4.2.12 WC: 191694 Before we filed our petition, I had received several phone calls from anti-capital punishment lawyers imploring me not to file a petition for certiorari in the Tison case. “Count the noses,” one of them warned. “You may not have five any more.” He urged me to leave well enough alone: “We have Enmund. Most courts will follow Enmund and reverse felony-murder death sentences. But if the Supremes take your case and reverse or limit Enmund, people will die because of you. You have to go by the numbers.” I understood his reference to “the numbers” as meaning two different things: First the numbers on the Supreme Court, which now might be 5-4 against us. And the large number of condemned inmates who faced execution on a theory similar to that which had lead the sentencing judge in Arizona to sentence the Tison brothers to die even though they had not killed the Lyons family or intended their death. I respected the insights and judgments of the callers, but I had two clients on death row. I was their lawyer, not the lawyer for the many other death row inmates whose fates could be adversely determined by a negative ruling in our case. I cared deeply about the other inmates. I cared deeply about every inmate facing the death penalty. I cared deeply about the issue itself. But I could not allow these strong feelings to influence my decision regarding my clients. I was the only person between them and the canisters of death that stood ready to end their young lives. At that moment in time, I was not a “capital punishment lawyer” or a “cause” lawyer of any kind. I was Ricky and Raymond Tison’s lawyer. I had to put case before cause, client before campaign, the Tison brothers before the others on death row. It was an excruciating conflict, but not a difficult legal or ethical decision. I decided to file a petition for certiorari to the Supreme Court. Our hope was that the justices would not want to hear full argument on an issue they had so recently considered: