Eric Matheny's Blog
January 20, 2016
September 2, 2015
My Best Thrillers Review by Bella Wright
An astounding legal thriller that is full of surprise, mystery and moral dilemma. Matheny may well be the next Scott Turow.
Can anyone ever really escape their past? That’s the question facing Anton Mackey, one of Miami’s best up-and-coming criminal defense attorneys. Anton is a family man. He advocates for the accused. And he’s modeling his career after legendary lawyer and mentor, Jack Savarese. His future is bright.
But Anton is haunted by a grievous mistake committed on a fateful Sunday morning more than a decade earlier. While stone cold drunk in rural Arizona, he got behind the wheel of his rented RV and plowed into a sedan, killing two people. And he got away with it.
Or so he thinks. Enter Daniella Avery, the apparent victim of a brutal assault by her husband. But Daniella isn’t seeking Anton’s services for herself. Rather, she’s looking for an attorney for her attacker: “I love my husband and I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I’d like him to be represented by a good lawyer.” She cooly writes a series of checks, totaling more than $40,000. But as Anton delves deeper into the case, he realizes that Daniella isn’t quite what she seems.
Author Eric Matheny, himself a criminal defense attorney, has delivered an astounding third novel. It goes without saying that the hallmark elements of a gripping legal thriller are here: intense courtroom drama, gut-wrenching inner conflict bound by the letter of the law, and fascinating legal maneuvering, including the intricacies of cross-state extradition. But above all, this is a staggeringly well-crafted mystery complete with outlaw motorcycle gangs and false identities. The sun-drenched highways of Arizona sizzle on the page, and you’ll hear your own heart thumping loudly as Anton begins to lift the veil on his curious client.
Can anyone ever really escape their past? That’s the question facing Anton Mackey, one of Miami’s best up-and-coming criminal defense attorneys. Anton is a family man. He advocates for the accused. And he’s modeling his career after legendary lawyer and mentor, Jack Savarese. His future is bright.
But Anton is haunted by a grievous mistake committed on a fateful Sunday morning more than a decade earlier. While stone cold drunk in rural Arizona, he got behind the wheel of his rented RV and plowed into a sedan, killing two people. And he got away with it.
Or so he thinks. Enter Daniella Avery, the apparent victim of a brutal assault by her husband. But Daniella isn’t seeking Anton’s services for herself. Rather, she’s looking for an attorney for her attacker: “I love my husband and I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I’d like him to be represented by a good lawyer.” She cooly writes a series of checks, totaling more than $40,000. But as Anton delves deeper into the case, he realizes that Daniella isn’t quite what she seems.
Author Eric Matheny, himself a criminal defense attorney, has delivered an astounding third novel. It goes without saying that the hallmark elements of a gripping legal thriller are here: intense courtroom drama, gut-wrenching inner conflict bound by the letter of the law, and fascinating legal maneuvering, including the intricacies of cross-state extradition. But above all, this is a staggeringly well-crafted mystery complete with outlaw motorcycle gangs and false identities. The sun-drenched highways of Arizona sizzle on the page, and you’ll hear your own heart thumping loudly as Anton begins to lift the veil on his curious client.
August 29, 2015
How Can You Represent Guilty People? A Criminal Defense Attorney Answers the Most Frequently Asked Questions
You’re at a social function, making awkward small talk, when the question, “What do you do?” invariably comes up.
Me: “I’m a criminal defense attorney.”
Eyes widen. They’re genuinely interested. A criminal defense attorney! Like Saul Goodman on Breaking Bad! I bet they were expecting me to give them something awful like…accounts receivable manager or something, forcing them to nod along and smile, hoping for enough lull in the conversation so they can tactfully make their escape.
Now, not all of them ask the same questions. Some want to know what kind of cases I handle. Everything, I tell them: DUI to murder. Some want to know if I’ve ever tried a case where I believed that my client was innocent. Very few times, but certainly the most satisfying acquittals. Have I ever represented someone accused of child molestation? Yes, I have.
The variety runs the gamut. Some ask for my opinions on high-profile criminal trials (yes, O.J. was guilty). Others try to squeeze out a little free advice (so if I’m pulled over and I’ve had a few drinks, I shouldn’t blow, right?) A few times people have candidly opened up about their own criminal matters.
