Behind the Robe

by Barbara Sattler

  Maybe if they’d married sooner their lives would have worked out better. Lourdes wanted to finish college first. She’d been a mediocre high school student. Perhaps because she was so involved with Carlos or because she never thought she was smart. Her dad hadn’t finished high school. Her mom got a GED. She was shocked when she excelled in college. More shocked when she got admitted into law school and did well. Carlos didn’t like college much. Only went because she did. He was drifting when 9/11 happened. Like many of his friends he joined up. Lourdes was proud but nervous.

  Lourdes never thought he’d wind up in Afghanistan. Carlos believed because he had a college degree he’d never deploy. After basic he was assigned to Fort Hood as an MP. Four months later, as they say in the military, he was ‘in-country.’ Somewhere in Afghanistan. His first assignment—reporting on the weather. He knew little about meteorology, but how hard is it to say, “Hot today, hotter tomorrow.” It could have been worse and with his next assignment it was. “Every minute of the day someone wants to kill me.”

  “Anything else you need?” The waitress refills their water glasses. “Another drink?”

  “No, thanks,” says Lourdes.

  Carlos shakes his head. Lourdes is pleased he stops, but he still had too much.

  “So when are you going to start?”

  “Not sure. Six weeks. Maybe two months. I have to write transfer memos on my cases and get sworn in.”

  “Sworn in?”

  “You have to take an oath to follow the law and defend the Constitution.” She rolls her eyes. “Any of the judges can administer it. I’ll probably ask Jacobs. Sooner rather than later. Molly said I better move quickly or the governor might change his mind.”

  “Molly said,” Carlos frowns. “Shit. You’d think you were married to Molly. You listen to whatever the hell she says and ignore me.” He signals the waitress for another.

  THREE

  Lourdes checks her phone again. 9:17 a.m. Molly’s late for their traditional Saturday morning get-together.

  Lourdes’ and Molly’s friendship had begun shortly after Molly joined the PD’s office. Lourdes had reached out to her after Rick Fletcher’s family fired Molly and hired Mik Kennedy, a high-profile private lawyer. Rick Fletcher had been one of Molly’s first clients, a college kid charged with possession of cocaine. She’d worked hard on his case and built up a rapport with Rick or so she thought. Worse, she’d been fired only a few days before his trial was ready to start.

  “It wasn’t my decision Molly,” Rick told her. “When my dad found out he insisted. He was so angry I hadn’t told him when I got arrested. I told him I wanted you, but it didn’t matter to him.”

  Lourdes realized Molly was upset. No one liked being fired by a client, or a client’s family. “At least Mik Kennedy’s competent,” Lourdes says. “My first murder trial, my client’s family spent a small fortune to hire a lawyer who knew nothing about criminal law and had a reputation for drinking too much. Never tried a criminal case before.” By the time they finished commiserating, Lourdes knew they’d become friends.

  Each had recently gone through hard times and needed a friend. Molly had gone to law school in Tucson, but left town after graduation when she was hired by a high-powered Phoenix firm. When the recession hit, Molly along with other associates had been let go. Then her fiancé dumped her. After a period of unemployment, she lucked into a job at the Tucson Public Defender’s Office and moved back to Tucson. She hadn’t lived there for a couple years and had lost track of her friends.

  Lourdes had lived in Tucson all her life and had a large extended family and lots of friends. She married her childhood sweetheart, Carlos. He joined the Army after 9/11. When he returned from being deployed nothing was the same. Debbie, her best friend and also a PD, had moved to Phoenix for a better job. The losses had created a void in her life.

  Lourdes and Molly met every Saturday morning for coffee at Raging Sage, a local coffee house. The interior is very small, but the large outside patio with lots of trees makes up for it. It’s always crowded. All the pastry is great, but the scones are phenomenal. The last few Saturdays one or the other had called it off. A month had passed. Lourdes was worried Molly had fallen off the wagon. Hungry, she orders a latte and a pear-ginger-scone. She finds a newspaper someone has left and tries to read. Police captain charged with DUI. Who doesn’t have a drinking problem? You’d think a cop would know better.

