Single Jeopardy

by Gene Grossman

  When it’s prepared and delivered to the boat, I turn the transcript of the deposition over to the office so that they can give investigative assignments to Jack Bibberman. His results will either make or break the case. In the meantime, I decide to become one of the millions of couch potatoes who watch Court TV to see how the high-paid big shots do it.

  My favorite local news program keeps me informed on the status of Vito Renzi’s criminal case. After a week of jury selection, they finally have their people in the box and opening statements are supposed to start the following week. From what the news reports say about Myra using the self-defense tactic, I assume that her client will be taking the stand. Without any other witnesses to back him up, he’ll have to tell the story in his own words with Myra trying to lead him along. I don’t envy her position.

  When the trial starts, Miller is in his glory. The newspaper printed his opening statement as if they were quoting from the scriptures. I hear from a friendly reporter that he took a lesson from my playbook and passed out copies of his opening to the press.

  Not knowing for sure if Myra is trying to sandbag him into believing she’ll use self-defense, he plays it safe with a regular opening statement, telling the jury that he’ll be introducing evidence showing the defendant runs a car-parking valet service that competes with the victim’s, and that the defendant had repeatedly accused the victim of ‘hogging’ the available parking spaces and had threatened him if the practice didn’t stop. That’s his show for motive. For opportunity, he promises to present witnesses that will place the defendant at the restaurant on the day of the crime, even though he usually only worked evenings.

  He goes on to let them know that if Myra asserts self-defense, it is a common practice among guilty defendants who have no other way to go. Myra objects to that one and is sustained. The jury is given the customary instruction to ‘unring that bell.’

  Suzi follows reports of the trial and seems to be sinking deeper into her dark mood. I’ve given her several lectures on our judicial system, in contrast to how things work in other parts of the world, and that no matter what you think of our system, it’s still the best. You can count on some uniformity from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. The laws are mostly set forth in the books, and no matter what most political protesters claim, the government and police don’t have the time, money, talent, or motivation to create vast conspiracies against our citizens. I repeatedly tell her that without law there can’t be any order. As usual, there’s no response from the forward stateroom crowd.

  I’m either the most ineffectual lecturer in the world, or she has a hearing problem. But what should I really expect from a person who comes from a part of the world where they developed ‘burning in oil’ as a form of punishment?

  Next is Myra’s turn for an opening statement. She did great when we were all working together on the doc’s case, but that was the result of a prepared script and many nights of rehearsal in front of a mock jury. On this one she’s on her own, and I’m a little nervous for her. The evening news sums it all up: she’ll be presenting evidence to the effect that the Defendant did in fact meet with the victim in the parking lot, but during their conversation the victim lost his temper and pulled a gun. The Defendant had no other choice but to shoot to save his own life.

  The first thing that the prosecution must prove in any murder case is that a murder did in fact take place, so Miller’s first witness is from the medical examiner’s office. The usual process goes on: establishing the credentials of the witness and then asking about cause of death, time of death and so on.

  Having felt that the existence of a crime has been proved up, Miller calls a number of police officers to the stand. Each one testifies to the fact that they were inside the restaurant at the time of the murder, that they saw the victim exit the restaurant and that they heard the gun shot. They immediately ran out to the parking lot and after calling for the ambulance, they searched thoroughly. There was no weapon found on the victim or anywhere near where the crime took place. Then, just in case Myra might change her mind and not use self-defense, he brings in all the other witnesses from Palmer’s restaurant, placing the defendant there and saying that he did in fact have a gun.

  Maggie was one of those witnesses on the prosecution’s list, but when I informed Miller’s office about her sexual harassment suit against the defendant, he elected not to call her to testify. You never want a witness on the stand who has any other agenda going on with respect to the defendant. That’s why any witness who has ‘sold’ their story to some tabloid magazine is viewed as not too credible on the witness stand. In a perfect world, a person like that would admit on the witness stand that they exaggerated their story because that’s what the tabloid wanted, but their testimony in court now is really the truth. No way. Most tabloids have a clause in their contract that says if you sell them a story and then testify to something different, it destroys the value of what you’ve sold them and they’ll want their money back. No one likes to give money back, so there’s always the danger that greed will affect credibility.

  The trial goes on like everyone expected. Miller is winning and Myra is losing. Her client doesn’t make a very good witness. Having had the displeasure of taking his deposition at County Jail, I knew the jury wouldn’t like him. He’s an obnoxious jerk, and no amount of lawyer preparation can hide that from the jury.

  After almost three full days of trial, both sides are getting ready to rest their respective cases. The judge tells them that the next day, if both sides are through, he expects closing arguments to begin.

  This evening is no different than others. Suzi hasn’t felt like cooking for the past week, so I’m boiling eight ounces of pasta, upon which will be poured a can of cream of mushroom soup, which is quite different than my other recipes which call for the dumping of a can of either vegetarian chili or Bush’ nonfat baked beans on top. If it happens to be a holiday, a can of peas is added to the mix. This limited repertoire has served me quite nicely during my bachelor days. The only time that the Saint Bernard prefers being with me instead of its master is when I’m cooking. Not being the most graceful chef in the world, he can always count on some edible droppings. My concern isn’t dropping stuff, it’s tripping over him, because wherever he lies down he occupies quite a bit of floor space, and since he weighs more than I do, he’s allowed to relax wherever he wants to. I don’t want to accidentally step on him and cause a rerun of the nurse Judy affair.