But the one question everybody asks is, “How can you represent guilty people?”
Well, it’s easy.
In any criminal case, the government—by and through the police and the prosecutors—brings forth the charges. These charges carry consequences, be it a fine, a conviction on your record, or a lifetime in state or federal prison. In other words, the government has the power to singlehandedly destroy your life.
The Constitution guarantees every person charged with a crime several fundamental rights. You have the right to a speedy trial by a fair and impartial jury. You have the right to due process of law. If the police show up at your house and want to look around, the Constitution requires that they obtain a search warrant, signed by a judge and founded upon probable cause that a search of the premises will produce evidence of a crime.
These rights were not written into the Constitution to streamline the prosecution process. These rights were put in place to protect people from the tyranny of government. That no person could be tried, convicted, and imprisoned on mere accusation. And above all, no person should ever be forced to defend themselves. The burden of proof rests solely on the shoulders of the prosecution. Proof beyond and to the exclusion of every reasonable doubt.
By that rationale, it would appear that the framers of the Constitution intended to protect only the falsely accused. The innocent. Nowhere in the Constitution or in any state law does it say, In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial…unless, of course, they’re just so obviously guilty that it would be a waste of time to afford them all these rights, in which case a public hanging immediately after arrest is just fine.
The constitutional rights guaranteed to all criminal defendants apply equally to those who did it and those who did not. The framers even went so far as to actually protect the guilty by drafting the Fifth Amendment – the prohibition against self-incrimination. Cops are bound by a Supreme Court ruling to warn suspects before they open their mouths. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
This right extends from the interview room at the police station to the court in which the matter is finally tried. A suspect has an absolute right not to speak with the police. A defendant is never required to testify in their own defense. It is impermissible for a jury to consider a defendant’s silence as evidence of guilt.
How about a case where a person confesses to a heinous crime but the police failed to issue a proper warning? A judge may be bound by law to render the confession inadmissible, meaning that the defendant’s own words, describing in brutal detail how he or she committed the crime, will never be presented to a jury. What if the confession was the strongest piece of evidence the prosecution has and without it they have to drop the case?
Is it always fair? Of course not. Do guilty people go free? All the time. But the integrity of the justice system relies on the premise that everybody must be treated the same.
The American criminal justice system is an all-or-nothing concept. We can opt to live in a total police state where people can be yanked off the street and thrown in jail for say twenty, thirty years, without ever being formally charged with a crime. Doesn’t work too well for Cuba and China and Russia. I doubt we would welcome it here. Or perhaps we could settle for complete anarchy where there are no constraints on human behavior. Think Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan (or if that reference is a little above your head just logon to Netflix and watch The Purge).
The fulcrum—the point on which the lever rests—is the justice system, the middle ground between mob rule and martial law.
If we as citizens agree to live this way there can be no turning back. We do not make adjustments for those who appear guilter than the next. If we compromise the integrity of our system for Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer then we do so for Reade Seligmann and Collin Finnterty and David Evans (who, if you don’t recall the names, were the three young men falsely accused of rape in the infamous Duke Lacrosse Case).
Nancy Grace may have been calling for their heads before a jury was even empaneled. But fortunately, the court of law and the court of public opinion don’t abide by the same logic.
Think of it like freedom of speech. Nothing is halfway done. The notion that the government cannot hinder your right to say just about whatever you want must apply equally to those who spew the most vile rhetoric. The Ku Klux Klan must have an unabridged right to be ignorant rednecks as much as I have the right to call them that.
Their freedom emboldens my own.
The rights afforded to the guilty validate those of the innocent.
If we let the government pick and choose the level of protection afforded to a defendant depending on the circumstances, the cloak of innocent until proven guilty is stripped away for everybody.
Me: “I’m a criminal defense attorney.”
Eyes widen. They’re genuinely interested. A criminal defense attorney! Like Saul Goodman on Breaking Bad! I bet they were expecting me to give them something awful like…accounts receivable manager or something, forcing them to nod along and smile, hoping for enough lull in the conversation so they can tactfully make their escape.
