by Jack Davis
Both students disliked Lublin from the start. When Lublin questioned the background of the two interns and their boss, Kantor was able to make Timmons’s previous history sound much more impressive than it was in reality. Then the law student gave a factual—if brief—rundown of the number of cases he’d been involved with over the past six months. Concluding, he informed Lublin he was free to ask for a different team if he so desired.
Lublin looked from one to the other, lingering uncomfortably long on the attractive Miss Willis. As if to assert his authority in the situation, he quickly said, “I can change counsel at any point anyway.”
Kantor joked, “It isn’t as easy as a Hollywood divorce, but up to the point where we go to trial, it isn’t too difficult. After that, it’s a bit stickier.”
Lublin shrugged again. “Let’s keep going.”
Kantor tried to start by reading the charges to Lublin but each time, after reading the title and description, Lublin gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “What else?”
Both Kantor and Willis thought it odd that after the last charge was read Lublin said the same thing, as if expecting more. It was even more apparent when they saw their new client smile, lean back in his chair, and put his hands behind his head.
Kantor exchanged glances with Willis before continuing.
Wanting to manage expectations, and chew up more time, Kantor planned to lay out the possible sentences for each crime. Before he could start, the computer programmer leaned forward, and asked, “What evidence do they have that I was in Cleveland and Savannah?”
Having done his homework, and without even glancing at the file, Kantor rattled off the evidence. When he mentioned the important piece of physical evidence was handwriting, Lublin seemed confused. Kantor, knowing enough not to ask the defendant if in fact the handwriting was his, explained, “The Secret Service matched your handwriting to that found on the registration forms for hotels where fraudulent credit cards were used in both cities.”
Lublin looked stunned. It had never occurred to him that his handwriting could be used to tie him to the two cities. It took a moment before he said, “They couldn’t have matched the handwriting because they don’t have any of my handwriting.”
Again without looking at the file, Kantor gave his client the information. “They used the handwriting provided by you in a signed statement denying you had authorized Antonescu to conduct any work other than that prescribed by his position description.”
Lublin’s eyes flashed. He slammed his hands on the table as he stood up, knocking over his chair. “That’s illegal. I was lied to and tricked. They can’t use that.”
“Mr. Lublin, like blood and DNA, handwriting isn’t covered under the Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination.” Kantor then explained that even if the handwriting had been obtained through false pretenses, it was legal.
“Those lying bastards!” Lublin yelled. “Those fucking lying bastards. They tricked me. They said it was to absolve me from responsibility. Those fucking liars!”
Lublin stomped back and forth, occasionally blurting out an expletive. Kantor let the client vent. Finally, the anger seemed to subside.
Trying to move forward with the interview, Kantor said that the dollar amount for the two credit cards used totaled about six thousand dollars. He was going to start down the road of reparations and plea bargaining.
Suddenly, Lublin spun around. “What program did they use?”
Kantor could not hide his confused expression and glanced at an equally perplexed Willis. She shrugged as Lublin’s rant gained momentum again.
“Program! The lying bastards had to have used a computer program to compare my handwriting. What fucking program did they use? I bet it’s a piece of shit.”
Kantor, taken completely off guard, had to refer to the file. He found the report and tried to find some indication of how it was generated. Lublin, looking over Kantor’s shoulder, eventually grabbed the document in frustration. He rifled through the pages frantically but with no better results.
The interns’ confusion was resolved when Lublin explained that if he could find out what program was used, he could conduct a code review and prove it had flaws. It would completely discredit the program, the examination, and the evidence.
Kantor had some concerns with the idea but liked the thought process. He realized without the handwriting, the credit card fraud and false ID portions of the case would be almost impossible to prove. He was going to ask Lublin a few questions about his ability to prove himself an expert witness when Lublin bellowed.
“You can’t be serious! You can’t be fucking serious!” He threw the report folder to the floor. Then to both Kantor and Willis’s amazement and amusement, Lublin began to stomp on it. Kantor, slightly apprehensive but sure he could defend himself, moved forward.
“Mr. Lublin, what’s the matter?”
Lublin turned and glared. “It wasn’t a program. It was done by a fucking human being.”
After a short string of profanity, Lublin threw up his hands. “This is crazy. Are you telling me in the twenty-first century we’re still relying on humans to do this? This is eighteen hundreds technology at best. It’s like using leeches to cure disease. Haven’t we progressed at all?”
By the end of the tirade, Lublin’s voice had reached a high-pitched crescendo.
Kantor and Willis let him continue, not knowing what to say.
Lublin paused long enough to catch his breath. “This is craziness! It’s archaic! How can the court use something that relies on humans, who are so prone to mistakes and bias? If it is a science, then a computer must be able to do it.”
Lublin seethed at the apparent injustice. “Are you telling me I could be convicted by something as arcane as handwriting?” He stopped as if thinking again. “It has to be subjective. That’s it. It’s subjective, and it can be attacked on that basis!”
