The caller was a young woman who, for reasons never quite explained, was tasked with saving the life of a friend who was being prosecuted for a low-level felony.  There didn’t seem to be much question of whether the crime had been committed. He did what we tell everyone never to do; he immediately explained.  It was not an act of malevolence, but ignorance.  He meant well, as if anyone cared.  But that’s not what made it interesting.

The woman had no idea how to perform her task.  She wasn’t friendly with anyone on the street who could give her a name.  She had never been in any trouble herself.  She was trying her best to figure out how to do it properly in the age of the internet, and so that’s where she immediately turned.  She found Avvo, and she got down to work.

She had amassed a list of 100 lawyers.  She culled the list from those lawyers in New York, New York  whose profiles said that they practice at least 50% criminal defense.  She was very methodical.

She then read through the Avvo website and put together a list of questions.  These were the questions she was supposed to ask, according to the website, to assure that she would locate the right lawyer.  She was determined to call each lawyer on the list and ask as many of the questions as needed until she could exclude a lawyer from the running.  At the end of the exercise, she anticipated having a list of lawyers, maybe ten, who would meet her criteria.  She would then meet each of the ten and make a decision.  It was a plan.

When I answered her call, she launched into a breathless explanation of her plan.  She was charming, apologetic for being so official in her approach to hiring a lawyer for her friend, I listened intently, and was fascinated by the amount of effort she put into her task. 

After a few minutes, I interrupted her and, in a few minutes, learned the vital information that I would need to understand why she was calling.  For all her questions, she had neglected to think about how to provide the information about her friend’s case that would enable me to know what we were talking about. 

My initial reaction, when she told me about the charges, was that it wasn’t the sort of case that interested me.  It wasn’t particularly serious, though it was certainly serious to her and her friend.  Her friend had done everything wrong in the process, cutting off avenue after avenue of defense.  They were ordinary folks, working people, for whom a legal fee would be a stretch and a hardship.  Yet she would do whatever they could to try to obtain the right lawyer for her friend.

After I understood the basics about the case, she asked me what I could do for her friend.  I explained what lawyers do; that if she sought a quick guilty plea, I wasn’t the best choice of lawyer.  That I couldn’t tell her anything about the outcome, as I knew nothing about the case as yet.  That what she gets in a lawyer is experience, competency and hard work, not promises of success or parlor tricks.

She asked me how many cases like this had I done before.  I thought for a moment, and told her, “I don’t know.  Hundreds.  Maybe thousands.  I never kept track.”  [Memo to new lawyers: Keep track of the things you do, like trials and appeals.  I never did, but there have been numerous times since when I’ve been asked to list the cases tried and I can’t remember.  I estimate, but fear that my memory may not be terribly accurate. My failure to keep track was a mistake.  Don’t make the same mistake.]

I must have been fairly close to the top of the list, as she told me that while she had spoken to a few lawyers before me, she still had many left to call.  She told me that others she had already spoken to had pitched her on their having been a prosecutor.  She explained that she used to be in sales, and knew a pitch when she heard one.  She didn’t care for it, and was particularly unimpressed with prosecutorial experience as a selling point.  “I need a criminal defense lawyer, not someone who put people in jail.”  If prosecuting people was the best they could say about themselves, they didn’t make the cut.

After hearing her plan, I told her that she was very ambitious, but perhaps too ambitious.  That’s a lot of effort to find a lawyer.  It could take quite a long time to wend through a list of 100 lawyers, with calls back and forth, sale pitches to be heard, and questions to be asked and answered.  And for the most part, she was unlikely to find herself much more knowledgeable than when she started.  Talk is cheap, I reminded her.

I explained that her questions were certainly appropriate in some instances, but not very useful in others.  For a rookie lawyer, or a lawyer who doesn’t really practice criminal defense, her questions made more sense.  For an older lawyer like me, however, they didn’t apply well.  Then came the zinger.  “I’ve told you that I’ve done a lot of these cases in my career.  How do you know if I’m telling you the truth?  Even if I am, it tells you about quantity, not quality.”

She started to laugh.  She was trying so desperately hard to do it right, but realized that what sounded good on a computer screen meant nothing. 

She then said to me, “I want you to be the lawyer.”  She still had a long list of lawyers, and a longer list of questions.  She would have to do her “due diligence” before her friend and his employer and family would be satisfied with her choice of counsel, but she already knew who she wanted.  She wanted me.  She was charming.

It really wasn’t a case that interested me.  Normally, I would refer the case to my protege, my outside associate, who would provide excellent representation.  But something about the telephone call made me willing to take the case, even though it wasn’t a big case or big money or fascinating from a legal perspective.  It was her charm.

I told her that I would be happy to represent her friend.  She told me that I was the lawyer she wanted, but she had to complete her due diligence and run down the list.  She knew it was silly, but felt that it was her duty.  I wished her luck.  An hour later, she called to tell me that she told her friend about me, and he wanted me to be his lawyer too.  The decision was made.  But still, she had her list.

There were two more messages on my voicemail from her when I checked my messages that evening, confirming that the more lawyers she called, the more certain she was that she wanted me to represent her friend.

Under normal circumstances, a client comes because someone has recommended me.  They have no list of names.  They will have a few questions, but not a checklist.  They are there to seek my representation.  I am there to decide whether the case interests me.

This woman was charming, and I didn’t mind the time I spent on the telephone with her, which totalled more than an hour.  Whether I will ultimately represent her friend is unknown.  Though she told me that she wants me to represent him, she still has due diligence to complete.  She could change her mind.  She could change her mind 100 more times.

I thought about all the lawyers she will speak with, some who will want the case and others for whom this low-level felony won’t be of interest.  I thought about all the time spent, both hers and lawyer’s.  As much as it was fascinating to learn about her plan this time, it won’t be nearly as fascinating next time.  And few callers are as charming as she was.  It’s unclear to me that the next  charming woman who calls will seem as captivating.  I can’t imagine giving the next Avvo caller an hour of my time.

If this is what criminal defendants and criminal defense lawyers will go through in the age of the internet, there’s no amount of charm that will make it worthwhile.  And at the end of the plan, no one will be the wiser.