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When journalist Kevin Davis took on the task of writing about the public defenders in Cook County's Murder Task Force, he had two questions on his mind.

First (the “cocktail party question”), how can they defend people accused of such horrible crimes? Second, how can they do it “day after day, year after year, while keeping a safe emotional distance and preserving their sanity?”

Davis was given free rein to talk candidly with defenders on the Murder Task Force over a five-year span, to report what he learned without censorship, and to focus on one high-profile case from start to finish.

He found these “lawyers for the damned,” who are public employees hired to represent enemies of the people, hell-bent on thwarting the prosecution to seek justice for the innocent and mercy for those found guilty of heinous deeds.

As former Cook County prosecutor Randy E. Barnett put it last April in a Wall Street Journal article, “For better or for worse, we have an adversary legal system that relies for its proper operation on having competent lawyers on both sides.”

Now a Georgetown University law professor, Barnett dealt succinctly with that cocktail party question.

“The full and complete question ought to be that, because we can never be sure who is guilty and who is innocent until the evidence is scrutinized, the only way to protect the innocent of by effectively defending everyone.”

As Davis learned by getting inside the heads of Murder Task Force members, gaining a life sentence for a convicted murderer, instead of a death sentence, may be considered a victory.

Because people on the outside have difficulty condoning this, the defenders keep their work and their socializing to themselves. They celebrate battles, won or lost, at secluded dinners.

The star of the drama that Davis critiques – the trial of Aloysius Oliver for the alleged fatal shooting of a police officer – is Oliver's lead defender, Marijane Placek.

A complex character in every respect, in and out of court, Placek's personality and tactical demeanor get thorough scrutiny in a third chapter, “Anarchist Under Contract,” that is devoted to who she was, where she's been and what she has become.

Without a doubt, Placek is the one person in creation you'd want on your side if you are ever accused of an odious crime. One senses she could make millions in a private criminal defense practice.

But Placek's overarching interest is what should be the public's interest: seeing that “the damned” get unflinching representation.

Davis found her not as passionate about eliminating capital punishment as he had suspected. She says the death penalty is not appropriate where her clients are concerned, but she sees some necessity for it.

“Not for deterrence,” though, she snorts. “That's a joke. It doesn't stop people from killing.”

Placek was optimistic about her odds of winning the Oliver case. In the month before jury selection was to begin, she invited about 40 people she liked and trusted to a 2003 Christmas party at the Hawthorne Race Track.

One of the events was “Marijane's race,” and the whole group trudged to the winner's circle for a photograph with the horse and jockey.

The value of “Defending the Damned” is enhanced by its eighth chapter, “Everyone's Entitled to One.” Here, Davis traces the evolution of public defense in Cook County.

Writing for a unanimous court, Justice Hugo Black (a former police court judge and county prosecutor who investigated brutal questioning of suspects) found that “lawyers in criminal courts are necessities, not luxuries” for only wealthy defendants.

As far back as 1912, the Chicago Bar Association had formed a Committee of Defense of Indigent Prisoners Accused of Crimes, but few lawyers volunteered for such unsavory duty, Davis points out.

But in 1929, amid rampant crime in the city, lawyers and business leader formed an Illinois Association for Criminal Justice. It generated a survey that concluded the county court system was “an utter failure.”

The association formed a Judicial Advisory Council that recommended creation of a public defender office. Benjamin C. Bachrach, a colleague of Clarence Darrow, was appointed the county's first public defender on Sept. 25, 1930.

Bachrach's efficient operation soon began moving cases through the system and winning not-guilty verdicts (251 times in 635 jury trials in 1934).

The experiences of successive chief public defenders Gerald Getty, James Doherty (who created the Murder Task Force) and Randolph Stone are chronicled, along with early task force recruits William Murphy, Bob Queeney, Todd Musburger, Stuart Nudelman, Richard Kling and Andrea Lyon.

As the long murder trial nears its end, Placek poses her closing argument for Oliver in a self-defense scenario. “As he sits here, he has done nothing,” she tells the jury, emphasizing the presumption of innocence.

She says conviction would compound the tragedy of a police officer's death. “You stand as gods now, in judgment of another human being. Render him a just decision.”

A guilty verdict is announced within hours. On the way home, Placek tells a colleague how devastating it is for her to lose. “I don't remember my wins. I remember my losses.”

She earns a better outcome at the sentencing hearing. Oliver was eligible for the death penalty, but the sentence is for her a win: natural life in prison without parole.

During a dinner that night, at which the defense team celebrates saving a life, Placek raises a glass to toast “the bravest judge, Judge Moran, who's up for retention this November.”

Later, she recites from Shakespeare's speech – “we happy few, we band of brothers” - by King Henry V after the battle of Agincourt. “For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”

Davis describes a subdued Placek, her eyes filled with tears. “This is what we do. We kill and then we feast.”