He began to pace again until he threw out, “We’ll have to get our own handwriting expert to discredit the clown who did this report.”
Willis spoke for the first time, “Mr. Lublin, the Secret Service experts are considered the best in the world. I spoke to several handwriting examiners yesterday and not one would even consider taking the case if it meant going up against the Service. One said it was worse than challenging DNA evidence because the agents come across so professionally. They answer all the questions at a level the jury understands, they relate to them on an almost personal level. He said keep them off the stand if possible.”
Kantor realized that at no point had Lublin said he wasn’t there, or hadn’t done it, only that they shouldn’t have been able to prove it. To the intern it appeared that Lublin, who had been sure he had thought of everything and taken every precaution to beat law enforcement technology, was now going to be arrested and convicted through human expertise. Kantor appreciated the irony. He watched, amused as Lublin stomped and yelled, “No, no. You can’t be serious! This can’t be happening to me!”
Just then the door blew open and Timmons hurried into the room. He appeared to be about to say something when he saw Lublin throwing what amounted to a tantrum. His arrival, if having no other value, stopped the tirade, temporarily.
“Is everything okay? What happened?”
“Your lackeys told me I’m going to be convicted of credit card fraud and thrown in jail based on something about as accurate as a Ouija board.”
Timmons was completely befuddled. “I don’t know what they told you, but I’m sure they must be mistaken. We have to look at all the evidence and see what the prosecution has overlooked. What part of the evidence were you discussing?”
“The fucking handwriting—they illegally made me give them!”
Timmons had only had a chance to set his briefcase down when he said, “The police forced you to give handwriting? That’s a good start; we can certainly start from there and use that.”
Kantor spoke up, “Davis, they didn’t force him to give handwriting. What Mr
. Lublin is trying to tell you is the Secret Service used a ruse to obtain his handwriting. They told him it was going to be used against Antonescu.”
“They fucking lied to me. They told me it was to refute that disfigured Romanian freak.”
Kantor, knowing that Timmons had probably not even reviewed the file, explained the situation with Antonescu and the hacking aspect of the case. In a quick and efficient manner, he went over everything that had transpired in the interview up until Timmons’s arrival.
The lawyer’s first question didn’t help. “We can attack the handwriting examiner by getting some other evidence. Will someone testify you were someplace else during the times in question?”
Lublin seethed. “No!” he said through clenched teeth.
Kantor, embarrassed for his boss, realized the client had practically just admitted he had been there.
Timmons turned red. “That will make it slightly more difficult, but not impossible.” Then turning to Kantor, to try and buy himself some time, he asked, “George, what have you been working on?”
“I was going to try to get as much information as possible from Mr. Lublin and then see what we had before proposing a strategy.”
Kantor could see Timmons’s blank expression as he stared at the legal pad pretending to study notes. Finally, the lawyer looked up at Lublin. “We’ll need a little time to develop a comprehensive defense strategy, but for the arraignment, we should stick with not guilty. Based upon your lack of previous criminal history, standing in the community, and work history, bail should be about fifty thousand dollars. Of course, you will only have to come up with ten percent of that amount and it will be returned to you when you show up for all of your court dates.”
Motioning to Willis, he said, “We’ll help you through the entire process, so you don’t have to worry about anything.” Moving to the item he actually cared about, he asked, “Can you explain the connection to an arrest in the Bahamas?”
Both Willis and Kantor were taken off guard and tried not to look surprised as they quickly flipped to that section of the case file.
Surprise at Arraignment (10/23/09, 1133 hours)
The remainder of the interview was painful for Kantor and Willis. On the one hand they had their boss, who they now knew was only interested in a taxpayer-paid trip to a tropical island. On the other, they had a criminal who refused to believe he had been caught by what he considered to be a process akin to astrology. Keeping both men on point, working through the agendas, and getting the information necessary to be ready for the arraignment was challenging, to say nothing of trying to build a proper defense. That seemed to be beyond either Lublin’s arrogance or Timmons’s self-interest.
In the end, based on what the two interns knew, they felt Lublin was guilty and should try for a plea that would involve restitution and probation. Neither was sure the hacking charge would hold up. It would be difficult to prove and beyond the comprehension of most juries. They also agreed that the last thing they wanted to do was put Lublin on the stand. His attitude and mannerisms would at best make him unsympathetic, and at worst make the jurors despise the man. They would convict him just for his personality, then ask the judge for the maximum sentence allowable.
All that was in the future. For now, they had to be ready to go before a judge, plead not guilty, and have enough money to make bail. It seemed straightforward and relatively simple. It certainly must have for Timmons, because he told Kantor he had an important meeting, and Kantor was going to have to handle the arraignment.
Kantor had never done an arraignment without Timmons but had been present for enough of them to know the procedure. All they had to do was enter a plea of not guilty. It should go reasonably quickly, and they would be out of court within ten minutes.