  “Sorry I’m late. I left the garage door open and Toby got out. I found her right away, but she wouldn’t get in the car. She thought we were playing a game.”

  “Should have brought her.”

  “Next time. Didn’t know if you’d be okay with sitting on the patio — Your Honor.”

  “Shut up, Molly.” She checks to make sure no one is within earshot. “I don’t want my friends to act differently towards me. I’m the same. Not like a certain PD who never spoke to us again after she got a judgeship. Let’s talk about you. Things going okay?”

  “Things going okay?” She stands. “I’m going to order.” She came back with a latte and a pear-ginger scone. They often chose the same food.

  “Things going okay? Lourdes, admit it, you thought I was hung over or something. I’m 247 days clean.” She reaches in her pocket.—“My sixth month chip.”

  Lourdes is quiet for a moment. “Yes, I did think that. I worry about you. But congratulations. That’s great.”

  “I’m an alcoholic. I know that, but my life is going well now. One day at a time. Larkin changed my assignment. I’m back trying cases.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Just happened yesterday afternoon. He wanted to see me. I was afraid I was in trouble, but he told me I’m back in trials on Lisa’s team. He’s been so good to me. He’d be within his rights to have fired me more than once.”

  “Imagine if Double E had still been head of the office?”

  “The bitch probably would have reported me to the bar and then fired me or vice-versa.”

  “You must be happy to be out of appeals?”

  “No shit. Sit there all day and read cases. Try to find a way to get a conviction reversed. A lot of horrible crimes out there and not enough technicalities.”

  Lourdes gets up to get a refill. “How’s your nephew?” she asks when she gets back. Lourdes isn’t ready to think that soon her former colleagues will scrutinize every ruling she makes to try to get her cases reversed.

  “Diego’s really cute. Calls me Aunt Wolly. He can’t pronounce Molly.” They laugh. Molly takes a couple bites of scone. “How are things with you and Carlos?”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on, Lourdes, I know you well enough to know something’s the matter.”

  Lourdes isn’t sure she should talk about this, but she wants to tell someone. And who better? “He’s different since he came home. I’ve read up on PTSD. He has some symptoms.”

  “I thought you had to be in combat.”

  “It’s more complicated. I don’t even know what he did over there. He wouldn’t tell me then and he won’t now. When he was a weatherman he joked when we skyped. But once Carlos was re-assigned as an MP he stopped talking about anything related to his deployment except for complaining about the food. Since he came home he reverts back and forth from being bitter and angry, to being the same fun-loving Carlos he used to be.”

  “What’s he bitter about?”

  “A couple things. Treated badly by a commanding officer. Bad assignments. Unfair treatment. After all his complaints he wanted to re-enlist. I can’t imagine why. But he can’t because he has bad paper.”

  Molly looks at her quizzically. “He got an ‘other-than-honorable discharge.’ When he came back to the States, right before his contract was over, he got in trouble for fighting. The other guy in the fight, who was Anglo, only got a minor reprimand.”

  “That
sounds unfair,” Molly said.

  “To me too. But I only know his side.”

  “Can’t he appeal?”

  “He did. I wrote it. We’re waiting to hear what the court decides. I talked to a lawyer who works at the law school veterans clinic. She gave me some help on how to phrase it. Most people don’t know that if you don’t have an honorable discharge you can lose your VA medical benefits, have trouble finding a job, getting school loans. Luckily Carlos can still go to the VA. And he wants me—us, to have a baby. He doesn’t have a job. All he’s been offered is entry level stuff that students do and he— never mind.”

  “What?”

  “Not important.”

  “Come on Molly, tell me what you were going to say.”

  “Okay, he drinks too much.”

  “Poor baby. I guess you’re surrounded by alcoholics.”

  “But you admitted it and changed your life.”

  “It took me a long time to change. Ralph’s suicide and me almost killing someone.”