  I’m sitting down and eating out of my trough when there’s a knock on the boat’s hull. It never ceases to amaze me how my sitting down to eat or read can bring about an interruption with even greater certainty than a carwash can bring rain. The boat has fold-up boarding steps, so people can’t just come aboard and ‘drop in’ when it’s up, as it is that evening.

  Looking out over the rail I see that it’s Myra, asking permission to come aboard. This is a complete surprise and deserves an immediate lowering of the boarding steps. Maybe if she stays for a while I can get her to try some of Stuart’s weight loss love potion. He brought me another bottle. She comes in, greets me, and upon seeing what tonight’s blue plate special is comments with “the mushroom soup slop again?” After giving her the confession she wants I get right to it.

  ”I thought we had a deal. I won’t bother you until your case is over, and you’ll keep your distance too.”

  “You’re right Peter, and I apologize, but Suzi called and asked me to come over here with an investigator from the D.A.’s office. He’s down on the dock, waiting to be invited aboard.”

  “Well, there’s no sense our being less that courteous. Please, tell him to come on up. What’s the occasion? Here to arrest me again?” At this point, none of us know what’s going on, but all of our questions are soon to be answered. After Myra and the investigator are seated in the saloon, I knock on Suzi’s door to let her know that her guests have arrived. She comes out of the forward stateroom slowly, with her arms behind her.

 
Myra and I are concerned about her health. Myra asks her about it.

  “Suzi honey, are you feeling okay?”

  Silence. No reply. At this point the three adults are all confused. We have no idea what she called Myra to the boat for.

  Myra tries again.

  “Suzi, you know I’m always glad to see you, and I’m sorry about being appointed by the court to represent the man who was involved in the death of your uncle Charlie, but I’m right in the middle of a trial now, and if you won’t tell us why you asked me to come over, I’m going to have to leave now and go back home to prepare for my court day tomorrow.”

  Suzi looks up at me. I look back at her with an expression that tells her I agree with Myra, and that if she wants to say something, it should be pretty quick, before she loses her audience.

  Suzi still doesn’t say anything, but she slowly brings her arms out from behind her back and we all see that she’s holding a transparent plastic baggie. Through it we can see there’s a gun inside. She walks over and hands it to the investigator with only three words “Uncle Charlie’s gun.”

  *****

  Chapter 22

  I choke on a tablespoon of the gruel I just put in my mouth. Myra looks at her with a curious gaze. The investigator doesn’t miss a beat. He takes the baggie, places his initials, date and time on the outside of it, and drops it into his briefcase.

  All three of us are struck speechless. Myra breaks the silence. “Suzi, honey, can we talk?” They go out on the aft deck and have a private conversation for about ten minutes. When they return, Myra kisses Suzi, nods goodbye to me, and leaves with her investigator. I don’t get any explanation. As Suzi and the dog pass by me on the way to her private domain I hear her mutter “you and your judicial system.”

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  This is going to be too good a show to miss, so I’m going to court. Packed as it is, Myra arranges for the bailiff to save me a seat in the front row. The press has already received a leak as to what’s going to happen, so there are plenty of cameras outside and in the halls. The bailiff does his usual bit of telling us to remain seated and come to order, and the judge takes the bench. The instant that the judge is seated and the case is called, Miller comes out of his seat like a jumping jack.

  “Your Honor, we strongly object to what the defense is trying to do here today. She wants to re-open her case and admit new evidence. Every rule of courtroom procedure we can find says she can’t do that, and we have had no advance knowledge of whatever trick she intends to pull. Furthermore…” The judge stops him mid-sentence with a wave of his hand.

  “Mister Miller, I think you’ve had a little too much coffee this morning. Officially, I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about. When we finished up yesterday, I said that if both sides were through, then I would be expecting closing arguments. At this point the defense hasn’t tried any tricks yet, so let’s give her a chance. Your objection in a vacuum is overruled. Now, does the prosecution rest?”

  “It does, Your Honor.”

  “Miss Scot, do you have something you’d like to say to the court?”

  “Yes I do, Your Honor, the defense would like to present a rebuttal witness.”

  Miller jumps up and starts to go ballistic again. The judge warns him to sit down and shut up for a moment. He then requests that both counsel meet with him in chambers. I catch Myra’s attention and make a begging gesture, hoping she gets the message that I want to go into chambers with her. She thinks about it for an instant and then reluctantly gives me the signal to join her.

  When we get into chambers, everyone is waiting for us. Miller shows his usual off-camera persona, pointing at me.

  “What the hell is he doing in here? I want him out. He’s got nothing to do with this case. He’s a liar and I…” Myra interrupts him.

  “Your honor, Attorney Peter Sharp has just associated in with me on this case. As soon as we get back out to the courtroom I intend to inform your clerk, so that she can make the proper notation on the court’s file.” The judge couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is get in at least nine holes this afternoon.

