The new client’s surname was Lin. He was thirty-one, charged with assault resulting in death.
He sat in a chair in the conference room, his back rigidly straight, but his fingers kept rubbing at the crease of his pants. I’d seen plenty of people like him. The body pretended to be calm. The fingers surrendered first.
“Attorney Shen, I really didn’t mean to kill him.”
His voice was trembling. He wasn’t putting it on. I could tell the difference.
“Mr. Lin, have some water first.”
I pushed the glass across the table. His hand shook when he took it, spilling a few drops onto the tabletop. He immediately wiped them up with his sleeve.
“It’s fine,” I said.
He looked at me. His eyes were red. He’d probably cried many times already.
“Take your time. Start from the beginning.”
He said he worked at a construction site. He was a rebar worker. On the afternoon of the incident, after work, he went drinking with his coworkers. Around nine that night, one of them started talking about his wife. Saying some very ugly things. He put up with it three times. The fourth time, he couldn’t. He shoved the man once. The man’s head struck the corner of a table.
He was taken to the hospital. Resuscitation efforts. Three days later, he died.
“I only pushed him once,” Mr. Lin said. “Just once.”
I nodded and opened his case files. The prosecution’s indictment was standard. No obvious holes, but nothing impressive either. I knew the prosecutor handling the case, Prosecutor Chen. He followed procedure, but he wasn’t flexible.
“Is there surveillance footage?”
“Yes. From the snack shop beside the construction site.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes.” He lowered his head. “It was me pushing him. It’s very clear.”
I closed the case files.
“Mr. Lin, there are a few things I need to tell you first. One: assault resulting in death and involuntary manslaughter carry very different sentences. Two: Do you have a criminal record?”
“No.”
“Three: Did the other man put his hands on you first?”
“No. He was only talking.”
“About your wife.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“What did he say?”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Lin, every word you tell me now is protected by attorney-client confidentiality. Once you walk out that door, I won’t say a word. But if you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”
He stayed silent for about ten more seconds. Then he told me. The details weren’t important. What mattered was that his voice began to tremble again as he spoke.
He really loved his wife. That much I was sure of.
I wrote a few words in my notebook. Not what he’d said, but my assessment: emotionally agitated, first offense, verbal provocation by the other party, single shove, no premeditation.
This case wasn’t difficult. We could pursue involuntary manslaughter. Probation wasn’t impossible.
“Mr. Lin, I’ll take your case.”
He raised his head. His eyes brightened for a moment.
“Fang will explain the fees. Go home and get some rest. Don’t discuss the case with anyone. Anyone. Including your wife.”
“Why can’t I tell my wife?”
“Because if the prosecution calls her as a witness, the less she knows, the better for you.”
He thought about it. Then nodded.
I stood and held out my hand. When he shook it, he gripped it hard. Like a drowning man clinging to whatever he could find.
“Attorney Shen, thank you. Really.”
I smiled at him.
“Don’t worry.”
Fang escorted him out. I heard her explaining the fee schedule to him in the hallway, her voice soft and patient. She was very good at this.
I went back to my office. Sat down. Hung my suit jacket over the back of the chair.
Outside the window, the city was sinking into evening. The glass curtain wall of the building across the street reflected the orange light. Down below, the traffic lights changed at the intersection. People walked, cars stopped. Cars moved, people stopped. Everything was orderly.
I turned on my computer and began organizing Mr. Lin’s case. I pulled up similar precedents and marked the portions that could be cited. Prosecutor Chen had handled a similar case last year. It ended in a plea agreement and a two-year sentence, suspended for four years. The defendant in that case was also a first offender. Also involved in a drunken altercation.
This was a good case. High odds of success, a manageable workload, and a cooperative client.
Fang knocked and came in.
“Attorney Shen, Mr. Lin left. His wife was waiting downstairs. They left together.”
“Mm.”
“His wife looked like she’d been crying.”
“Mm.”
“Do you need me to do anything else today?”
I glanced at the time. 5:42 p.m.
“You can head home. Tomorrow morning, pull the docket schedule for the court with jurisdiction over this case.”
“Okay. Goodbye, Attorney Shen.”
“Goodbye.”
She closed the door. I heard her gathering her things outside. A zipper. Keys. The sound of high heels on the floor, growing farther and farther away.
The elevator arrived. Doors open. Doors close.
Silence.
I continued reading precedents. About forty minutes later, I shut down the computer, gathered my things, and locked the door.
I was alone in the elevator. My reflection appeared in the mirrored walls. Suit, tie, briefcase. I looked like an attorney who’d worked late into the evening.
Because that was exactly what I was.
The underground parking garage was lit by white fluorescent lights. One of them flickered. My car was parked on B2, against the wall. I made a habit of parking in corners. No particular reason.
I got in and started the engine.
As I drove out of the garage, the attendant nodded at me. I nodded back. I didn’t know his name, but he was there every day. In winter, he wore an army-green jacket. In summer, a polo shirt. Today’s polo was dark blue, the collar a little loose.
I took the surface streets. Traffic was slow at 6:30 p.m. The radio was broadcasting traffic reports. I switched to a music station. Still the same old songs.
When I passed a convenience store, I pulled over. I went inside and bought a can of black coffee and a rice ball. The clerk was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, with a ponytail and a very thin red cord around her left wrist.
“Would you like that heated?”
“No.”
“Do you want the receipt saved to your account?”
“Yes.”
I took out my phone so she could scan it. She kept her head lowered as she scanned. There was a tiny mole at the back of her neck.
I took my purchases outside and got back in the car. I ate the rice ball. The seaweed tasted decent. The coffee was too sweet. Not the brand I usually drank.
I started the engine and drove home.
My apartment was on the fourteenth floor. Two bedrooms and one living room. Clean, with little in it. I didn’t like unnecessary things.
I showered. Changed clothes. Sat on the couch and turned on the television. The news was reporting on a traffic accident. Three dead, two injured. The anchor’s expression was solemn.
I changed the channel. The animal channel. A cheetah was chasing a gazelle. The camera followed with remarkable steadiness. The cheetah’s speed was around 110 kilometers per hour. The gazelle was brought down after about eight seconds.
The cheetah clamped its jaws around the gazelle’s throat. Its legs kept kicking. After a few kicks, they stopped.
The narrator said it was one of the most efficient killing methods in nature.
I turned off the television.
Brushed my teeth. Lay down.
I had a pretrial conference at nine the next morning. I set the alarm for 7:15.
The ceiling was white. The room was very quiet. The air conditioner compressor outside the neighboring apartment hummed at a low frequency.
I closed my eyes. I’d be asleep within three minutes. It had always been that way.