawyer. We’ll get your questions answered and we’ll see what he says. But we won’t let him make any decisions for us, and we’ll do it my way.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Chapter Thirteen

Jake sat at the head of the polished conference-room table with Ryan to his right, waiting for the buzzer that would signal the arrival of Morris Hubbard. Jake had decided it would be safer to have Hubbard meet them at his office, because if they were spotted at Hubbard’s office, it would be obvious that they were consulting a criminal lawyer. Here, they were unlikely to be seen by anyone, and even if they were, it would look as if Hubbard were consulting Jake, and there was nothing suspicious about that. Jake met plenty of clients after hours, and, presumably, even a sleazeball DUI lawyer needed financial planning.

Ryan looked over. “Dad, you look worried.”

“I’m not,” Jake answered, modulating his tone. “How are you? You okay?”

“No.” Ryan sipped water from his white styrofoam cup. “I talked to Janine Mae. I told her I was too sick to go out, but she was too upset anyway.”

“Oh no.” Jake felt a deep stab of pain, thinking about Kathleen. Her death would traumatize everyone she loved, her friends at school and her parents at home. Suddenly the buzzer sounded, and Jake came out of his reverie. He rose, stiffly. “I’ll get it, and remember, let me do the talking.”

“You said I can ask questions.”

“Yes, but we’re not hiring anybody tonight.” Jake went to the door of the conference room, then stopped. “This is a consultation and discussion only, agreed?”

“Right,” Ryan answered, and Jake left the room, strode down the hall, and crossed the reception area to the front door, which he opened.

“Come in,” he said, ushering Hubbard quickly inside. “I’m Jake Buckman.”

“Mo Hubbard.” Hubbard extended a hand, and Jake shook it. Hubbard looked to be in his early thirties, on the short side, with a bulky build in a black fleece pullover and baggy jeans. His gold wire-rimmed glasses, a head of frizzy brown hair, and a thick beard and mustache made him seem like a throwback hippie.

“This way,” Jake said, gesturing, and they strode down the hall.

“Nice offices,” Hubbard said pleasantly.

“Thanks.” Jake opened the door to the conference room, and at the end of the long mahogany table his own beloved son rose, standing to meet his lawyer, like an adult.

“Hi Morris, I’m Ryan Buckman. I’m the one who wrote you the emails.”

“Oh, you used an alias. Very clever.” Hubbard smiled as he entered the room and shook Ryan’s hand. “Call me Mo.”

Jake gestured Hubbard to a chair opposite Ryan. “Please, sit, Mo. You want some water or anything? Coffee?”

“No thanks.” Hubbard unbuttoned the top few buttons of his fleece to reveal an old-school blue work shirt, then sat down heavily. “How can I help you?”

“Well,” Jake said, sitting down at the head of the table, “before I explain the situation—”

“Excuse me, I thought it was your son who contacted me,” Hubbard interrupted, turning to Ryan. “Who am I here for, you or your father?”

“Both of us,” Jake answered quickly. “My son Ryan is a minor, sixteen years old, and I can explain why we wanted to meet with you.”

“Fair enough.” Hubbard folded his pudgy hands in front of him on the table. He made no move to take notes or reach for one of the fresh pads and pens from the center of the table.

“First,” Jake began, “am I correct in assuming that anything we tell you in this consultation is privileged and confidential?”

Hubbard nodded. “Yes.”

“Does that mean, if you were to hear information from us that might be incriminating in some way, you couldn’t go to the authorities and tell them what you heard. Is that right?”

“Correct. Not only am I not obligated to do so, I am obligated
not
to do so. Let me explain something.” Hubbard cocked his curly head, seeming to address Ryan, mainly. “The way I think about this is simple. My job is to help you. There are rules about how far I can go in helping you. For example, I can’t ethically assist you in covering up wrongdoing, and I wouldn’t. But the way the American system works is that the prosecution has to prove that somebody did something wrong. That person, called the defendant, doesn’t ever have to help them do that. You get to remain silent, just like they say on TV. That right is guaranteed to you by the Constitution. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered, his tone quiet.