  “Welcome to the party, Mister Sharp, please make yourself comfortable and get a good seat. I have a feeling the show’s about to begin.”

  Rather than let the attorneys create a battle scene, the Judge decides to calmly sum up the situation and then solicit some suggestions from both counsel. “It appears to me that we’ve got a sticky little situation here Mister Miller. Outside of the courtroom and not under oath, you made representations to the public at large, of which I am a member, that there was no weapon found anywhere near the crime scene. You have also made that representation here in my court, where it really counts, and I don’t expect people to lie to me in here, especially elected officials like you. Then, Miss Scot here comes up with a weapon that is registered to the victim, has the victim’s fingerprints on it, and reached her indirectly through a Culver City police officer that happened to be at the crime scene on the day of the murder. From what Ms. Scot has shown me, that officer has executed an affidavit to the effect that he saw one of your investigators find the weapon under a nearby parked vehicle, and when that investigator told you about it, you told him that he should wrap it up and bring it to your office. The police officer knew that what you were requesting was outside the official procedure for the handling of evidence, so when he got the opportunity, he ‘borrowed’ it from your investigator’s automobile.”

  Miller is ready to explode. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a strange vertical swelling down the middle of his forehead. I’m wearing my good suit, so I step back, to avoid anything splashing on me if his head blows up. The judge calmly goes on “I couldn’t help but notice that you never seemed to complain about the alleged theft of this gun, but by coincidence, that investigator is no longer working for your office. He is now working for Miss Scot, and was instrumental in bringing the existence of this weapon to the court’s attention.

  “Now, adding all these juicy little tidbits up, it appears to me that the Defendant very well may have been telling the truth, so I’ll tell you what I’d like…” Miller’s mouth opens, as if he wants to say something, but the Judge won’t hear any of it. “Please, Mister Miller, don’t say a word, sit back and listen. Among all the laws I’ve become familiar with, one of them is the Law of Holes, which simply states when you’re in one, stop digging. Now that having been said, here’s a humble suggestion I’d like to offer you. Why don’t you just tell me that in the interest of justice you won’t object to a defense motion for dismissal? I won’t ask for any explanation, and then I’ll go into the courtroom, thank and excuse the jury and let you use the judge’s hallway and our private elevator to escape upstairs to your office, to contemplate your next move.” He looks around the room. “How about it Mister Miller, am I playing golf this afternoon? They’re waiting for me at Riviera, and Pacific Palisades is only about fifteen minutes away at this time of day.”

  As Miller walks out of chamber he mumbles: “watch out for the ninth hole, I hear it’s a tough one.”

  Miller doesn’t return to the courtroom. Instead, he sends one of his flunkies in. Myra makes the motion to dismiss and Miller’s flunky doesn’t object. It’s all over. The reporters quickly make it out to the hallway or their news vans. Miller is the invisible man once again.

  I have to hand it to Myra. She’s got a lot of class. When the judge announced that the case was dismissed and excused the jury, the courtroom went crazy. The judge didn’t even care. He just banged his gavel down once, got up, and made a hasty retreat to the clubhouse. Outside of the courtroom, and all the way to the car, we’re completely surrounded by reporters. Myra only says that the district attorney had obviously found some weak points in his case that could only be remedied by the immediate dropping of all charges. And then one of the reporters drops the bombshell by asking a question that I didn’t’ think of.

  “Miss Scot, since you’ve shown the publi
c that you can run circles around our present district attorney, are you considering running against him in the next election?” Myra doesn’t answer: she just smiles at the camera and says: “well, maybe it is time for a change in that office.”

  Jack, as dependable as ever, brings the Hummer around to the front of the courthouse and whisks us away from the press. Once in the car, she reminds me of something. “You know, I just remembered. My car is in the public parking lot.” I tell her not to worry because Jack will drive her back for it after we’ve had a chance to unwind over a few margaritas at Pollo Meshuga. Neither one of us gave too much thought to Vito Renzi having been released directly from the courtroom; we figured he would find some way to get home without our help.

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  Back at the boat Suzi is not a happy camper, but we all know she did the right thing, so I’m confident that time will heal things for her. My main concern now is trying to save my friend Stuart’s assets from this nymphomaniac. A phone call to her lawyer might help, but I can’t find his card anywhere, and then remember that he didn’t give me one. No problem, his identification should appear on the top left corner of the lawsuit, so I take a good look at it. His name isn’t there. The caption lists Nancy Cook as the plaintiff, with her address given as being ‘in care of’ a legal workshop on Pico Boulevard in West Los Angeles. I drive over there and see it’s one of those self-help places that provides unlicensed legal advice and typing services to “pro per” clients, meaning people filing lawsuits on their own behalf. This can go either way. Sometimes a court will bend over backwards to help a girl like this who tries to represent herself, probably out of pity for the poor person who can’t afford an attorney. On the other hand, there’s always an outside chance that it can work in our favor. I call our attorney service and give them an assignment, and then find out why we were told to meet Miss Cook outside on that day of the deposition. Jack was parked down the street with his telephoto lens, getting a few pictures of her.