A birthday gift

"Today is her birthday," said our client's mother in court. She was standing behind our client, her eyes and cheeks tinged red, trying her best to keep it together.

The court had stood down temporarily. There will be a decision today, said the judge before retreating to his chambers.

I had visited her daughter in prison about three weeks ago. It was a long drive from Kuala Lumpur to the prison but I did not go alone and the journey was a much needed retreat from the office. When I spoke to the client, we were separated by a thick plastic barrier. Midway through our conversation over the phone (we only had an hour), she looked at me and asked if I was confident about her case.

I took a deep breath, looked her in the eye and told her that I was.

It's one thing to read a file with someone's name on it and tell yourself that it is a good case but it is an entirely different experience when you have to look the person in the eye and reassure them that they have a good chance of escaping the gallows.

Of course, being the awkward klutz that I am, I also mentioned that there are no guarantees in life, to which she responded with a sharp intake of breath and a worried expression. I quickly reiterated to her that I was confident in her case and silently kicked myself for being insensitive.

Her trial started last week on a Thursday. The prosecution closed their case in 3 days and only two days later on her birthday, the judge exited his chambers after the soft sound of a buzzer to order for her acquittal and discharge.

It is a feeling that is hard to describe when you see the cuffs being taken off from a client. Only just a moment ago, they were like cattle being herded off from one area to another, following the instructions of their handlers.

Once acquitted, the cuffs are removed in the courtroom and they're suddenly a member of the public once more with the freedom to roam, play with a phone, walk into a restaurant, sleep on a good mattress, eat whatever food they want and binge-watch Netflix movies at night.

There is no apology for time spent in prison; no apology for any bad experience there. It feels almost like a bad dream, one with potentially severe consequences on their mental health and the lives of those around them.

In this instance, our client was fortunate in many ways. She spent a year in prison but we have many clients in remand who have spent twice that amount of time there.

It is peculiar to think that as criminal lawyers, we only see our clients at the worst point in their lives. As our client and her family quickly depart from the court, it's hard not to wonder if I would ever cross paths with them again. The more I think about it, however, perhaps it would be best if we don't.

After all, reunions with criminal lawyers don't usually involve good news.