“I represent people accused of crimes. My job is to represent my clients fully and zealously, to the best of my ability. I don’t involve myself with their guilt or innocence. I don’t even ask my clients if they’re guilty. You understand?”

“Not really.” Ryan frowned. “Doesn’t it matter to you if they’re guilty or not?”

Listening, Jake felt secretly proud of his son. Ryan didn’t understand because he expected the law to lead to justice, not thwart it.

Hubbard nodded, acknowledging the question. “It doesn’t matter to me because I’m not the judge. I’m the defense lawyer. My job is to represent you. I make sure that you have the array of protections the law affords you. The Commonwealth has a lot of resources at its disposal that you’ll never have, no matter who your father is. Or your mother.”

Ryan blinked, and so did Jake, both of them getting the message. Hubbard was telling them he knew who Pam was, and he had probably already guessed that they had called him about the hit-and-run on Pike Road. And Hubbard’s subliminal message—whether Ryan was getting it or not, Jake couldn’t tell—was that he distinctly did
not
want to be told who was driving the car that night, so he could maintain deniability. In fact, Jake realized that Hubbard could be assuming Ryan was alone in the car.

Hubbard turned and faced Jake, his eyes small and dark blue behind his glasses. “Now, would you like to fill me in?”

“Certainly.” Jake chose his words carefully. “To make a long story short, we left the scene of a car accident, without calling the police or 911, after we had ascertained that the pedestrian was dead and unresponsive to CPR. We were wondering what our legal obligation was, at this point.”

“Are you asking me if you have a legal obligation to turn yourselves in?”

“Yes.”

“No, you do not. You have no such legal obligation.”

“I see.” Jake shot Ryan a glance. He had guessed correctly that there was no legal obligation, only a moral one, which paradoxically, wasn’t the same thing.

“As your lawyer, I would be under no obligation to counsel you to go to the police. My sole inquiry would be, what can I do for you, legally. I would begin by asking if you had an alibi—”

Ryan interrupted, “But what if we
wanted
to go to the police and tell them everything? What would the police do? Can we explain what happened?”

“Ryan—” Jake started to say, but Hubbard waved him off.

“Ryan, that’s a good question. I’m happy to answer it. You’re always free to go to the police. But, if that was something that you both decided you wanted to do, I would make sure that before you did it, we arranged a plea bargain.” Hubbard spoke slowly, without judgment. “Let me explain what a plea bargain would be in this case. Under 75 Pennsylvania Code Section 3744, an adult who strikes and kills someone with a car, and does not remain at the scene, call the police, and give information, is guilty of vehicular homicide and leaving the scene of an accident. That’s a felony of the second degree, carrying a five-year prison sentence—”

“It wasn’t an adult who killed someone, it was me,” Ryan interrupted again, and Hubbard pursed his lips in his dense beard.

Jake felt his heart sink, but he didn’t want to upset Ryan by telling him that he’d just said the exact wrong thing. “Ryan, let Mr. Hubbard continue, then you can ask questions later.”

Hubbard nodded. “Ryan, let me finish. I think I’ll be answering your question.”

“Dad, no.” Ryan shook his head. “I don’t want him to think you did anything wrong. You were just in the car. I want him to know
I
was driving and
I
was the one who hit her.”

“It’s okay, buddy.” Jake turned to Hubbard, and the two men locked eyes, both of them tacitly understanding that Jake’s cover story, in which he was the driver, was now blown. “Mr. Hubbard, you were saying?”

Hubbard relinked his short fingers. “So in the case where the driver is unlicensed and—”

“I have a learner’s permit,” Ryan broke in.

“Okay,” Hubbard continued, “the driver has a learner’s permit. But he’s driving outside of the restricted hours, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Dad is in the passenger seat, presumably having permitted son to drive, correct?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered, but Hubbard turned to Jake.

“Jake, are you aware of the doctrine of negligent entrustment?”

“No,” Jake answered, but he could figure out the gist. “I’m at fault because I let him drive, right?”

“Correct, but it’s more serious than that, in the event of a fatality. It’s criminal.”

Jake swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t, and I can see that you’ve been more worried about your son’s legal responsibility, than your own.” Hubbard’s expression softened. “I understand, I have a son, myself. You thought of him first.”

“What’s my legal responsibility?” Jake asked, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

“You would be charged with permitting violation of title, in breach of 75 Pennsylvania Code Section 1575, and you would be charged as an accomplice to involuntary manslaughter for negligently entrusting an underage driver to drive. The penalty can be up to five years in prison.”

Ryan gasped. “
What?
My dad would go to jail? But he didn’t
do
anything!”

“He would be charged with an F2, a felony of the second degree.”

Jake absorbed the information, momentarily speechless. He had known it was wrong to let Ryan drive, but he never would have expected it had legal implications, much less a prison sentence.

“
No!
” Ryan started shaking his head, agitated. “Mr. Hubbard, really, my dad just
sat
there, in the passenger seat! He didn’t do anything
wrong
!”

Hubbard nodded calmly, in Jake’s direction. “Yes, he did. He let you drive. You’re an underage driver. As such, if your father permits you to drive and you have a fatal accident, your father is legally more culpable than you. He is a person in a position of authority over you and he was supervising you. The law views him as running the show, not you.”

“That’s not fair, I was
driving
!” Ryan cried out, and Jake reached over and put a hand on his arm.

“Ryan, let him tell us the law and we’ll sort it out later.”

“No!” Ryan shook his head vehemently. “Mr. Hubbard, let me just ask you this, if we went to the police right now, and we told them I was driving and my dad was in the passenger seat, what would they do?”

“Without a plea bargain?”

“Yes, without a plea bargain, if we just went and told them the truth,
everything,
even that I smoked up before the movie, because that’s why my dad didn’t call the cops. He wanted to call 911, he told me to, but he knew they’d test me. Are you telling me they’d put him in
jail
?”

“Yes, they would,” Hubbard answered. “To reiterate, your father would be charged with involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to five years in prison. You, as the driver, would probably be charged as a juvenile and enter the juvenile system.”

Jake heard that one glimmer of hope. “So Ryan wouldn’t be tried as an adult?”

“Probably not, if they had you. If he were charged as an adult, which is always possible, I would move to decertify and have him tried as a juvenile. Still I couldn’t guarantee I would prevail. He’s so big and well-spoken. He doesn’t come off like a child. He comes off like an adult.”

“But he’s sixteen. That’s young.”

“It’s in between, these days. He
looks
like an adult. I call it ‘the falsehood of physicality,’ but it hurts him in court. I know from bitter experience.” Hubbard inhaled briefly. “Let me explain the differences between the juvenile system and the adult system.”

Ryan fell back in his chair, his hand covering his mouth, and Jake said nothing, needing to understand the law.

Hubbard continued, “The purpose of the prison system for an adult is punishment. But in the juvenile system, the purpose is rehabilitation. If you were to tell the D.A. that Ryan was driving, he would be sent to what is called ‘placement,’ a euphemism for juvenile prison.”

Jake began to understand the implications, with a growing sense of dread. If he and Ryan turned themselves in, they would
both
be sent to prison. Even if they got some sort of plea deal, they would both serve some length of time in prison. Their legal position was even worse than he’d thought, and he’d thought it was awful.

“Most of these placements are up in the mountains, in facilities like Northwestern or Glen Mills. You, Ryan, would live and go to school there with other juvenile offenders. If you told the D.A. that you were driving under the influence, you would be evaluated and treated for substance abuse.”

Ryan recoiled. “I’m not a
drug addict
. I barely smoke. You can check it, they test us on the team.”

“Nevertheless, in three to six months, Ryan, your case would be reviewed. You would go before a judge, and you would have to show that you’re making good progress. You could conceivably be free in two years, but the system retains supervision of you until age twenty-one. You will have a criminal record.”