What no one on Lublin’s defense team knew was that AUSA Carpenter had been able to get an indictment from the grand jury that morning on the murder charges. Swann and Morley, who drove to New York City to testify, notified Scott of the “true bill” while en route back to Binghamton. Arriving just before Lublin’s arraignment, they surprised the interns when they let them know Lublin was also being placed under arrest for multiple horrific homicides.
Shocked was a more accurate description of their reactions. It was understandable considering the students had just found out they’d been sitting in a room not five feet away from an individual who was being accused of brutally killing at least four people, probably more.
Once they had composed themselves, they called Timmons with the news.
“This is important! I’ll cancel the rest of my meetings and be there as soon as possible. Whatever happens, don’t let them arraign him without me there.” Lublin sounded desperate.
“I’ll do what I can, but it’s up to the judge,” replied Kantor, as he smiled at Willis.
“Do whatever you have to, but don’t let him be arraigned.” Timmons sounded annoyed.
Kantor liked the fact that Timmons was going to miss the arraignment. The man had done this to himself. The plea would be the same either way, and with the new charges, there was no way Lublin was going to be released on bail. But just knowing how much it would bother Timmons pleased Kantor immensely. Willis agreed.
The interns knew that no matter what happened in the courtroom that morning, there would be a modicum of justice—Timmons’s character flaws had caught up to him in the most significant case of his career.
Defense Strategy (10/23/09, 1252 hours)
Timmons was initially furious at Willis and Kantor for not having been able to stall the arraignment. His mood lightened considerably when he found that while he had missed the legal proceeding, he was in time for the media frenzy.
A reporter and cameraman stuck a mic in his face as he left the courthouse. Knowing almost nothing about the new charges, he really couldn’t say anything of substance, but that didn’t stop him from talking for the better part of five minutes.
He spoke, albeit generally, about how intricate the case was and the difficulty of preparing a proper defense. He stressed the different jurisdictions and how there would have to be hundreds of interviews, then he changed it to depositions; it sounds more sophisticated and legal. To add to the appeal of the case he said, “Some of the crucial interviews will be conducted overseas. I’ll see to them personally.”
It turned out Timmons didn’t need to add the international aspects of the case for it to get top billing on the nightly news. The Triple Cities had an average of three murders a year over the past decade. Any time the local news could report to the semi-apathetic viewers that what they only thought happened on CSI had ties to their community, it was big news.
That night, no one in the newsrooms knew this lead story would remain so for months and have anniversary reports for years to come. No one knew that within two weeks it would be national news and within the month, international.
To Timmons’s immense satisfaction, the local stations used the time between the evening news and the late local news to play catch up. To do that required they call him. It was shortly after the second call from a reporter trying to get clarification on facts that Timmons realized if he was going to be on camera, he was going to have to actually study the case. The murder aspect made him even more sure the case would come down to a plea, that didn’t worry him, but being interviewed on camera, that was something he had to take seriously.
Turning his attention inward as always, Timmons knew that his image on camera would be the impression his audience would retain. It could be a big reason they would either call his office or not. I’ll have to stop by Sears tomorrow and have someone help me pick out a new shirt and tie…maybe two. If he told them it was for a TV interview, they would give him special attention, maybe he could even get it for free, especially if he threatened to go to one of the other mall stores, like JC Penney. It was worth a try.
When Timmons finally reached his office just after eight p.m., he was surprised to see the lights on. Before he opened the door,
he heard his interns deep in discussion. He stopped to listen.
“In cases like this, you can’t make your client not guilty. So, you have to attack the prosecution’s case. Like OJ,” Kantor explained.
“But everything seems pretty solid, what could you go after?” asked Willis.
“You can’t attack the experts, so I’d go after the confidential informant. He’s one key to the prosecution’s case. CIs are usually criminals to begin with and easy to discredit. And remember, the defense doesn’t have to disprove things, just put doubt in one juror’s mind.”
The conversation lifted Timmons from his self-absorption and made him consider for the first time that he’d actually have to put together a defense. Before listening to his intern, he assumed Lublin would take a plea to avoid the death penalty.
What if Lublin won’t plea? Timmons didn’t like the prospect of all the work, but as he thought about Kantor and Willis putting the case together and the possibility of more media interviews, he came to the realization that defending Lublin was probably worth the effort.
His mind began to travel down a road he had seldom trod: putting a defense strategy together. While not ready to give up on the plea deal idea, Timmons thought he should have Kantor brief him on what he knew about the informant. Without any real strategy of his own, what he just heard sounded like a good starting point.
He would also look into some type of temporary insanity claim. He could hire some doctors to come in and say Lublin was hearing voices telling him what to do. He made a mental note: have Kantor find out as much about Lublin’s religious life as possible; we can spin that angle.
Next, he thought about the victims—not necessarily pillars of the community. They were doing things that the majority of the jury pool in upstate New York would find repulsive.
He wrote himself a note, to get as many elderly and religious jurors as possible. Women too! That would get rid of any sympathy for the victims.