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Attorney Beau Brindley arrives at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse in Chicago on Aug. 6, 2014.
Jose M. Osorio, Chicago Tribune
Attorney Beau Brindley arrives at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse in Chicago on Aug. 6, 2014.
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On his web site wooing potential clients, Chicago criminal-defense attorney Beau Brindley boasts of his firm’s prowess in attacking government charges, saying they “aggressively pursue every case as if we were the accused.”

It turns out that scenario might not be merely hypothetical.

Federal prosecutors revealed Wednesday that Brindley is himself the target of a criminal investigation into whether he solicited perjury from a client charged in a 2009 drug conspiracy case.

That startling disclosure came less than a month after FBI agents raided Brindley’s law office in the historic Monadnock Building across from Chicago’s federal courthouse, carting off client files and computer drives.

Now the Tribune has learned that the investigation also involves a second criminal defendant who claimed in a court filing last year that Brindley scripted his testimony in a 2011 trial on drug and weapons charges, including going so far as to writing out answers and making the client memorize them before he took the stand.

Lawyers are not infrequent targets of federal authorities for a wide variety of wrongdoing, but what makes this investigation so unusual is that prosecutors are probing a criminal-defense attorney for issues directly related to his legal work. Making the effort potentially even more tricky are the strict rules of privilege over private attorney-client conversations.

The probe has already had a ripple effect at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse, where Brindley has dozens of pending cases awaiting trial or on appeal. Last month, the 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ordered that each of Brindley’s clients be notified of the federal investigation of their lawyer so they could be asked if they wanted a different attorney, court records show. On Wednesday, two separate judges held such hearings.

At one, prosecutors told U.S. District Judge Robert Gettleman that the core of the investigation against Brindley involved the alleged solicitation of perjury from client Rahshone Burnett, who is serving a combined 19-year prison sentence for separate drug distribution and mail fraud convictions.

In Gettleman’s nearly empty courtroom, Burnett, 35, appeared via video conference from federal prison in Kentucky, clad in brown prison garb and slouched in a chair. Gettleman told him the fact he was a potential witness against his own lawyer was an extraordinary twist, and the judge appointed attorney Charles Aron to help Burnett sort through the legal issues.

“The theory is that because Mr. Brindley is the target of a prosecution, he might be more inclined to curry favor or to help the government out in ways that he can in order to help his own case,” Gettleman said. “Because in this particular case — the unusual nature that the prosecution might involve your testimony – that’s an odd factor that we don’t always see.”

Brindley did not directly address the allegations made in court, and later, outside the courtroom, he declined to speak to a Tribune reporter. Cynthia Giacchetti, the attorney representing him during the criminal probe, did not return calls for comment.

By afternoon, Brindley returned to court – this time followed by a pack of newspaper and TV news reporters after the Tribune broke the investigation online – as another client, convicted gunrunner David Lewisbey, announced that he had already hired a new attorney.

In his nearly 10 years working in Chicago, Brindley, 36, an Iowa native, has drawn attention both for his impassioned advocacy for downtrodden clients as well as his sometimes offbeat arguments.

But he has also drawn heat from judges who questioned his honesty. In February, appellate Judge Frank Easterbrook ripped Brindley for deceiving the court during an appellate argument, fined him $2,000 and threatened him with disbarment.

“Brindley may not have set out to develop a reputation as a lawyer whose word cannot be trusted, but he has acquired it,” Easterbrook wrote. “This opinion serves as a public rebuke and as a warning that any further deceit will lead to an order requiring Brindley to show cause why he should not be suspended or disbarred.”

Last year, Brindley was ordered locked up for contempt of court by a federal judge in Urbana who found that the Brindley had fabricated reasons why he failed to appear for hearings in a case.

But the criminal probe ups the ante for Brindley considerably.

Court records show that Burnett, the defendant at the center of the probe, testified in his own defense during his two-week jury trial on narcotics charges. In his testimony, he admitted that he sold heroin but denied conspiring with anyone. The jury wound up convicting him on heroin possession with the intent to distribute but acquitted him of the more serious conspiracy charges.

Meanwhile, a co-conspirator in Burnett’s case, Richard Harrington, filed a petition last year claiming that Brindley had convinced him to plead guilty to drug charges and then testify in his own defense in a trial on related weapons offenses. According to Harrington’s petition, Brindley promised him the move would shave years off his sentence.

“Mr. Harrington’s testimony was actually scripted by (Brindley) to fit with the legal theory that counsel wished to advance, without regard for truth or falsity,” according to the petition. “In many cases, Mr. Harrington’s answers were written in full for him to memorize verbatim.”

Harrington’s lawyer in that case, Heather Winslow, sought an evidentiary hearing, saying it would show that Brindley “has a pattern of advising clients to proceed to trial and testify (according) to an attorney-drafted script.”

“Although this strategy often results in short-term victories, it more often than not ends in longer sentences and even more dire consequences for the defendant,” Winslow wrote.

Harrington was eventually sentenced to 23 years in prison. His petition noted that was nearly 7 years more than Brindley had predicted, but the attorney still claimed victory on his professional website.

“It is clear that counsel has a personal investment in furthering his own reputation as a fighter and a foe of the government,” said Winslow’s petition. “What is equally clear is that he does so at the expense of his clients.”

Brindley’s website lays out an aggressive philosophy.

“We are not negotiators and we do not take cases with the goal of reaching cooperation deals,” it says. “Instead, we seek success for our clients by attacking every charge, breaking it down with relentless litigation and, when appropriate, proving to a jury that our clients are not guilty under the law.”

But his results have been mixed at best.

Arguing for leniency for Rashod Bethany at a sentencing hearing last year, Brindley poignantly noted that the convicted drug kingpin, who ran a violent gang faction known as “The Killing Crew,” had little chance in life from a young age. Brindley combed over each sad fact of Bethany’s life: Born to an addicted mother; taught how to bag marijuana at 7; mauled by a pit bull when he was 9; and shot in the spine at 14.

“He was born and bred into a crucible of crack and addiction and violence, and he never had a chance,” Brindley said at the time. “This is just all he knew. This is where he was born, this is what he was.”

The judge gave Bethany 25 years anyway.

Other Brindley filings have been filled with odd anecdotes, including one recent memo in which he likened Burnett — who was convicted of stealing millions of dollars from a court settlement meant for his young nephews — to a starving dog that had been raised on nothing but cheap dry food.