Rough Justice

by Brad Smith

  Grant went to the table and picked up a ledger. He looked at the judge. ‘At this point, I would like to introduce into the record the minutes of the Rose City council meeting for February twenty-fourth, 1998. It shows that Mayor Joseph Sanderson was in council for the morning session that day, but that he was absent in the afternoon. This in spite of the fact that council voted on three separate issues that afternoon. Issues that should have warranted his presence at the session.’

  Grant provided copies to the court clerk and then walked across the room toward The Mayor, still ensconced behind his beatific smile.

  ‘Kate Burns,’ Grant said, ‘you waited seventeen years to tell this story. Why are you telling it now?’

  ‘Because I thought it was over and I was wrong,’ Kate said. ‘I told myself that it didn’t matter. It was just something that happened, and it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t affect who I am. But I was wrong. He’s a rapist. He’s a man who raped young girls and got away with it. I don’t think he should get away with it any longer.’

  Kate was on the stand until two o’clock, as Grant went over how she first heard of the investigation, her statements to the police and other logistical matters. When he concluded, Miles Browning stood and approached the witness stand. He looked Kate in the eye for a long moment, as if gauging her resolve. Then he turned to Judge Pemberton and requested an adjournment until the next day.

  Kate took the stand again at five past ten the following morning. Browning had her wait while he stood at the defense table and made a production of arranging his notes. He was wearing a tan-colored suit today, with a white shirt and a navy blue tie. Kate realized that he’d never worn the same suit twice since the trial had begun.

  Finally he approached her, carrying a single page. ‘I’d like to go over the chronology here briefly. We know from the high-school records that the field trip to city hall that you mentioned took place on January seventh, 1998. And it was on this trip that you first met my client. You and several others. Correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you interviewed him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you say that he called you at your grandparents’ home a couple of weeks later?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was the date?’

  ‘I don’t remember. It was two or maybe three weeks after the field trip.’

  ‘I see. Then he called again? And a third time?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Do you recall the dates of the subsequent phone calls?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s difficult,’ Browning said, turning to the jury. ‘It’s difficult, I suppose, to recall specific dates, especially from seventeen years past. My wife tells me that I can’t remember what happened last week.’

  A ripple passed through the courtroom.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’ Browning asked, turning back to Kate.

  ‘With what your wife thinks?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Aha,’ Browning said. ‘Wouldn’t you agree that it’s difficult to remember specific dates of occurrences from seventeen years ago?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘And yet you are certain of the date you were allegedly attacked? We have your sworn testimony that this occurred on February twenty-fourth, 1998. How can you be so certain of that specific date when you have admitted that you have no recall of these others?’

  ‘There are moments in your life you tend to remember,’ Kate said. ‘I suppose being raped would be one of them.’

  The reply set Browning back. ‘Significant enough to remember, yet not significant enough to report to the police?’ he shot back. ‘Remind the court – why didn’t you report this alleged incident to the police?’

  ‘I did. Last year.’

  ‘It had a long gestation period, this remembering act of yours,’ Browning said. ‘Getting back to your high-school field trip to the big city. Is it not true that you developed an infatuation for my client after that little excursion?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come now. You testified earlier that you were flattered that he complimented your creative efforts.’

  ‘I was flattered, sure. I was in grade ten. He told me I wrote well.’

  ‘Did you ever phone the mayor’s office?’

  Kate hesitated. ‘Once. He’d mentioned the story about the trapper’s cabin and I wanted to follow up on it.’

  ‘Just once?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Browning said. ‘I just might be able to provide evidence, through my client’s former secretary, that you in fact called there more than once. Would you like to reconsider your reply?’

  ‘It was once.’

  ‘We’ll get back to that,’ Browning said, as he walked back to his notes. ‘Ms Burns, how many abortions did you have as a teenager?’

  Grant was on his feet. ‘Your honor. What is the purpose of this?’

  Browning strode quickly to the bench. ‘My colleague has gone to great lengths to paint a chaste portrait of these young ladies. In the face of that, I think the jury is entitled to certain truths. This is not opinion, your honor, nor am I passing judgment. These are facts.’

  Pemberton glanced at Grant before turning his attention to Browning. Kate thought she detected the slightest cast of contempt in his eye. But it could have been the light, it could have been her desire to have him on her side. It could have been nothing at all. Pemberton nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

  Browning looked at Kate. ‘Could you answer the question? If your memory fails you once again – well, we do have the hospital records.’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Three abortions,’ Browning said, turning to the jury again. ‘While you were a teenager.’

  Kate stared at his back but said nothing.

  ‘I’m sort of out of my element here,’ Browning said. ‘Would that be the average for girls of your peer group; did all of your friends have multiple abortions in their teen years? Or would you be considered an over-achiever in this area?’

  ‘That’s enough, Mr Browning,’ Judge Pemberton snapped. He looked at Kate. ‘Disregard the question.’ He turned back to Browning. ‘You’re not running this courtroom, counselor.’

  Browning made a show of acquiescing, backing away with his hands raised. It didn’t matter, Kate thought. Whether it was in the transcript or not, he’d made the point. Browning glanced at his notes a moment and came back at her, quickly, like a boxer who had found his range.

  ‘Do you remember the date when you had your first abortion?’

  ‘The exact date? No.’

  ‘The second?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s go for the hat-trick,’ Browning said. ‘Do you remember the third?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Isn’t it strange?’ Browning said, smiling. ‘Isn’t it strange – that of all the momentous events of your teenage years, you can recall the specific date of just one? You can recall the date that my client allegedly attacked you, a date that conveniently – and a cynical person might say miraculously – coincides with a day when he was not in council, a little fact that I’m sure was provided to you by the people investigating this case.’

  ‘Objection,’ Grant snapped.

  ‘Mr Browning, you are dangerously close to calling the integrity of this court into question,’ Judge Pemberton said. ‘I’m not advising you to refrain from such insinuation, I’m telling you.’

  ‘My apologies to the court,’ Browning said. He turned to Kate. ‘Help me out here. I’m having difficulty understanding these memory lapses. What you want us to believe is that you put this traumatic event out of your mind for seventeen years, fairly struck it from your memory, and then suddenly – when all these other false accusations begin to surface – your memory starts to clear. And then, when the media suggest that civil suits involving large sums of money could be involved, everything comes into focus. Is that accurate?’

  ‘I have no inte
rest in civil suits,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t want his money.’

  Browning continued as if he never heard her. ‘Suddenly, everything is crystal clear regarding that fateful day. You remember that the lake was frozen, the smell of an overcoat, the texture of a carpet.’ Browning’s voice rose now. ‘But more importantly you’re able to provide us with a definitive date when all this allegedly occurred, even though it’s the only date from your teenage years that you can bring to mind!’

  ‘I remember the date because it was my birthday,’ Kate shot back. ‘Joseph Sanderson raped me on my fifteenth birthday.’

  It would be the only time throughout the trial that Browning was stopped cold. Even in this, though, he was imperturbable. He hesitated briefly and then returned to the defense table and his notes. Kate wondered how he would counteract what she’d said. And then she realized that he wouldn’t because he couldn’t.

  What he would do was change the subject.

  ‘Have you ever been arrested?’ he asked, turning back to her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Impaired driving.’

  ‘Convicted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘2006.’

  Browning nodded, looked over at the jury. ‘And what have you done since 2006 to combat your drinking problem?’

  ‘I don’t have a drinking problem,’ Kate said. ‘I made a mistake once.’

  Shaking his head, Browning sighed dramatically. ‘If I had a nickel for every person I’ve ever encountered with a drinking problem who claimed they didn’t have a drinking problem, I’d be a very wealthy man.’

  ‘I thought you already were a very wealthy man,’ she said.

  Laughter followed this and Browning forced a smile. ‘Well, we’re not here to discuss my financial situation. Perhaps we’ll find time for that after we have determined just why you would falsely accuse an innocent man of sexual assault. However – getting back to your history of drunken driving – you were convicted just the one time?’

  ‘I told you it was once,’ Kate said. ‘There is no history.’

  ‘Ah, but one time does indeed constitute a history.’

  Grant stood. ‘Is this going somewhere?’

  Judge Pemberton looked askance toward Browning, who took a moment before shaking his head again, as if considering some great sadness.

  ‘I’m getting tired, I guess,’ he said. He looked at Kate. ‘I’m just plain weary of this parade of witnesses put forth by the prosecution.’ He gestured to The Mayor. ‘On this side of the ledger you have a civil servant who has served Rose City for four decades in the most exemplary manner imaginable, a man who performed his civic duties over that vast period of time without even the whiff of impropriety.’ He turned toward Kate. ‘And over here … over here, we have a succession of witnesses that includes, quite frankly, some rather questionable characters. Drug abusers, strippers, drunken drivers, welfare frauds. It’s all in the transcripts. It has been suggested to me that these women are lying. Tell me, Ms Burns, is it unreasonable for me to give credence to that suggestion? Now I’m not a psychologist but … is it unreasonable for me to entertain the notion that drug abusers and strippers and drunken drivers might also be capable of lying in order to line their own pockets in a potential civil suit?’

  Browning was standing directly in front of Kate now, so close she could read the initials on his tie clip, she could smell the faint aroma of his cologne. His body language was relaxed but his eyes were cold.

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe girls who are raped at an early age are more likely to stray from the straight and narrow later on. Did you ever consider that?’

  She could see that Browning was incensed at her tone. He turned away from her, smiling derisively toward the jury as he walked back to the table, a smile that suggested that Kate’s remark was not worthy of commentary. He found a sheet of paper and turned back to her.

  ‘Do you know a Lawrence Filsinger?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said, and she beat him to the punch. ‘He contacted me about filing a civil suit and I told him no.’

  ‘So now you’re answering questions before I even ask them?’ Browning said. ‘You’ll make me obsolete, Ms Burns. So you said no to Mr Filsinger? That’s admirable. I’m sure that the jury will find that admirable too. We see before us a woman of integrity. Assuming we disregard the multiple abortions, the convenient lapses of memory, the drunken driving. Of course, if my client was to be convicted, you would then be free to change your mind with regard to Mr Filsinger and his money-making schemes. Isn’t this just a pose?’

  ‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ Kate said. ‘And I am not posing.’

  ‘You are posing,’ Browning said. ‘And you are lying under oath.’ He looked at Judge Pemberton. ‘Nothing more for this witness. I’ve quite had my fill.’

  Carl and Frances walked out of the courthouse together. Both their vehicles were parked in a lot across the street but they lingered out front for a while. The media were clustered together on the tiny patch of lawn between the courthouse and the street, waiting for one or other of the principals to emerge. Moments later, The Mayor exited through the front door and went down the steps without breaking stride, his wife on his arm as they headed for the waiting Buick at the curb. As they walked, The Mayor fielded some of the softer queries from the reporters.

  ‘Very happy,’ he said when asked about his feelings on the cross-examination.

  ‘Did the Redbirds win again?’ he inquired of one reporter.

  ‘I’ve always had faith that the truth will win out,’ he said as he ducked into the car.

  Kate walked out of a side entrance a few minutes later, flanked by two cops in uniform who kept between her and the few reporters who hadn’t flocked to The Mayor out front. Kate didn’t respond to their queries. David was waiting for her. He hugged her when she came out and held on to her for a moment, as if further protecting her from the press. Seconds later Browning walked out on to the front steps and the media pack moved toward him.

  Kate and David started for the rear parking lot, but Kate saw Frances standing on the front walkway with Carl. She hesitated a moment before walking over. Frances embraced her before stepping back to brush Kate’s hair from her face.

  ‘How’s that for good old courtroom drama?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ Frances said.

  Kate looked at Carl and nodded. He was hanging back, by the corner of the building. He smiled at her, and as he did she turned away.

  ‘You guys want to grab a drink somewhere?’ Frances asked.

  Kate started to reply but stopped as a man approached along the walkway. He was carrying a tape recorder and had press credentials hanging around his neck. Pale and thin, he looked like one of the guys who wandered into Shoeless Joe’s by accident every once in a while. They sat alone and drank Coors Light while reading stuff from their laptops.

  ‘Ms Burns, you got a minute?’ he asked. ‘Peter Dunmore from the Times.’

  ‘The Times?’ Frances repeated. ‘Shouldn’t you be over there on the steps, kissing Browning’s ring?’

  ‘No, I should not,’ Dunmore replied defensively. He gave Frances a long look before turning back to Kate.

  ‘I don’t have much to say,’ she told him.

  ‘You had lots to say on the stand,’ he said, smiling.

  Kate shrugged and shook her head.

  ‘Did Grant tell you not to talk to the press?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘He never said that. But I think he would prefer we didn’t, especially while the trial’s on.’ She glanced at David. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Up to you,’ David said. He pointed his chin toward Browning across the way. ‘But it looks like they’re telling their side.’

  ‘How about this?’ Dunmore persisted. ‘Let’s have a conversation off the record. While everything is fresh in both our minds. I thought you were impressive today. I want to do a featur
e when this thing’s over. I won’t use anything you say without your permission.’

  Kate, still uncertain, looked to Frances for guidance.

  ‘Off the record is off the record,’ Frances said. ‘He can’t go back on that. Can you, Mr Dunmore?’

  ‘Did I do something to offend you?’ Dunmore asked.

  Frances smiled. ‘Not yet.’ She said to Carl, ‘We going for a drink?’

  He nodded and Frances turned to David and Kate. ‘You guys want to catch up? We’ll go to Salinger’s.’

  ‘We’ll see how it goes,’ Kate said.

  Salinger’s was a couple blocks away, an upscale place where the lawyers and clerks and others from the courthouse gathered after work. Carl and Frances took a table that overlooked the street. The place was relatively empty when they arrived but began to fill up almost immediately. Carl had a beer and Frances a rye and water.

  ‘You were a little rough on that reporter,’ Carl mentioned.

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘Seemed like it to me,’ Carl said. He smiled. ‘I’m pretty sure it seemed like it to him.’

  Frances had a drink of rye. ‘The Times has been in The Mayor’s corner from the get-go on this. They were in the habit of endorsing him in every election he ever entered so maybe they’re trying to save face now. You know, the venerable Times would never endorse a rapist, that type of thing. Whatever the thinking over there, the coverage has been slanted.’ She had another drink before smiling at Carl. ‘You know what, I’m going to cancel my subscription. That’ll teach ’em.’

  Carl drank from his beer and looked about the place. There were men in suits and ties, women in tailored outfits. They were regulars, it seemed, greeting each other with overblown familiarity, the guys doing fist bumps or mocking each other like playground kids. Carl knew the types. In a couple of hours they’d be three-quarters drunk, each attempting to outdo the other, awarding themselves with phantom promotions and bonuses, and one-upping each other with dirty jokes.

  ‘I guess that was the worst of it,’ he said.

  ‘I hope so,’ Frances said. ‘That wasn’t easy, what she did today.’

  ‘Is it enough to convict him?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that.’