  “You didn’t hit him.” Lourdes said.

  “I only missed him by a few inches.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Does Carlos have to almost kill someone or worse before he admits he has a drinking problem? I should be supportive, but he gets so angry when I mention his drinking.”

  “So did I. Carlos will have to take the first step.”

  For a few moments neither says a word. “I’ve got a case going to trial Tuesday that should plead out, but the County Attorney’s being a real jerk.” Lourdes said.

  “Who is it?”

  “Someone new. She’s from Phoenix. Jill Morgan. Clerked at the Court of Appeals. A real bitch.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “My client is mentally challenged. Lives in an apartment with his mom and some siblings. Went to his neighborhood Quik Trip to get a 12- pack. When he went to pay he said, ‘I’ll take it on credit.’”

  “Hold up. Can’t you get out of the case now that you’re leaving?”

  “Maybe, but I like him. And he trusts me. Not to mention he’s in custody and it’ll take the new lawyer at least six months to get ready for trial.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Go on.”

  “Anyway the store’s crowded and there’s lots of commotion at the cash register. While this ‘negotiation’ for the beer goes on, Roberto takes out his pocket knife. He fiddles with things when he gets nervous. The clerk claims Roberto threatened him with the knife, but a couple of guys who were there said he was just messing around with it. Never threatened anyone.”

  “You think he could be autistic? His movement with the knife sounds like stimming. It’s common in individuals with autism.”

  “I never heard that diagnosis in connection with him, but I’ll check into it.”

  “What happened next? God, I sound like a prosecutor.” They both laugh.

  “He took the beer. When the cops finally got there he was sitting on a bench outside the store drinking it. They didn’t surround him or draw their guns or anything. One sat down next to him and asked for a beer. Roberto said ‘yes’ and was about to give him one. Then the other cop said, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me all of them.’ Then they arrested him.”

  “Does he have a record?”

  “No, he’s never been arrested. Even for a misdemeanor. Now he’s charged with armed robbery. It’s ridiculous. Seven to twenty-one.”

  “You should be able to plead to robbery probation available. Basically it’s a beer run gone amuck.”

  “I know. But they want prison time. Prosecutor’s convinced he’s dangerous because of the knife. The plea offer is to attempted robbery with a five-year cap.”

  “That’s outrageous. No wonder you’re keeping it.”

  FOUR

  Lourdes looks at the eight jurors. Six women, two men. To get a jury of twelve the defendant has to be facing a minimum thirty years in prison. Thirty years. Roberto’s maximum is only twenty-one. Each state can decide jury size with one exception. If the state asks for the death penalty, the accused is guaranteed twelve jurors.

  Roberto is pissed. Only one Mexican. A woman. “She reminds me of my Tia Selena. She’d love to throw my ass in jail.”

  Lourdes ignores him. She likes the feel of the jury. There isn’t much to go by other than feel. There are jury consultants, but Lourdes doesn’t think much of them. Don’t know any more than palm readers or diet supplement sales folks. Tell you whether to keep a juror based on body language. Not that the public defender could afford one.

  There are guidelines, but not rules. Most defense lawyers try to dump anyone in law enforcement, fire fighting, or real estate. But she’d once kept an ex-cop, a detective, in a rape case. The case had so many holes she suspected a detective would see them even if the prosecutor didn’t. She was right. Psychologists were keepers. But not always. She didn’t want to think about that mistake.

  They luck out drawing Judge Quinn. Next to Judge Jacobs, she’s the best. She’s fair and doesn’t rush the lawyers. Quinn was appointed about five years ago so Lourdes has observed her from day one. She didn’t seem comfortable until recently. At first she was standoffish and rigid. No joking with the lawyers. No stories about her personal life. Hell, she rarely spoke to them except when she made a ruling. Her demeanor had started to change in the last few months. She appears relaxed and at ease.

