How do Defence Lawyers sleep at night.

How do defence lawyers sleep at night?

I must admit when I saw the photos I was totally creeped out. It took me a while to get over them.  I had a flashback of defending a person charged with having sex with a woman who had an IQ of around 70. I agonized about the case and taking it to trial. But it was resolved on the court steps with a guilty plea and no prison sentence. A week of hot showers finally washed the case off me. I don’t think I did many more cases after that involving sexual crimes. Not because I wouldn’t or couldn’t. But perhaps word got around that I didn’t like women being raped and those defendants didn’t gravitate towards me. I felt more at home defending people charged with stealing vast amounts of money, sometimes off old people in Rest Homes. Was there something about the fact that no blood was spilled which enabled me to shut off the devastation inflicted on these victims? Did I have a fatal flaw? Should I get psychotherapy? Should I change to family law, where I once had the task to defend a client who would not pay for callipers for his crippled daughter? I could see there was no place to run, no place to hide. I had a young family and I owed the tax man. I resolved that being a criminal lawyer was all I knew. I could play the guitar but it was a long way to the top if I wanted to rock and roll. I thought fondly of some of my favourite court victories. Like the time I got a young guy from Glen Innes acquitted on a charge of smoking cannabis. They had no weed to produce in Court and the officer couldn’t say whether what he smelt was dope. Fortified by those warm fuzzy feelings I resolved to continue. My proudest moment was when I was called fucking mad for my closing address in the Operation 8 Trial. I had come to accept there was something perverse about my nature that career criminals could take advantage of and hide behind. I came to accept gang members as family friends. I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into a vacuum, where morality didn’t exist. Despite my best intentions, I could feel deep down it was hopeless. The weight of defending the guilty was too much. I was suffering from a chronic lack of sleep. I had developed anxiety from being in controlled courtrooms. I lined up an interview as a Prosecutor. I could bask for a while in the adulation of putting bad people in jail. I was sure that would cure the hole in my soul. I was sitting in the waiting room waiting to be called in. Then the bloody phone rang! Trevor had breached his bail. Reluctantly I drove to the police station. They let him off with a warning. I knew then it wasn’t a question of whether I slept or not.