Lindsay Clancy's defense attorney went on national television Tuesday to beg President Trump for a pardon his client isn't eligible for—because the President can only pardon federal crimes, and Clancy strangled her three children to death under state charges in Massachusetts. When defense lawyers start shopping for political exits from murder convictions, ordinary Americans watching the system work ought to ask whose interests it really serves.
Kevin Reddington, Clancy's 75-year-old attorney, appeared on ABC's "Good Morning America" days after a judge declared a mistrial in the triple-murder case. The jury deadlocked 11-1 after 38 hours of deliberation. Reddington's play: skip the retrial and go straight to the Oval Office.
"Mr. President, I would hope that you would consider this young lady, the type of person she is, what she's been through, and consider a pardon," Reddington said on air.
The problem isn't just political—it's constitutional. The President's pardon power extends to federal offenses only. Clancy faces state charges of first-degree murder for the January 2023 killings of Cora, 5, Dawson, 3, and Callan, 8 months, whom she strangled with exercise bands in the basement of her Duxbury home. A governor, not a president, would hold any pardon power here. Massachusetts Governor Maura Healey hasn't touched it.
NBC News called the request "unusual." HotAir was more blunt, questioning whether Reddington paid attention in civics class. The New York Post framed it as a "stunning" plea and noted Reddington "made no mention of how he expected Trump to get involved." The Daily Caller and Breitbart reported the request straight, with the Caller noting the jurisdictional barrier.
Trump himself weighed in on the case after the mistrial. "She did a horrible, horrible thing. Can't be worse," he told reporters. "But you'll find out what the price to pay is. There will be a price. It's going to be a mental institution or jail or something." Not exactly a pardon invitation.
Reddington's post-trial conduct has drawn its own heat. After court Friday, he declared he'd "crushed the prosecution." On GMA, he walked it back—sort of. "That's just bravado," he said, blaming "emotions" after a "six-, seven-week trial." Then he added: "I don't regret saying it at all."
He also lashed out at the holdout juror, claiming a note from the forewoman said the juror "had doubt but would not apply reasonable doubt" to the verdict. "That's not right, and that's why I was upset," Reddington said. He nonetheless conceded the juror's right to hold out "forever"—"that's part of our judicial system."
Meanwhile, Clancy's ex-husband Patrick, father of the three dead children, is fighting his own battle. Online sleuths and true-crime creators have pushed conspiracy theories claiming he was involved in the killings. His attorney, Howard Cooper, issued a statement Tuesday: "Enough is enough—the spread of blatant and baseless falsehoods must stop." Cooper warned of legal consequences, according to HotAir.
The commonwealth now decides: retry Clancy, or cut a deal. Reddington said he hopes DA Timothy Cruz will "work something out that would be acceptable to both sides." Prosecutors argued Clancy planned the killings and was aware of her actions. The defense claimed postpartum psychosis and auditory hallucinations.
The Founders built courts so citizens could face judgment before the law, not so well-connected defendants could angle for political favors. A lawyer asking the wrong executive for a pardon he can't grant isn't just a civics error—it's a window into how the system's players think the game works.
The question Massachusetts now faces is whether three dead children get a full reckoning—or whether the whole thing gets negotiated away.