Now, not all of them ask the same questions. Some want to know what kind of cases I handle. Everything, I tell them: DUI to murder. Some want to know if I’ve ever tried a case where I believed that my client was innocent. Very few times, but certainly the most satisfying acquittals. Have I ever represented someone accused of child molestation? Yes, I have.
The variety runs the gamut. Some ask for my opinions on high-profile criminal trials (yes, O.J. was guilty). Others try to squeeze out a little free advice (so if I’m pulled over and I’ve had a few drinks, I shouldn’t blow, right?) A few times people have candidly opened up about their own criminal matters.
But the one question everybody asks is, “How can you represent guilty people?”
Well, it’s easy.
In any criminal case, the government—by and through the police and the prosecutors—brings forth the charges. These charges carry consequences, be it a fine, a conviction on your record, or a lifetime in state or federal prison. In other words, the government has the power to singlehandedly destroy your life.
The Constitution guarantees every person charged with a crime several fundamental rights. You have the right to a speedy trial by a fair and impartial jury. You have the right to due process of law. If the police show up at your house and want to look around, the Constitution requires that they obtain a search warrant, signed by a judge and founded upon probable cause that a search of the premises will produce evidence of a crime.
These rights were not written into the Constitution to streamline the prosecution process. These rights were put in place to protect people from the tyranny of government. That no person could be tried, convicted, and imprisoned on mere accusation. And above all, no person should ever be forced to defend themselves. The burden of proof rests solely on the shoulders of the prosecution. Proof beyond and to the exclusion of every reasonable doubt.
By that rationale, it would appear that the framers of the Constitution intended to protect only the falsely accused. The innocent. Nowhere in the Constitution or in any state law does it say, In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial…unless, of course, they’re just so obviously guilty that it would be a waste of time to afford them all these rights, in which case a public hanging immediately after arrest is just fine.
The constitutional rights guaranteed to all criminal defendants apply equally to those who did it and those who did not. The framers even went so far as to actually protect the guilty by drafting the Fifth Amendment – the prohibition against self-incrimination. Cops are bound by a Supreme Court ruling to warn suspects before they open their mouths. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
This right extends from the interview room at the police station to the court in which the matter is finally tried. A suspect has an absolute right not to speak with the police. A defendant is never required to testify in their own defense. It is impermissible for a jury to consider a defendant’s silence as evidence of guilt.
How about a case where a person confesses to a heinous crime but the police failed to issue a proper warning? A judge may be bound by law to render the confession inadmissible, meaning that the defendant’s own words, describing in brutal detail how he or she committed the crime, will never be presented to a jury. What if the confession was the strongest piece of evidence the prosecution has and without it they have to drop the case?
Is it always fair? Of course not. Do guilty people go free? All the time. But the integrity of the justice system relies on the premise that everybody must be treated the same.
The American criminal justice system is an all-or-nothing concept. We can opt to live in a total police state where people can be yanked off the street and thrown in jail for say twenty, thirty years, without ever being formally charged with a crime. Doesn’t work too well for Cuba and China and Russia. I doubt we would welcome it here. Or perhaps we could settle for complete anarchy where there are no constraints on human behavior. Think Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan (or if that reference is a little above your head just logon to Netflix and watch The Purge).
The fulcrum—the point on which the lever rests—is the justice system, the middle ground between mob rule and martial law.
If we as citizens agree to live this way there can be no turning back. We do not make adjustments for those who appear guilter than the next. If we compromise the integrity of our system for Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer then we do so for Reade Seligmann and Collin Finnterty and David Evans (who, if you don’t recall the names, were the three young men falsely accused of rape in the infamous Duke Lacrosse Case).
Nancy Grace may have been calling for their heads before a jury was even empaneled. But fortunately, the court of law and the court of public opinion don’t abide by the same logic.
Think of it like freedom of speech. Nothing is halfway done. The notion that the government cannot hinder your right to say just about whatever you want must apply equally to those who spew the most vile rhetoric. The Ku Klux Klan must have an unabridged right to be ignorant rednecks as much as I have the right to call them that.
Their freedom emboldens my own.
The rights afforded to the guilty validate those of the innocent.
If we let the government pick and choose the level of protection afforded to a defendant depending on the circumstances, the cloak of innocent until proven guilty is stripped away for everybody.