  Until she began working at the PD, Lourdes had always assumed judges were wise and professional. It didn’t take her long to find out otherwise. Only the rare judge is wise. Some have a professional demeanor, not all. One young female judge talks about her shopping trips, her vacations, and even her love life. At best, she’s boring. At worst, she keeps you in her courtroom when you have other places to be.

  Will it take Lourdes five years to feel comfortable? What if she never does?

  Today is her last trial. The last time she’ll make an opening statement or closing argument. The last time she’ll object to an opponent’s question. The last time she’ll cross-examine a witness. Long before law school she wanted to be a public defender. That never changed. She knows lawyers whose only goal is to be a judge. Lourdes can’t see herself as anything but a defender. Can she be as fair to the state as to the defense? Will she lean over backwards to show she isn’t biased? Does she have the right temperament? Patience has never been her strong suit.

  “All rise. State of Arizona versus Roberto Borquez. Judge Quinn presiding.” The bailiff looks bored.

  Lourdes stands up belatedly. Even Roberto rises before her.

  Quinn reads the jurors the preliminary instructions. “Don’t read about the case in the newspaper or on the internet. Don’t make up your mind till you’ve heard all the evidence, closing arguments and instructions. Don’t talk to each other about the case until I turn the case over to you for deliberations.” She explains scheduling and other details. Usually Lourdes tunes this out, but not today. She’ll be reading those instructions soon.

  “State may proceed with their opening statement.”

  In less than a minute Lourdes is fuming. She’d planned on watching Judge Quinn as much as she could, but as always, she’s engrossed in the trial. “Roberto has a history of violence,” says the prosecutor.

  “Objection, Your Honor, irrelevant, and untrue.”

  “Your Honor, untrue isn’t a proper objection and the defense attorney is testifying,” the prosecutor retorts.

  “The defense objection is sustained. But Ms. Velasquez you know better than characterizing something is true or untrue when you object.”

  “I thought you said she’s fair,” Roberto whispers.

  “Quiet. I need to pay attention.” Should she have objected? By doing so she highlighted that comment to the jury, but she broke the prosecutor’s flow. Sometimes it
’s hard to get back on point.

  The prosecutor finishes her opening statement. Too long. She’s lost the jury. In a case like this the state doesn’t need to say much. It isn’t complicated and they have compelling evidence.

  “Miss Velasquez, does the defense wish to make an opening statement at this time?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She gets up. Game on. She could reserve her opening until after the state’s case, but it’s risky. Research shows jurors decide quickly and need to hear from her. Rarely will she reserve. She remembers one case, a DUI, when she knew the criminalist was out of town. The judge had denied a continuance. The prosecutor had called the criminalist, told him to get back ASAP. Her job was to hurry so the state had to rest without that testimony. She did, and the judge had no choice. “Case dismissed.”

  “May it please the court, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. Roberto Borquez is not guilty of armed robbery. The evidence will show Roberto believed he could buy the beer on credit. Roberto is only nineteen and lives with his family. He never finished high school and while in school was a special ed student. It was a Saturday and Roberto wanted to get some beer. He didn’t have enough money, but he took what he had to the Quik Trip. People who plan to rob a store, don’t bring money.

  “Roberto has heard his mom and her friends talk about buying items on credit. His mom had just bought a TV that way. He has only a partial understanding of that word.

  “He offered the clerk three dollars, which is all he had, and said he’d take the rest on credit. The clerk asked him for a credit card. Roberto continued saying he wanted credit. When Roberto failed to hand over a card, the clerk ignored him and waited on other customers. Roberto became agitated.

  “When agitated, Roberto gets fidgety. He took out his pocket knife and began to tap it on a container next to the counter. The prosecutor told you he threatened the clerk with his knife. He did not. Luckily two young men, Jorge and Arturo Mendez, were in the store. Neither of them knew Roberto. They will tell you Roberto never threatened the clerk nor did he brandish the small knife at him. He tapped the blade over and over, but never pointed it at anyone. While the clerk was busy, Roberto placed three dollar bills on the counter and left with the 12 pack.”