Her day in court

A typical shift for Boston-area public defender Krista Larsen: many clients, few moments to make the best case she can

By Joseph P. Kahn, Globe Staff, 8/25/2003

CHELSEA -- A few minutes before 9 on Thursday morning, attorney Krista M. Larsen walks into Chelsea Trial Court with her briefcase and handbag, steeling herself for what promises to be a busy day.

The first order of business for Larsen, a 30-year-old graduate of Northeastern University and Suffolk Law School, is wrapping up a trial that began the day before. Larsen's client, a 55-year-old unemployed produce worker, stands accused of assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, the weapon in this case being a bottle of bleach. Larsen has been assigned the case by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, for which she is being paid $30 an hour. Final arguments to the jury are scheduled for 9:30.

Once that trial is over, Larsen, a member of Suffolk Lawyers for Justice, will be on call to take court-appointed assignments as they arise. In Chelsea District Court, one of two courts housed in this building, this usually means bail forfeitures and defaults, mixed in with the occasional larceny case. Larsen has no way of knowing what will come her way.

Like her fellow SLJ lawyers who staged a one-day walkout last week -- protesting unpaid assignments and forcing emergency action by the Legislature to pay them -- Larsen knows only that she must assess each legal situation quickly and then do the best she can. On short notice, and for short money.

"The public's stereotype of lawyers, especially public defenders, is not good," Larsen says later, during a rare lull in the day's activities. "They think we're in cahoots with the DA. Or we stink

at our job." It's a "taboo subject to hear a lawyer complain about money," she adds, especially criminal defense lawyers. "It's just not politically correct."

Larsen has scant time for small talk as her day begins, though. During a pretrial conference, Larsen counsels her client not to testify. The jury has already heard from the victim and arresting officer, she points out.

"There are two versions of what you did, and I don't want to add a third," Larsen tells him. "It's not that they'll disbelieve you. But it's my job to tell you your choices. You're driving the bus; I have the map."

Her client insists on testifying anyway. Larsen nods and gives him a few tips: Answer compound questions with a simple "yes" or "no." Do not get lulled into complacency or confusion by the prosecutor.

At 9:30, the jury files into Judge Roberto Ronquillo's courtroom. For the next 40 minutes, Larsen's client answers questions about the assault. He keeps his cool, pleasing Larsen. She goes first during closing arguments, urging jurors to exercise "common sense" and reminding them what cannot be considered as evidence, including the police report filed in the case. At 11, the jury retires to consider its verdict.

Larsen hurries downstairs to District Court Judge Timothy Gailey's courtroom. For the next two hours she waits for new case assignments, making small talk with the other lawyers and court personnel. Around noon, Larsen interviews the brother of a man accused of defaulting on bail. She'll argue the man's case later this afternoon. At 12:30 p.m., Larsen troops back upstairs. The jury has a question: Can they see a copy of the police report? The answer: No. "Maybe they didn't believe me," Larsen jokes.

At 12:45, back in Gailey's courtroom, she draws another bail-forfeiture case, this one involving a man who recently finished drug rehab. After bail is declared forfeited, Larsen is designated counsel for a later pretrial. At 1:15, she's assigned to a woman accused of indecent exposure for relieving herself in a public park in Revere.

Court recesses for lunch. Larsen and a reporter walk a block to a local restaurant, where she orders a turkey sandwich and Diet Pepsi. Larsen breaks down her work schedule, which typically involves one on-duty day per month each in the Chelsea and Dorchester district courts. Another day a week is set aside by Larsen and her law partner, Pamela Harris-Daley, for office work. Their small Charlestown firm also represents private clients.

Court-appointed cases are "our bread and butter," says Larsen, who pegs her gross annual income at "close to six figures." From that she pays office expenses and taxes as well as personal expenses, Larsen notes. Outstanding college and law school loans total $90,000 or more. In other words, she says, she's hardly getting rich off the state. "I don't own my own house or have a family to support," Larsen says. "So I can only imagine how hard it would be to make ends meet otherwise."

In the courtroom, she's highly competitive. "I don't have to win every case," she says, sipping her soda. "But I do have to know I represented my client well."

Harris-Daley, lunching at a table next to Larsen, says her partner "doesn't know how good she is" and calls her a perfectionist who "really cares, which not everyone does."

At 1:45, Larsen's cellphone rings. The jury has reached a verdict in the assault case. She wraps her half-eaten sandwich to go. "Do your not-guilty dance," Harris-Daley chirps as Larsen leaves. Outside the courthouse, Larsen acknowledges, "I don't think my ego could take if it isn't `not guilty.' "

Larsen gets the verdict she's been hoping for. Outside the courtroom, Larsen puts her game face back on. Be sure to pay the $150 in court fees, she admonishes her client. "And keep the receipt. Otherwise you'll be paying it all over again."

By 2:15, she's back downstairs interviewing another potential client in lockup. As the afternoon session begins to wind down, the courtroom steadily empties. Defendants are still being brought upstairs, handcuffed and in leg shackles, to sit behind a glass partition and face the judge. Apart from a few lawyers and court officers, the room is deserted, though. At 2:45, Larsen picks up a 19-year-old client who had missed his trial date; he was arrested upon walking into court earlier today, and now he's got Larsen representing him.

Following a 15-minute recess, she's conferring with another new client. The other public defender has gone home for the day. Larsen is drinking bottled water and hoping to eat the other half of her sandwich.

Larsen's final client is a 22-year-old heroin addict facing a pair of larceny charges. During a hasty conference in lockup, she gathers as much personal information as she can that may color the judge's decision. She's uneasy, though. The state's attorney is offering a package deal consisting of jail time, probation, and drug treatment in exchange for a couple of guilty pleas. The problem is not so much the deal as the fact that Larsen doesn't really know her client at all. An addict may accept any deal that promises an early release date. But if he screws up, he could face a lengthy prison term. "And then he blames me," Larsen says, frowning.

Understanding the situation as well, Judge Gailey repeatedly asks the defendant if he wants more time to think it over. "No," the defendant answers. The deal is struck. Outside the courtroom, Larsen pulls out her cellphone and calls the man's family. She goes over the deal, and the risks.

It's 3:30 in the afternoon. Larsen gathers up her briefcase, court papers, purse, and half a sandwich.

"I'm going home to have a glass of wine," she says, heading for the door.

Joseph P. Kahn can be reached at jkahn@globe.com.